#and then trying to convince tails that he didn’t need to ration his food he could have as much mint chocolate ice cream as he wanted

[tornado1992]

Little almost starved to death baby Tails panicking the first time Sonic took him to a food buffet because he over ate and thought he was gonna die cause he never felt so full in his life, little baby boy thought he was gonna explode.

[muffindaddystyles]

Someone hurts Y/N at work; and Harry’s owner of the company.

Angry young man CEO!H very protective of his lovie :)))))))))))))

It was Tuesday. Tiring Tuesday is what Y/N calls them to be because they lurk in the middle of week and drags you after a Monday. Today, it’s the worst fucking Tuesday since the day she started working at this company.

Harry offered her. More to say tried to convince her with his sweet puppy tactics, tried to lure her in with his seductive begging and would mumble the same thing in her sweaty neck while balls deep in her, “Please sweet toots ... promise I wouldn’t be there to take ye' interview, please work in my company.” He squished her sides in desperation. Y/N whined, mind too occupied in the way he’s leaking into her, the head of his cock angled to rub at her spongy wall making her hug herself into him.

“I could be a very hard boss in my office, ‘s all ‘m saying.” He wiggled his brows at her playfully, hissing when his double joke earned him a tight fit around his prick and he was soon forgetting all of it when she canted her hips to let him slick deeper inside her.

It’s not that; Y/N doesn’t wants to work at his company. When her boyfriend asked her so sweetly and stout-heartedly. Call him a sap but he actually wants to be closer to her in every possible chance he gets – she gives him an unyielding amount of comfort and happiness when she’s with him.

There’s this silver of pride he wants to take (since he’s the biggest narcissists) in being a power couple, because in the end everything will be theirs.

But she doesn’t want to seem like she took advantage of him. She didn’t study and worked hard many years to be called dependent on her boyfriend. She wanted to find her first proper job herself – feel all the odds and jitters of her firsts after UNI.

Harry called the battles off knowing his little stubborn baby’s too much a wiggler and he believes in her and he’s very proud of her previous achievements, he just wants to see her happy working with him or not.

She indeed got it. She was finally a design editor at a grand magazine company, excited to meet her boss who’s one of her absolute favourite graphic designers in the industry.

Harry and her celebrated her baby step towards her success by going out at this cafe which had cats you can pet and love on.

He was blissed to see her this happy, considering it a win win situation. But she doesn’t need to know? Does she? And Harry didn’t do anything suspicious? Did he? Nobody even know who she's! And if Y/N wants that, he’ll have it that way.

Soon her enthusiasm deflated like a sorrowful balloon whirling in the air for seconds before falling on the ground and getting it’s existence neglected, because, her boss was the meanest bitch alive.

At the moment, Y/N forced the pertinacious lump of pathetic tears down her throat, not blinking to dry out the moisture threatening to fall from her waterline feeling humiliation creep up her skin and making her want to shrink into herself and never show her face.

She listens patiently and optimistically as her boss practically screams at her for not liking the designs Y/N worked to modify for damn 62 hours and the Karen still had an audacity to degrade, Y/N.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back in fright shock when the file that had her precious designs composed in it flew and hit Y/N, the ragged corner of it scratching Y/N’s delicate skin and her boss was spinning away from her to stare coldly at the bustling city outside through the window drowning into fumes and anger.

Y/N opened her mouth, guppy like. Wanting to say something back and call her out on her act but she felt like her voice got strangled into her chest.

ShitShitShitShit.

Hammering in her brain when she felt something warm oozing from her skin and she’s panicking, wiping a vicious streak of blood from her jaw with her trembly fingers and scuttled straight to the washroom before anyone was able to see her in such vulnerable condition.

She had enough of it and left out of there without a word to anyone, not even to her cubby mate. She bottled all the emotions that were rattling against her bones to flood out of her each pore, until she could reach her home and once she did she was having a humongous and ominously scary breakdown, glad that Harry was stuck in meetings and the house was all of hers to cry ugly.

Once she was all blue lips, puffy and swelled up cheeks and eyes, nest of a hairstyle and all burned up lungs she was calming herself down with deep breaths just Harry taught her.

Scrubbing and cleaning herself off then going to bed without waiting for Harry, something very rare and the right hit in the nail for him to know she isn’t feeling well.

He was welcomed by silence. No dinner, just leftovers in fridge and his insides became all crummy and not very pleasant when he tailed to the living room and wasn’t met by his lovebug; either cramming her head to sketch down designs with an ipad in her lap while a buzz of random Netflix show accompanies her, dossing off cutely with hundreds of her study journals and magazines messed around her on the floor, or her in sleeping pyjamas with food already set up on the coffee table and brightening the whole room with her squeals when Harry announces his presence.

None of that instead he finds her in their bedroom, drowned under layers of blankies and her stuffies with room lit dark.

He coos softly, mattress dipping down from his weight and his heart expands and melts all around his other organs at how adorable she looks sleeping in his hoodie. He chuckles shaking his head at the way she has the strings of the hoodie squeezed around her head, not sure how she’s able to breath at how tight it seems around her neck.

Doing his own routine he was slipping into the bed, sighing from the warmth and how toasty she has made the bed already.

He bunched her against his chest and kissed her head then spooned her up in his arms, lips fluttering into a smile when she hummed and sniffed basking into his scent.

“Oi sleepy.” He whispers down at her cupping her neck and giggles softly when she whines mushing her cheek against his chest only to grunt sleepily and muffle her yelps into his sweatshirt.

Harry’s brows shoots up into slight bafflement then dips down into a frown when he slipped his calloused palm under her hoodie to cradle her jaw and felt something graze against his thumb that was about to press into her soft skin to bring her for a night kiss.

“Hey...” He perches himself on elbows, switching on the lamps and ignores her groans grasping the blanket she was about to pull over herself, huffing at him to let her sleep but Harry’s more stubborn than her if it involves assuring himself she’s okay and right now she’s not and Harry was already feeling it in his bones.

“Lemme see.” He persists gently, peeling the blankets and the hoodie off her head while she’s still stirring into sleep not able to open her eyes how much she tries because of the exhaustion dumped on her from whole day.

He stares at the wound she did a shit effort to cover with a gauze messily over her jaw and tiny bit area of her neck, a long bandage reaching to her ear and Harry tries to think rationally and not freak out as he touches it with cautious fingertips.

“What ... the –- fuck, Y/N what is...is this?” His mouth falls slack. His ears buzzing for a moment and he wraps his arm around her shoulder to bring her up as he leans them against the bedhead.

He feels bad when she knuckles at her eyes warily and mumbles something that’s barely audible.

“What happened, baby? Talk t’me? How did y'hurt yourself so bad?” Worried and fearful. He bombs her with questions not waiting for her to be fully awake and his heart breaks miserly upon focusing his gaze on her face, her angelic face that’s now soaked with sadness –- she’s been crying.

His loves been crying and he wasn’t there for her.

“Who did this to you?” Y/N's eyes widens abruptly. The alertness in them vivid for Harry to see under the lamp glow and she gasps, nose twitching and lip wobbling as Harry grabbed her chin and ducked to her eyelevel to ask her tenderly with a layer of strictness under his tone, “’M asking, Who did this to you, Y/N?” Her fragile heart could already take so much and she strangled out a sob lowering her head down in embarrassment.

“’M.. I’m —-.. no –..not telli –-..telling you,” She hiccups breathlessly, shaky fingers fisting onto the blanket thrown over Harry’s lap and he holds her hands kissing them gently, “I’ll know it one way or another baby. Don’t force me to get outta my way to find —–“ His soul stabbing glare was enough for Y/N to ramble and at first he thought he didn’t heard her right, that she was mumbling too much but when the reality seeped in gradually Harry almost froze in his spot.

“I know it’s very shameful —..” Y/N stammers barely able to get in a breather and Harry’s head snapped at her words, removing his nails away from making little graves in his palms and his jaw which almost felt like breaking from the hinges from how painfully furious he had it set relaxes as he tries to calm himself down and not to grab his keys and drive to that bitch's house to trash her place.

Because how fucking dare she treat anyone like that in his own fucking company.

“Hey, hey. Now none of that toots. Look at me darling, oh my sweet moppet ... shh.” It slices his heart in pain to see Y/N like this -- so small and disheartened. How dare she hurt his such delicate, sweet, loving girl like that? How!?

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself moppet. She should be, fo’ being such a heartless prick.” He spat, his guts full of bitter and hatred. His skin hot, his grip on her tightening protectively and his chin quivers trying to lock all his anger inside and not to burst out like a pressure cooker.

“I’ll deal with her tomorrow.” He nods curtly to himself, poking his tongue to wet his grimacing lips and Y/N was too woolly to get what’s he’s saying.

His gaze flitters back on her. His demeanour turned incredibly soft and gentle for her smooching a big generous kiss to her salty lips and then to both of her cheeks cared in both of his palms, “Are y'okay? D'you want me to take you to hospital?” She shakes her head mewling and melting and caressing herself into his wrist.

“Why didn’t you call me baby?” He asks her doing anything in his power to mask the hurt in his tone and sighs touching his forehead to her's when Y/N sniffled, “Didn’t wan’ you to worry.” He slid his forearm under her bum and scooched her atop of him, patching tiny careful pecks to her jaw.

“But, that’s love moppet. Worryin’ bout you, takin’ care of ye' and beating anyone raw who even dares to have evil intentions towards you,”

“Remember the time y'snubbed that one guy’s oh so expensive shoes who was very rude to me at one of your graduations party?” His simper turning into a proper ironic grin when she giggled hoarsely nodding along and the tension in his muscles released watching her getting better.

“Proper broke his big toe with your heel darling.” He giggles with her and then Y/N realised how sad and awful Harry’s feeling, how it’s hurting him the same way it hurt her an year ago.

“How about we have a glass of milk .... it’ll help us sleep less grumpy y'know.” He murmurs in the crook of her neck, elbow cocooned safely around her shoulder blade as he kisses the side of her head again and again nose buried in her hair to smell her treacly smell.

.

In the morning he was tragic to hear Y/N sound so heartbroken and dejected as she told him, “I’m going to resign and accept your offer.” Her smile small and sad, hugging him looping her limbs around his torso lazily.

“’kay baby, but first eat your brekkie.” He kissed her hair and squished her pout when he moved away to make some calls to his assistant.

Y/N had no-idea what he was upto. Glad that he was driving her to the company and that he was immensely supportive of her decision, her insides pooled with warmth and giddiness when he tried to cheer her up with his silly jokes and singing along the radio murmuring rubbish whenever he forgot the lyrics.

She was utterly confused when upon reaching he was giving the keys to valet boy to park his car and interviewing their fingers in a strong grip before leading her inside, even though she should be the one to do so.

She sputters a, “Huh?” when instead of telling her he’d wait for her in the lobby he’s rounding the corner towards the elevators and turns his wrist to push her infront of him to keep her closer to himself all the time.

When the doors are sliding apart the people scurrying outside halts for a moment, not looking Harry in eyes and keeping their heads low.

Phones were already rung in the building that Mr. Styles will be coming un-announced and everyone should be prepared to face the consequences if they stumble upon him – because well he isn’t in such a nice mood to start with.

“Harry.” She pokes him in ribs feebly, stepping away from him feeling timid due to few pair of eyes in elevator watching her awkwardly and maybe judgingly.

The tension in space could be cut through knife, as if everyone’s holding their breaths and she pouts taking a good look at Harry who’s smirking smugly confident in his element.

Do they all think her boyfriend’s way too intimidating and out of reach for them? They should know he’s such a sweetie!

Y/N huffs. Folding her arms over chest when Harry paws at her hips and pulls her back against his chest resting his chin atop of her head with a shit eating grin.

In all seriousness. Showing them that’s she’s his's and belongs under his wings, which will keep her safe and protected till his death.

“How did you know my boss's office’s on tenth floor?” She squints up at him suspiciously.

“Hmm. Dunno, moppet. Magical powers or summat?” He teases her, putting a hand at the small of her back to nudge her forward making her blush pink and ducks down to whisper in her ear, “You got this toots.” Biting her earlobe playfully to stroke down her anxiety upon sensing her hesitancy to step in the hallway that has cubicles lined up.

He already got this. He ordered his assistant to get the resign letter ready and showing her who’s the boss here’s not much of hurdle for him.

It’s weird. Bloody weird. Y/N wants to turn back and run away because the moment they step inside the whole damn hallway falls eerily pin drop silent and everyone’s peeking up from the short walls of their cubicles and then diverting their eyes immediately in embarrassment and apology seeing Harry behind her.

The ones who’re standing bows their heads lightly in respect for him and scurrying away to give him a way and that’s insanely surprising and weird.

Harry on the other hand was no stranger to those bogey looks. Of curiosity, uneasiness and dread when he passes through the crowd of his employs. Y/N is.

Slowly perhaps. It starts to sink in— jumbled and disoriented when she looks back at Harry. He’s keeping his head held high and shoulders tilted back with poise and conceitedness, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants and because though it makes him look like a proper snob— he is their boss and the owner of this company, he should act like one.

“Mr. Styles.” Y/N’s boss assistant Marina who’s usually very chirpy (and undeserving of all the yelling she gets from her boss) turns pale at Harry’s presence. She’s the only person Y/N's very keen of, now she’s fretting towards them with her head lowered and tries to stammer something but Harry’s walking past her with his lips pursued as he goes inside without knocking.

“Harry...” Y/N tattles behind him, lunging to clutch onto the hem of his suits coat, to scold him to stop babying her and let her handle it herself, too late since she’s already meeting with the sight of her overly stressed and upset boss.

Her knees almost gives in when Harry snaps his fingers for the employees that were inside to give them privacy and takes in the most relaxing breath of oxygen, feeling a gag of bitterness in his mouth from even looking at her.

Y/N gasped. Her boss (which she’s not sure is her boss anymore) gasped. The sweet assistant Marina gasped. When Harry told her in the most composing way– though his blood’s boiling absolutely sheathing through his veins.

“You’re fired.” His demeanour cold and voice monotone not giving a fuck how much she shakes and cries for his forgiveness.

“Mr. Styles. I..I can explain–-" She stammers rushing from the back of her desk and stops obediently when Harry gestures her to not to take another step forward.

“There’s no excuse for abuse. I don’t want your lame explanations, I can’t have an abusive asshole running my company for me ... we might be strict on our employees but we aren’t monsters.” He grits, his eyes flaring piercingly with rage and showing no empathy towards her as she pleads him to forgive her mistake– those bricks of money makes you work baby.

“You hurt someone so dearly to me ‘n think I’ll forgive ye'?” The assistance eye’s blows away at newfound information, Harry Styles love of life’s none other than Y/N. The girl she used to have smoked sandwiches and milkshakes with in their lunch breaks.

“I didn’t know ...” He chuckles ironically at her hypocrisy and that’s the last straw for him before he’s threatening her to call the security and she’s getting out of there cursing him under her breath but Harry grabs her from elbow roughly, conceding his brow at her dauntingly.

"Apologise to her right fuckin' now."

"Sorry, Mrs Styles. I'm very ashamed of what I did." She says nervously and Y/N nods not able to speak from the butterflies that are flapping around her stomach, which sure didn't go unnoticed at Harry's side and he smirks at Y/N.

When they’re left alone. Jovial cackles are bouncing against the walls and he’s pressing his hip to the desk, securing his hands around his triceps as he folds his arms infront of his chest entertaining himself to the cute and fuzzy reactions of his girl at what just happened.

“See. Told ya, nobody could defy my bossiness at work.” He grins at her, jerking his hand towards his chest to usher her closer to him and boops her nose smacking an obnoxiously loud kiss to her mouth when she toddles in his arms.

“The offers still there,” He looks down at her cheekily and she shakes her head, a small smile kicking up her lips at his determination and devotion.

“Couldn’t say no to you, could I? What will you be owning secretly next time?” She nips at him, planting her palms firmly against his midriff feeling the crispiness of his shirt underneath his jacket.

“A bakery shop ....?” He muses in the most pondering voice and she scoffs at him through pattering of giggles, “Suck it up Mr. Styles.”

“Hey! I know my prick’s huge but not tha’ much for me to suck it myself.”

Y/N chokes onto her own spit. Shaking her head at him.

“Your innocent employees knows how vulgar you’re?”

“Uhmm. Infact, She gets very hot hearin’ me like tha'.” He bobs his head grinning at her wickedly and she smacks his shoulder, “Harry!”

“Yeahhh! Tell everyone how good I make you feel babbbyy—....” Y/N clamps her hand around his mouth to muffle his lewd fake moaning.

“You’re so embarrassing.” She grumbles wiping his spit sticking to her palm down her skirt and spins around to head for the door expecting him to follow her.

“You don’t talk to boss like that!” He trails behind her, “Boss my ass!” She quips out a squeal looking around to make sure that nobody saw it when Harry slapped her bum.

“Boss someone’s ‘bout to get a pink ass.”

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

[saikagerights]

Lay Me Down to Rest - Entry for Day of MirSan 2021

Hello there! And welcome to my first Inuyasha fanfiction, as apart of the @dayofmirsan event. 

I initially was planning to be an observer of the event, but sudden inspiration struck at 1am during my nightly routine of falling asleep to Inuyasha. Rewatching the Monkey Sprite episode is interesting for many reasons. For one, there was an unhealthy amount of filler added into the anime adaptation of this story-line, which gave hit-or-miss comedy. But the most important thing is that Miroku and Sango are mostly unaccounted for in this story-line, which gives shippers like me an opportunity to write some “off-screen development” for them. And though the anime does give us an idea, I’m afraid that Miroku’s indifference and frustrated edge in the scene feels a bit off, so I decided to add a bit of a bit of context. Consider this a bit of a fusion between the anime in manga, though the scene is based off of the anime. Also I was very liberal with my use of English/Japanese dub terminology. I watched the anime in English, but switched over to the manga to replace the Final Act, so it’s a bit inconsistent. 

I’ve been observing this fandom from afar ever since I started getting into Inuyasha back in December, and though I wanted to try and engage with it, it seemed very daunting given this fandom’s age and organization. But I’m very grateful that I was given the chance to participate in this event, and lucky that inspiration struck me at the right time. I’ve really been looking forward to seeing the works that come out of this event, and I hope you enjoy my contribution. 

And thanks for the mods for allowing me to share my work with you fellow fans

InuYasha and it’s properties are owned by creator Rumiko Takahashi and Sunrise 

Read on AO3

Sango tailed the monk as he led their investigation. The villagers they had asked so far had no knowledge of the wicked demon, only of the pestering monkeys that were ravaging their fields. Her companion simply nodded, thanking them for their time and promising that the Inugami would save their village. They soon found themselves at the outskirts of the village on an empty patch of land outside the forest, save for one tall tree. Sango found his behavior during their search to be strange, especially as he now paused at the tree, leaving his Shakujo leaning against its trunk.

Was he just as stumped as she was? Would this reprieve be a chance for them to rethink their approach? 

“Why have we stopped here, Miroku?” She questioned. “Aren’t we supposed to search for Naraku’s whereabouts?”

Her befuddlement heightened as he laid his body to rest in the grass underneath the shade of the tree with a sigh, both hands pillowing his head. His intentions then became clear at the sight of his eyelids slipping shut.

“How might we do that when we have neither Inuyasha’s nose or Kagome’s detection?” His tone reflected his relaxed poise. “I merely said that so that Inuyasha would be more inclined to help those villagers.”

Her head tilted downward towards the monk’s resting face. “I understand wanting to help, but do you honestly think that Inuyasha dealing with those monkeys will get us any closer to finding him?

“Not particularly.” He punctuated the off-handed remark with a yawn, overstating his disinterest. “But enough of that... Why don’t you join me here?”

She stood awestruck at his bold request. He lays there while their friends were helping this poor village and now he asks her to do the same? If Inuyahsa were to find out, he’d surely have more pressing things to worry about than the food security of the village. 

“I don’t think it would be wise, considering your flippant lies.”

The man remained still, no sign of concern disrupting his posture. 

“If you changed back into your battle attire before our return, they’d never suspect a thing.” He ignored her statement, a peaceful smile casually appearing on his face. She instantly recognized this move. He was fully convinced he would get his way, the sleazy crook. “Besides, I’m sure sleep has been as kind to you as it has been to me as of late.”

Although it was usually hard to detect amongst his manner of speaking, the monk’s sarcasm was not missed by the slayer. She knew very well that Naraku’s sudden disappearance had their whole group on edge, including herself. And while sleep had become its own battle, the desperate investigations of their enemy have left her distracted from everything else. Sleep meant the rest needed to fight again, but it also meant time alone with one’s most intimate thoughts. What always plagued her mind nowadays were things she’d rather not willingly engage. Finding Naraku should be her biggest concern now, but she indulged her companion despite what she would consider was her better judgement.

The monk had a particular talent for steering her away from rationality.

“Knowing your pervy ways, I’m sure you’d try and sneak a peek at me”

The monk could’ve never noticed the sneer on her face behind his still-closed eyes. The same smile was plastered on his face as well, despite her accusation. He really did enjoy giving her grief, didn’t he...

“Trust me, my dear. I have no intention of moving from this spot for a while. Or at least until Inuyasha comes for my head.”

 “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I left Kilala here to guard this spot until I returned.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t mind at all. I’m sure she’d love to watch me lie here, right Kilala?”  

Sango looked to the nekomata, who merely chuffed in response. She was wary of Kilala’s strange trust in the monk at times, but she was sure that the demon would keep an eye on him in case he tried something funny. 

Miroku took this as the perfect time to reveal his indigo eyes to her. 

 “Please, my intentions are more honorable than what they seem, believe me.”

There it was, that gentle voice of his used to convince her of his authenticity. The same breathy tones that sent her heart racing and her stomach in somersaults. She knew Miroku was confident in his charms, but she also liked to think that he was fully aware of this game they played. She only came to grips with it recently, but there was something going on. 

They’d fight, they’d talk it through, and just when she thought he would try to make a move, that damn hand of his would find the wrong place to caress. Or it would be when she found herself grieving once more, and he could comfort her with his words alone. How did he always know what to say that made everything clear and could heal every fiber of her being, but also had a hand that never failed to do the exact opposite? He was a truly frustrating man, but he was the only one she ever considered more than just that. 

But did he really know? That was a puzzle Sango couldn’t solve. It wasn’t as if anything meaningful resulted from these escapades. Afterwards, they would act as if nothing happened, and he would return to his typical flirtatious ways with any woman that entered his line of sight. So Sango liked to think that Miroku fully knew that he was toying with her feelings. That way it made it easier to lower her expectations and resent them despite Kagome’s not-so-subtle prodding. 

When she became abruptly aware that her eyes had been locked on him for too long, she made her hasty retreat, hoping he didn’t catch her bright red flush in the shade of the tree. 

“This man will be the death of me,” she softly cursed herself as soon as she knew she left his earshot. 

_______________________________________________________________

Upon her return to their little “spot,” she was greeted by an alert Miroku. His body was now fully upright and turned towards her approaching form. 

“You’ve accepted my invitation, I see”

“I thought you were trying to sleep”

“I still am, but I’d figured it would help if I got a quick glimpse of your beauty before-hand.”

She rolled her eyes at his shameless attempt. “You really are troublesome, you know that?”

“You wound me, dear Sango!” He unceremoniously flopped back into his previous position, his left hand patting the spot next to him. “You are free to lie beside me if you wish.” 

Without the need for consideration, she silently opted to sit against Kilala’s curled form, stretching her legs in front of her. He managed to convince her to relax alongside him, but she had no intention of allowing herself to get too comfortable around him in the likely case the monk’s wandering hands wandered once more. He sighed audibly at her decision, but allowed his eyes to close again without any further word. He could act like a child all he wanted, but she would not budge. 

She watched the man for a while, observing his state of rest. She could tell as much that he hadn’t fallen asleep just yet by all of his idle noises and the way he kept trying to steal a glance in her direction. 

“Can’t sleep?”

She hadn’t even tried to close her eyes just yet, as she was still trying to grasp their current situation. Why was he so insistent on sleeping if he was just going to try and stare at her the entire afternoon? Why did he lie to Inuyasha in the first place if this was how they would spend their time? With all these questions moving around in her head, she might as well ask for the most basic of them.

“Miroku? Why do you lie and steal as casually as you do? I always thought that monks were pure-hearted.”

“What a wonderful question!” He exclaimed. With such enthusiasm, she was almost afraid of the answer she would soon receive from him. “I’ve been traveling on my own for so long, and it’s quite difficult to acquire wealth in such unfortunate times. I wish to give aid to those in need, but I also believe that it never hurts to help yourself as well.” He settled for an even tone and let his eyes slip open once more. 

 “And you are right, It is true that holy-people such as myself are meant to be free of sin. But,  I was born tainted by the hole that resides in my hand.” His voice tapered off at his pause, the newfound silence growing thick with each passing moment. His sound returned to him, soft and low, as if it were only meant for his ears alone. 

“It doesn’t matter how much I devote myself to my faith to any idol or deity. My curse is hell-bent on deciding my fate....”

But we are trying to stop Naraku! To free you from the Kazaana. You can always change your path after that! She immediately contested, perhaps a little too loudly, but she didn’t care. How dare he speak so little of himself and avoid her gaze as he did it?! She refused to accept his belittling statements. 

“It is very hard for me to see a future for myself at this time, I’m afraid…” He brought his head up to look at her. A flash of fear ran through his eyes before he looked down once more. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t speak like that.”

He’s afraid…

And he had every right to be. 

“Please don’t apologize.”

He never showed it in front of their group, but behind that calm and smooth exterior remained a man trembling under the weight of his own mortality. He was a man after all, and men were never to show what made them most vulnerable. But with how much he gives to help others, it feels unfair for him to just allow himself to suffer inside as he did.

 If they understood each other as well as he liked to claim, then she knew he hated the restless feeling they had knowing nothing of where their wicked nemesis resided, surely plotting something to exploit the fears he caused within their hearts. Knowing that her poor brother remained in that demon’s grasp sickened her to her core, and sitting around with no leads made it hard to lay dormant as they did now. 

“I get it. I am just as frustrated as you… About Kohaku-”

“-You don’t need to go any further” He  interrupted her thoughts, I didn’t mean to remind you of your pain like that.”

 “Miroku-” 

 “-Please,” he sharply cut in once more, hoarseness settling into his throat. He must’ve noticed it as well, as he cleared his throat soon after. “let’s just try to find rest while we still can.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to force unconsciousness upon himself. Sango relented, trying to relax her body, idly stroking Kilala as she watched the man slowly succumb to rest. It was surreal to see him struggle like this when it seemed like meditation was second nature to him. She decided on trying for sleep once his breathing evened out and all the remaining tension left his face. 

________________________________________________________________

Miroku wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but he could tell from the shadows before him had grown considerably when his eyes peered open. He turned his head to see Sango now curled up against Kilala, her face all but buried in her demon companion’s fur. He slowly rose to his feet, slightly stretching as he made an intake of his surroundings. It looked as if the sun would soon begin it’s retreat from the sky. The monk knew the rest was necessary, but he definitely didn’t look forward to another predictively sleepless night. 

One more glance at Sango’s sleeping form was enough to convince him to approach her, neglecting his Shakujo to silence his movements. He knew, probably better than anybody, of the threat imposed by the slayer’s attuned senses. He also knew the danger of being caught if she awoke to his gawking. Unfortunately it was a risk he was willing for one small fleeting moment to stare at her.

What an idiot he had been for making her sympathize with his life. Even worse that it reminded her of her own grief. He was happy to indulge her curiosity, but when he looked up at her, he turned cowardly at what he saw. It wasn’t fear, or sadness over his grim fate. It was the very same fire that lit behind her eyes in battle. 

She was prepared to fight for him, it seemed…

He dare not think that she would go any farther for that. He was not worth her death. In fact, nothing was worth her death. The honor of her clan was at stake, and her life was essential in carrying on their legacy. One measly itinerant monk with a fated death should be worthless in her eyes, even if he wanted nothing more than to keep her alive.

Even if he wanted more than anything to see a future with her.

He turned away from her, returning to his spot in a now seated position. The monk had half a mind to wake the woman, but decided against it. Every waking moment for her was its own battle, after all. She needed all the rest she could get. And he’d gladly wait for her until that battle resumed, and fight with her at every step.

And if dying for her now meant he could spend the next life by her side, then he would welcome death with open arms. 

“I hope this woman is the death of me,” he softly wished before all else melted away to his own meditation.

______________________________________________________________

Yeah I realized I took some liberties here with how Miroku and Sango’s relationship was at this point. This episode takes place after the Temptress of the Mist and Demon-Head castle, but far behind Mt. Hakurei, so what was going on with them hadn’t really become a “pattern” just yet. And Miroku had just comforted her in her grieving state for the first time right before that. Sango wasn’t deep enough to say he was her reason for living, so that’s why I kept her on the fence and didn’t have her feel too disappointed, because that’s what came after Mt Hakurei. 

I’m a sucker for long winded perspective changes, especially here with all the parallels I draw between them. Some of my best lines were written here, especially the ending line. My GOD. I swear, I wrote that and everything made sense. I said “yes” over and over again, it was so good.

Also can you tell whose voice I’m talking about when describing Miroku’s? The answer is Koji Tsujitani. I always knew about Tsujitani’s delivery that makes Miroku sound truly “fake” but I noticed rather recently how he would add so much breath, especially in serious scenes. On the other hand, Kirby Morrow played the character down and deep in his throat, which isn’t bad when talking about his overall performance, but I decided to favor Tsujitani’s performance in this instance. 

(I’m a classically trained singer and a music education major, so I’m a nut for analyzing voice acting. I have respect for both of these men may they rest in peace.)

Thanks again for the opportunity, and I hope to write more for this series. 

-Saikage

[cozycryptidcorner]

Potamoi (Greek River God) x Reader (sfw)

A commission for the wonderful and kind @atalantaroars! She wanted a meet-cute with the monster match I wrote for her awhile ago. Hope you all enjoy the hunky water boi as much as I did creating him!

There are two options for you today: hike a trail, or go one more week in the stifling silence of your house and go absolutely insane. It doesn’t take much mental convincing to pack up a little backpack with snacks and water, waking up while the sun is barely more than a hint in the sky. This might not be your usual mode of operation, to drop everything and spend time out in nature despite whatever responsibilities you still have at home, but you’ve been pushed to the fucking brink lately and need to spice things up.

There’s an unmistakable scent of growth the moment you step out of your car, one that calls your body forward as if you say welcome home. You take in a few long, deep breaths, trying to let the cold morning air medicate your soul in the only way nature can, a deep sense of relaxation overcoming your mind and body as you try to clear your worries away. Only when you feel mentally ready to take on the hike, do you approach the entrance of the nature reserve.

A large, wooden board is painted with the many different trails you can take, all winding around the mountain range, labeled with various symbols that indicate difficulty levels. While you don’t think you could manage one of the more difficult ones, you also think you might not find much fulfillment in one of the easier paths, so you settle for one a bit in the middle. This trail should wrap around one of the valleys, following the main river that brings life to a neighboring town, one fed by the melting snow from the tips of the higher peaks.

Everything is quiet, peaceful, you don’t see anyone else as you begin to walk the trail, basking in the sunlight before it’s drowned out by the towering trees. Birds chirp as you continue on, sticking close to the side of the matted dirt, right where vegetation dares to attempt growing. Wildflowers dot the side of the hill as the earth swells upward, white, light blue, and yellow smattering color amidst the green. The air is almost shockingly different from what you’re used to, your body is trying to compensate for the freshness, but it doesn’t quite know how yet.

When you take a break, the sun is already high in the sky, sweat now beading down your forehead. The water you carelessly packed tastes divine, you have to be careful not to drink too much or too fast, saving most of it for later. You even eat your lunch when you get to a pile of rocks that work as a table and seat, the flat, elevated surface perfect for tossing your food onto without worrying about it falling off.

Once you are satisfied that you’ve explored the trail as long as you desire, you decide that it’s about time to head back. Even though your path into the forest seemed straightforward and easy to remember, there are suddenly several branching paths that you didn’t even realize you passed just moments before… which isn’t good, to say the least. Biting your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, you try to logic yourself into taking the one that seems like it blends seamlessly into the trail you’re walking.

Or maybe it would be best to keep going in the direction you were already heading, after all, the trails are supposed to loop around and head back to the parking lot, the keyword here being eventually. Some of them are supposed to take a seasoned hiker a full day, and you don’t remember how long this certain one is going to take because you had decided previously that you would turn back anyways.

Letting out a breath, you decide that it might be a better option to take the more straightforward path instead of risk getting lost, so you tighten the straps of your backpack and keep walking. As you go, you think about how best to ration what’s left of your water, in case you’re in for a much longer hike than you initially anticipated because you’re not sure if you can realistically make it.

You take another well-needed rest after a long while, trying to close your eyes and chill out, trying to find the same solace in nature that you felt earlier in the morning. Instead of that same, peaceful aura that settled around your body in a soft, gentle wave, you only feel more tense and anxious as you did before. The sounds of the forest are no longer warm and inviting, the screech of cicada is now like a hard, ugly accusation, the occasional snapping of twigs don’t fill your heart up with the thought of life, and the sky’s tone seems to turn almost a hateful gray as the sun makes an almost hasty descent.

Up ahead, there’s a river, and if you remember correctly, civilization is often downstream. Letting out a breath, crossing your arms over your chest, you look down at the water, internally fighting over what you should do. After a long moment of contemplation, you decide to stick to the trail, but just as you take a step on the crunching gravel, you spot someone over by the water. To say you almost tripped over yourself to get to them wouldn’t be an understatement; you almost bite the dust before you were able to catch your balance.

After regaining your stability and taking a second look, you realize with no small amount of shock that the man appears to not only be petting a deer but also… talking to it? You can hear the voice he uses on it, soft, soothing tones, clearly offering comfort of some kind. Whatever he is doing must be working, because the deer slowly stops thrashing about, it’s squeaking cries slowly dissipating as it seems to melt back into a state of calm.

Even though his back is towards you, he seems to sense your presence, because there’s an underlying tenseness in his body posture. Once the deer doesn’t seem too anxious anymore, he says, without so much as turning around, “I know you’re out there, at least do me the service of showing your face.”

“Um,” you say, after a moment unsure of what else to do, but introduce yourself, “hi. I’m very lost right now.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you wonder if he maybe was referencing some other person that is also hiding in the woods?

“I suspected,” he pets at a deer you hadn’t noticed prior, glancing up at you only after he manages to calm the creature down from its initial panic, “we don’t get a lot of your kind out this deep in the forest.”

“Er,” you look over at the deer, who seems to be regarding you with the utmost suspicion, “yeah, I wasn’t really planning on coming this deep into the forest, either. But, like, if you could point me in the direction of the parking lot, or literally any major highway, that would be absolutely fantastic.”

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s a massive, as in, you knew he was large for a man when you approached him, but you’re just now processing it all. He very well could be some kind of action movie star, his muscles, face shape, and stature all suggest that he’s very, very important, and you should pay attention to everything he says. As you watch him, he seems to look upwards at the sky, brow furrowed as though doing many mental calculations, then sighs.

“You won’t be able to leave this pocket of the forest until morning,” he says, releasing his steady hand on the deer’s flank.

“Um, what?” You aren’t sure if you heard him correctly, but you’re pretty certain he did not tell you that you can’t leave. “How is that even supposed to work? I came in through the main trail, surely there’s a way back.”

“Not once the sun is no longer in the sky.” He picks up a stick from the nearby banks, and now you realize that while his lower half is in the water, it’s not… it’s not human colors, more like… a kaleidoscope of some kind? Like he’s wearing those fancy mermaid tails, the kind you can buy off the internet, except what reason could he possibly have to wear one in the middle of a forest? “You will have to wait for night to run its course before you can return.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s not how basic geography works,” you say, tensing at the thought of spending however many hours the sun is gone out in the wilderness.

“It has nothing to do with basic geography, and you will do well to heed my words,” the man almost snaps, only marginally restraining himself from sounding rude. “This part of the forest encloses once the sun sinks below the horizon, and opens when it returns. It is this way to protect what little of Gaia’s children are left from your kind.”

You swallow nervously, not believing him in the slightest, so you think over your options in the meantime. There isn’t a lot for you to work with, your phone has no signal, and using your flashlight will eat up the battery fast than you might be able to find your way back to the main trail. Still, you’d rather be apart from him, even though he hasn’t given you any weird vibes beyond the obvious, you don’t want to be stuck here with him overnight.

So you do what you think is best, turning around and heading back for the trail, except there isn’t any trail. And by that, even though you were just walking on a gravel pathway barely more than five minutes ago, and you know it was in this direction, it’s nowhere to be found. Sucking in your breath, you close your eyes and count to ten, then whirl around and march back to where the man still lounges, halfway in the stream.

Trying to keep your voice from wobbling, you ask, “can you please point me to the regular trail? I think I… um, misplaced it.”

He pokes the water with the stick without looking at you, “you won’t find it until sunrise.”

Swallowing thickly, you try to say without trembling, “I don’t understand.”

With a sigh, he turns to the sandy banks, using the stick to draw a rudimentary chart, and in the dying light of dusk, you can manage to make out what he’s trying to convey. “This is the land of Gaia,” he draws out a circle, “which is the world you are familiar with. It is the physical plane at its most fundamental levels, meat and bone and blood grow and churn within the earth mother and her offspring. This land- this forest, is not a part of Gaia’s form,” here, her draws another bubble, halfway in the larger circle, halfway out, “halfway physical, but able to separate as it needs to. Do you understand?”

“Not really,” you say, trying to be truthful, and still just as anxious and frightened as ever.

He lets out a frustrated breath and tries to reiterate, “this separate pocket of world that can be hidden away or entirely separated on its own, and closes itself off once the sun sets. You must have stumbled over the boundaries while you were wandering, did you end up seeming to go around in circles on paths that don’t make any sense?”

Oh, god. “I- yes.”

“Exactly what I thought.” There’s a shimmering glimmer in your periphery, and you realize that his lower half is, in fact, a tail. “I’m sorry to inform you that you’re just going to be stuck here overnight.”

You feel absolutely defeated, miserable, broken, because how the hell are you supposed to be handling this now? Apparently, you’re trapped in some sort of fucking pocket dimension, and you can’t do anything about it, and the only other person here to help you is some sort of merman who seems less than pleased to be in your presence.

“So I just… wait here?” You’re doing your best to not cry, goddamnit. No fucking tears. In the meantime, you’re digging around your backpack for your can of bear spray, of which should completely wreck the man should he try to make the wrong move.

“I suppose,” he softens, just a bit, “you can stay here with me, because there are things roaming these woods that wouldn’t dare approach you so long as I am here.”

Oh, wonderful. “That would be nice,” you mumble, plopping yourself onto a rock, folding your legs up and making yourself seem small.

The woods are never really silent, so even though the two of you share no conversation, there is a background filled to the brim with dozens of different noises. Nocturnal creatures begin to creep out of their homes, an owl hooting just close enough for you to make out its specific call, crickets still chirping despite the descent of the sun, and the crunching of stray twigs and leaves upon the ground suggests a silent stalker. You’re suddenly thrilled to have accepted this odd man’s offer to stay by his side for the night.

The stars blink down, twinkling in the sky, almost like each individual eyes staring down at you from above. You remember that Ancient Greeks believe that each cluster used to be a living thing- Caster and Pollux, Cassiopea, Orion, and so on, people who died and then ascended into the sky to watch the earth below. You wonder if they are like guardians, keeping the inhabitants of the ground safe from anything that lurks in the depths of the void above, or if they are merely passing observers to whatever happens around them, trapped in time.

“So,” you swallow almost painfully, trying to make some conversation, “how do you know so much about the way this, um, pocket dimension thing works?”

“I told you that Gaia herself is protecting her children,” he says, not impatiently, nor unkindly. “The last effort to keep Prometheus’ biggest mistake at bay.”

“Right, of course,” you say, not believing him in the very slightest. “And you live here, then? With the blessings of Gaia?”

“Of course,” he says it like there’s no other possibility, “she looks after her children.”

“And I’m just a spawn of Prometheus?” You say it with some amount of humor, poking at his weird explanations, but he takes it seriously.

“Even if there are those here who would have you killed, just to chew your bones between their teeth and taste your blood. I will not allow that to happen.”

“Oh,” you say, trying not to sound awkward about it, “thank you.”

Silence follows, and you hear some crunching of leaves accompanying the water trickling through its creek. Still, you’d rather not spend the night in awkward silence, so you chew your bottom lip and try to quickly come up with something else to talk about. Anything. You wonder if he might know about modern devices, or if he would even care, but you need to reassure yourself now that it’s too dark to see that he’s still there.

As though reading your thoughts, he speaks first. “Tell me about your home.”

Relief fills your veins, so you do. You spill your guts like you’re at a confessional and it’s your death day, opening up every single crevice of your life back in reality and letting it pour out of your mouth like a broken dam. Where you were born, where you lived, where you moved, school, the people who went to school, friends, families, enemies. Not necessarily in that order, the night goes so shockingly fast that you barely keep track of what you’ve already said. You tell him about cities, about corporations, about countries, about charities. Humanity at both its best and its worst, and even what happens in between.

He’s a good listener, too, offering questions here and there, following your train of thought even though sometimes it doesn’t even make sense to you. He seems to be able to pick up on any gaps of logic you’ve forgotten to say, asking for clarification on some things, wishing for more detail on others, even requesting information about kingdoms you know haven’t existed for hundreds of years. And… better yet, he seems to enjoy talking to you.

“So,” you say, putting on your jacket to fight the biting night chill, “does this part of the forest happen every single night?”

“Yes,” he says, and you may be imagining it, but you think there might be some kind of tone of relief in his voice. “Yes, the forests merge every day, only to part during the night.”

“Theoretically, then,” you fan your fingers out, folding them together, “I could come back. To… like, visit, or something.”

“If you wanted to, then yes, you most certainly could.”

You close your eyes tight, shutting out the stars and the moon. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose or anything, but like, if you’d want to know more about the modern human world, I could come back prepared. With like, an iPad and a PowerPoint ready.”

“Would you?” He sounds a bit mystified, and you realize you probably didn’t cover those two things during your talks. As he mulls it over, the first element of daytime bashfully pokes out from the trees, the sky lighting just enough to swallow up the stars.

“If you wanted my company.”

“Yes,” he says very firmly, “you’re…. Fascinating, a very fascinating specimen of your species. I do not sense any bloodlust that I’ve heard is so very common in your kind.”

That’s the nicest thing he’s said about you, and you find your chest thundering in response. “Tha-thank you, I guess.”

“And I would also like to see this iPad and PowerPoint.”

You feel your cheeks redden slightly. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

An Interlude — Warmth Under the Covers

The Master of Chaldea — Ritsuka Fujimaru — checks in on his allies, only to find them slacking off yet again.

What’s a Guda to do?

[POV-Ritsuka]

—

I am a Master of Chaldea.

That is what I am — nothing more, nothing less.

The guy operating the summoning system most of the time — one of the two guys who keeps the contracts between the Servants that Chaldea summons.

Mash’s Senpai.

I’m a Cause, and so is my coworker.

“...That’s right. That makes me a badass now, sort of!”

I can feel my fingers run through my hair as I wink at the mirror before me. Comparing my two options to figure out which one I preferred in the Combat Uniform, I ran over my daily routine.

Step one, of course, was figuring out how much I wanted to do myself up in the morning. The Chaldea bathrooms had the perfect lighting to check my face and skin, ensuring my skincare routine was up to snuff. Making sure my eyes weren’t bloodshot from the two hours’ sleep — making sure the bags under my eyes were concealed with a little bit of makeup.

“It’s like every day, Suzie’s training becomes a little more useful.”

That’s right — a closer look, and my cheeks were smooth as a baby’s bottom — my eyes as normal as they could get, considering their bright orange shade. At least the curtains matched the windows — always something that did bother me about my other look, that my hair wasn’t blue.

“...Then again, that would look awful with the uniform.”

The thought made my spine shiver. Like a genderswapped Rei — not bad, but not exactly the visual I liked seeing.

Truly, it was preferable to have that set form — anything else would be nauseating to even think about.

“...That should do it.”

Yes, truly — I looked perfectly fine, now. Care had to be taken to ensure I looked like my best.

That, of course, was easier than worrying the others.

...

...The bathrooms led to the Chaldea halls, just as well as they led to my quarters. Why the creators did this always confused me — even moreso, that the doors were one-sided, and were flush with the wall, so you couldn’t even get back in.

“Goddamned mages and their one-way bathroom door magic.”

Adjusting the plugsuit that never failed to get bunched up near my arm, and trying to imagine the map of Chaldea in my head, I put one foot in front of the other and started course to the cafeteria. Simply a hop, skip, and approximately twenty-five different hallways that look exactly the same away — my only saving grace being how many times I’ve made this journey before.

That, and the burning Olive Garden due east of the Cafeteria, whose smoke signalled the food area from a mile away.

And for much of the trip, it was the same as it always was — simply my footsteps echoing in an empty hallway, the only accompaniment being the odd intercom message from Da Vinci letting the staff know of a Singularity that had only recently cropped up.

“Just calling to let you all know that we will begin our scheduled Rayshift in four days~! Prepare yourselves for it!”

...We never really had a break. Even walking down these empty, empty halls, my footsteps served only to momentarily break up the endless thoughts of what came next.

‘A mystery Singularity. Is that what it is? I’ve never heard of it. We had the four Pseudo-Singularities handled already. There shouldn’t be any Pillars left! On top of that, we still don’t know the first thing about its location, and even if we did...’

Tap.

‘...It’s not like we can do anything to stop it. All my research, and nothing about this makes any sense at all. Maybe a Foreigner could do it, but—‘

Tap.

‘—Why? There’s no reason to make a Singularity anymore. No Demon Pillars left. The Lostbelts are already destroying mankind. There’s nothing left to do. And—‘

Tap.

‘...We need a break. We need a break from this — from ALL of this. Cadence needs a break, and that’s to say nothing of myself. Can’t we have a moment to sleep..?! Can’t we have even a second to rest our eyes, snooze, and..?!’

The smoke overwhelmed my thought. Against the harsh fumes of a burning building, and the strange smell of spice, rational thought was impossible to maintain — and the growing headache of a nightmare-riddled sleep wasn’t exactly helping matters.

Tap.

It wasn’t far now, surely. Another step forward, and —

...

...Between the tables of the cafeteria, there lay a kotatsu.

I made it with Da Vinci’s help just a few days before. A little wooden table, at least compared to the surrounding cafeteria tables — a red blanket sort of thing, and a heater underneath that Da Vinci cleverly placed carefully to avoid burning oneself. It could sit, I reckoned, four people on a good day —

—I didn’t account for Gorgon, clearly.

Finally directing my gaze to what was coming out of the blanket of the kotatsu — and moving forward as to get the damned Olive Garden smoke out of my eyes — I was met first with the ever-clear figure of Gorgon. Eyes just barely shut, a hand positioned to form a makeshift pillow, and a tail surrounding something out of view, she drew a figure much unlike what I’d previously seen — only made a little more curious with the resting Lobo just behind her, which made its resting spot close to her in order to be as warm as possible. Hessian, for what it was worth, was still awake, sitting at a table nearby — offering me a wave of recognition as I returned my gaze to the table.

Jeanne Alter lay — more accurately, sat — at the kotatsu, almost as if she were awake, her hand still gently grasping a bag of chips that had by now spilled across the oak surface of the table. If it weren’t for her loud snoring, and her face smushed against the table, she would’ve had me convinced she was still awake.

Circling around, I found an Artoria that seemed quite familiar — Lancer, clad in a black turtleneck sweater, dark grey jeans, and her esteemed headpiece, resting her head on her hand and looking almost wistfully at whatever Gorgon had wrapped up in her tail. Even as I approached, she didn’t even look back in recognition — as if I never existed at all, or as if she were staring through a window that wouldn’t accommodate for anything Ritsuka-shaped.

And as I followed her unshifting gaze, I found —

—Wrapped in Gorgon’s tail, a young lady, sharp black hair tied up in an impressive style I couldn’t quite describe. Her face, uncovered by a mask I’d grown accustomed to seeing, seemed at peace — eyes gently shut, arms wrapped around...

“...Cadence, you motherfucker.”

The careful, wistful gaze of Lancer Alter, the comically tight squeeze of a sleeping Gorgon, and the gentle hold of Ushiwaka, all contained a cowardly Master that somehow bonded with the most hateful, evil beings alive.

In a sense, it would bring about the ultimate safety, being around those that would always fight to protect that which they care of — even if their ultimate fate is to burn all that lives, surely some safety remained in keeping close to those who would protect you from anything they hated most.

“...This guy claims he’s a one-on-one sort of guy, yet he ends up like this.”

...It wasn’t like I had any right to complain — I did have Mash, and that was utter perfection, so I supposed he had the right to find a portion of that.

“...I’m never letting him live this down.”

“...Ritsuka.”

...I glanced over to Lancer Alter, who seemingly only now clued into my existence — her almost hazy eyes, as if overlaid with a world both like and unlike reality, gazed both at me — and through me.

“What is it?”

“...Rest well. Your journey will not end so easily — you would do well to follow his lead.”

...Her gaze moved back to Cadence, who hadn’t moved a muscle. If not for the subtle sound of his breath, I’d have presumed him dead — though he wouldn’t have much room to move, the way he was.

“...I don’t think I can rest that well, Lancer. He’s got two ladies keeping him warm, and a third keeping an eye on him. Can’t tell me I’ll ever rest like that.”

...At that, the Lancer only smirked.

“...It shocks me as much as any other, Ritsuka, that this has happened. But... You have your own who would be all too willing to provide, no?”

I could hear myself let out a snort in a desperate attempt not to laugh.

“Only one with Ritsuka cuddle privileges is Mash. Serenity gets a pass, but the others terrify me.”

“...So be it. Find those two, and rest. If that is how you rest best, then so be it.”

...Keeping a close look at her eyes, the fog faded ever-so-slightly as she kept watch over the other Master. I reckoned it was probably due to the contract being transferred to him — though Cadence did always have the strange habit of bringing Alters down to earth. If he weren’t so scared of the others...

“...You do the same, Lancer. Don’t watch over the guy forever. If you wanna get in there, Gorgon could probably fit you, too.”

As I briefly procured me phone to snap a picture of the scene before me, to tease Cadence with later, Lancer only laughed back.

“I am already dreaming, Ritsuka. I have no need to rest.”

“Right, right.”

Even as I turned around, and began setting foot outside the cafeteria with a wave Lancer’s way, my eyes remained on the photo of Cadence.

A lot had changed — a lot would still yet change.

Friends had been made in unlikely places, enemies made of friends, and friends of enemies.

But in all this, even a guy as paranoid as Cadence found time to rest — he found company with Avengers, and those more evil than he could even hope to be, and he found safety in their loyalty and affection, so it seemed.

...

“...I guess I don’t need to worry about him, hm?”

...It was best to listen to that Lancer while I still had time —

—while, instead of the ceaseless nightmares, I would dream instead about teasing the coward that remained so affectionately in such a silly place.

...Perhaps it was time to dream.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 18

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

- Part 3 -

 _______________

Hiccup was roused from his sleep by something warm and wet darting over his face. It tickled and he felt a sneeze rising from the depths of his skull. With his eyes still closed, he scratched his nose, hand colliding with something thick – with very bad breath.

Grumbling, he buried his face into his pillow when that warm and wet sensation dragged all over his cheek again, a strangely familiar smell reaching his nose. Bewildered, he blinked one eye open, coming face to face with a panting dog. It was so close, he went cross-eyed when he properly looked at it, taking in the long tongue lolling out of its snout and reaching out to greet him again.

“Ew!” From one second to the other, he was wide awake, lifting his hands to shield his face from any incoming dog slobber. He was vaguely aware of the body stirring behind him, not yet awakened by the worst alarm clock in the world.

“Hookfang! Come over here, now!”

Hiccup propped himself up on one elbow, the cool air of his bedroom caressing his skin as the blanket exposed his torso. Snotlout was standing in the door to his bedroom, stomping his foot on the ground and yelling for his dog. For once, the canine listened to him, trotting back to its owner with a wagging tail.

“What in the name of hell are you doing here?!” Hiccup whisper-shouted, mindful of the still sleeping person in the room, but it was already too late. The leg slung over his moved first, then an arm appeared from under the covers, a hand pushing hair out of a sleepy face. She blinked and lifted her head, half-opened eyes following the noise to its source.

“What the–” Fully awake now as well, she pressed the blanket to her chest, lifting it so it covered as much of her body as possible.

A giant smirk broke out over Snotlout’s face as he leaned against the doorframe and cat-called. “Well, good morning, there. I assumed that was yours.” He pointed at a piece of underwear lying to his feet. Hookfang took that as an invitation to sniff at it. “Hiccup, my man, I had no idea you had it in you!”

Usually, Hiccup tolerated his friend’s antics, but right now, he was seriously annoyed. “Beat it, Snotlout!”

Snotlout winced, not used to that tone from him. “Jeez, okay. I just need my jacket.”

“Bathroom, on the drying rack.” Snotlout left to retrieve it. “How did you even get in here?” Hiccup shouted after him.

“I still got your spare keys,” it came from the other room.

“Well, leave them here!” With a sigh, he flopped back down on the pillow and didn’t bother to look up when Snotlout stuck his head in the room again.

“Got it. I told you I need my jacket today.”

“Whatever, man. I forgot. Now please leave.”

Snotlout showed no intention to do that. “So, I figure Astrid found you, huh?” He snickered. “She came for you?”

Hiccup was just about to grab a book from his nightstand to throw at him, but Astrid was faster. Her pillow flew through the room with deadly accuracy and Hookfang let out a playful bark when it hit his owner with a loud thud.

“Get the fuck out before I come over there, rip your balls off and shove them up your ass!”

With a visible gulp, Snotlout half-heartedly tossed the pillow in the direction of the bed. His mouth opened and closed a couple times, but no retort came out. Finally, he turned around, whistling for his dog. “Hookfang, heel! Hookfang!” The dog followed him, tail wagging. “See ya!”

Astrid growled loudly enough for him to hear it. They heard the sound of keys landing on a table, followed by a closing door. Then it was quiet.

Hiccup exhaled and looked over at Astrid, breaking out into a grin the moment their eyes locked. “Have I mentioned that I love you? Because I love you.”

She pretended to think about it. “Hmm, I think you did. But just to be safe, say it again.”

“Well then, I love you.” He shifted his position so he lay facing her. She copied him and shuffled closer until they were almost nose to nose, his arm curling around her waist under the covers. His skin prickled where it met hers, a sensation so invigorating, he forgot all about their unwanted guest just now.

“Say that again, I think I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh, I see. You want me to shout it?”

She smirked. “Only if you do it from the rooftops.”

“Gladly.” And he wasn’t even joking. All he had to do first was put on some clothes, at least underwear and a shirt. He made attempts to get up, but she slung an arm around him, pulling him closer.

“No, you stay.” Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned in and he enjoyed the magical moment of anticipation right before their lips touched. He was alive and his heart was burning like a wildfire. She hummed into the kiss and her hand found his under the blankets, squeezing it as if to remind him, remind herself that this was real.

He released a happy sigh after she’d pulled back just enough to look at him. A small weight landed on the blanket at their feet, jumping on and balancing up their legs. Toothless unceremoniously sat down between their chest, nudging himself into the tight space and inevitably forcing the two humans apart if they didn’t want to inhale cat fur.

“Thanks, bud,” Hiccup complained with a roll of his eyes. “Where have you been hiding when your best friend Hookfang was here?”

Astrid shook her head good-naturedly. “You’re an adorable little mood kill, Toothless. Are you craving attention?” She began to scratch his cat under the chin, evoking a contented purr.

“I suddenly feel sidelined.”

She gazed at him through her eyelashes and winked lightly. “Have I not given you enough attention last night?”

Despite his efforts to appear sulky, he blushed. “I for my part quite like it when you give me attention.”

With a grin, she reached out with her other hand and scratched him behind the ear. “There.”

“Ha ha,” he laughed dryly, but leaned into her touch, nonetheless. “But I’m not going to purr. That’s where I draw the line.”

“That’s okay, babe.”

He wanted to cheer. Astrid Hofferson had just called him babe. He was allowed to call her babe now, too. She was his girlfriend. The cry of joy was dying to leave his lungs, but he contained himself. Not because he wanted to be considerate of Astrid or the cat – she looked about as happy as he felt and Toothless had just unceremoniously wedged himself between them, he would deserve to be startled by a loud shout – but because he wasn’t very keen on dealing with his neighbor. Mr. Mildowicz liked it quiet and had been hammering against the wall last night, some time near the end of round two, and yelled threats to call the police. He was a very jolly fellow. Hiccup and his friends had dubbed him Mildew, after his absolutely pleasant personality and general hairstyle.

Turning his cry of joy into a smile so wide it hurt his cheeks, he watched his girlfriend play with his cat. He never wanted to leave this bed. Besides, four hours of sleep wasn’t enough for a Monday. With a wide yawn, he reached over and lazily stroked Toothless’ fur.

“I have to go to work.” A glance at his clock told him he had about five more minutes before his alarm.

Astrid grumbled, not just because the cat had abandoned her, climbing on top of the dresser, cleaning its fur. “Can’t you just call in sick?” She shuffled closer, laying a hand on his chest and her head on his shoulder. A bit of hair fell into her face and he tenderly wiped her bangs out of her eyes.

“Think of it this way. If I go to work, I will earn money, which I will use to buy you nice food.”

“I could just buy my own food,” she countered.

“True. But I want to buy you nice food.”

“Just steal it, then.” Her voice was only a mumble.

“Okay, overruled. I don’t have any more solid arguments.”

For a while, he listened to her soft breathing, treasuring the sight of her dozing on his chest. Her hair smelled of roses, with a note of vanilla. But when the jarring sound of his alarm clock tore through the moment, it was hard to ignore the incessant beeping for longer than five seconds.

He stretched his arm over his hand to reach the clock and turn off the alarm, his movement forcing Astrid to readjust her position, her head rolling off of him. Immediately, he missed the warm weight on his chest.

“I really need to go,” he said apologetically. She made a sound that sounded like a poor, whimpering dog in the form of a beautiful human girl, tugging at his heartstrings. But he had to stay strong. For… for what, exactly? He momentarily lost all sense of rationality when he looked into her big blue eyes, conveying the regret he was feeling. “Okay, you convinced me. I’ll quit my job.”

He was just about to make himself comfortable under the covers again when she grabbed his blanket and flung it off the bed, exposing him to the crisp air of the room. He made a noise of complaint, but she started shoving at him, trying to roll him towards the edge of his mattress.

“Nu-uh, you’re not quitting your job just to loaf around all day. Up with you!”

It was when she started tickling him that he gave in, jumping away from her evil fingers to sit on the edge of the bed. With a groan, he stretched his arms and upper body before getting to his feet and picking out clothes from his wardrobe. After a minute of silence, he glanced back to find Astrid watching his bare backside with an approving gleam in her eyes. It made him blush.

“Enjoying the view, bed loaf?”

She gave a long affirmative hum. Phantom sensations from the previous night ghosted over and under his skin like a low-voltage electric current. It really was too bad that he had to go to work.

“You can stay as long as you want, by the way,” he offered, voice muffled from the t-shirt he was pulling over his head. “Make yourself at home, take a shower if you like, use whatever products I have, loot my kitchen, for all I care.” He almost stumbled while slipping into his jeans. “I just got my second set of keys back, take them if you want to get fresh bread rolls or, err…” He rubbed his neck, glancing to the side. “You don’t have to. If you want to go home, you can just leave, of course…”

“Thanks,” she said, saving him from an oncoming ramble. “I think I’ll sleep another round.” She wrapped herself in the blankets like a burrito, burying her face in the cushions with one arm under the pillow. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to crawl back into bed to cuddle that adorable burrito. And maybe he’d nibble at some of it… “Hiccup, stop staring. Go earn yourself that money so you can buy me nice food.”

He shook himself out of his daydream, leaving to the bathroom to wash his face and comb the bed out of his bed hair. Pushing the drying rack out of the way, he stood in front of the mirror above the basin, meeting a face happier than it had been in a very long time. Brushing his teeth, he recalled the moment when he’d heard his name over the sound of the pouring rain, when a flustered and determined Astrid had shaken his world into place.

Cold and drenched, they had arrived at his place, and while he’d gone to get dry clothes for the both of them, she’d made a pot of nice, hot cocoa. They had sat on his couch to talk about everything, about them, about their relationship, about Astrid and Eret. The image of her cozy amidst his couch pillows, mug of cocoa between cold hands, wet hair tousled over his t-shirt, a pair of his sweatpants rolled up over her ankles because it was too long for her legs, eyes shining in the light of his living room lamp – it was forever engraved in his memories. Just like the moment she had blushed and confessed all the fantasies she’d had about the two of them, and exhaustion had become a foreign concept.

Now, facing a full new workday, he had to pay the price for not going to bed for actual sleep sooner. But it was a price he was more than willing to pay.

When he returned from the bathroom and stuck his head into the bedroom, if only to catch a glimpse of the love of his life lounging in his bed as if it were her own, she blew him an air-kiss. Grinning, he pretended to catch it at the last second before it flew away, and took it with him into the kitchen where he ate some cereal and prepared himself a coffee to go, whistling a carefree tune. He recognized it as one of the songs they had danced to the day before.

Rain was splattering against the windows once again. It seemed like the unusually hot days of May were over. In a way, the cooler air and cloudier sky felt like a relief after the early summer temperatures of the past weeks. Or maybe Hiccup was just in too good a mood to care.

His umbrella had dried overnight in a corner by the door. He collected his things, grabbed the umbrella, and threw on the jacket he should have taken with him the day before, then he hurried back to Astrid for a goodbye kiss. Getting lost in the taste of her lips and the warm fluttering in his stomach, he had to force himself to step away and leave the apartment. As soon as the door closed behind him, he already missed her terribly. He felt like a teenager in love for the first time, impatiently awaiting the end of school so he could go see her again.

Today, no traffic jam could put a damper on his mood, no slow-driving grandpa in front of him, not even the broken elevator in the office building. With a spring in his step and an energy level way too high for a Monday morning (and after climbing several stories of stairs, winded, with labored breathing), he arrived in his shared office.

Fishlegs was already sitting in front of his computer, head resting on his hand, wearily scrolling through emails. He perked up, though, when Hiccup entered, a curious gleam in his eyes.

“Good morning! Snotlout just texted. I’m supposed to ask you if you… uh, if you used protection? I don’t know if he was talking about what I think he was talking about.”

Hiccup threw his jacket onto a desk in the corner and left his umbrella to dry in the other, resisting the urge to facepalm. “One day, I am going to punch him. Hard. I’ll knock out at least two more teeth.” He sat in his chair and began to try and sort through the chaos he’d left on his desk before the weekend.

“I think you’d do a lot of people a favor if you did that,” Fishlegs commented with a chuckle. “Myself included. Now, what kind of protection was he talking about?”

A small, cheery smirk replaced the exasperated frown on Hiccup’s face. “Remember when you thought this whole Astrid thing was going to blow up in my face?”

“…Yes?”

“Well, guess who was with me last night.”

Fishlegs’ eyes widened. “So he did mean that kind of protection? But… She’s married!”

“Not for long, don’t worry!” He rolled his eyes. “Jeez, give us some credit here.”

“Sorry. I know you’d never… But you were so involved in the whole mess, I was worried for a moment.”

“Well, there is nothing to worry about. Her husband knows. They talked about it. Before she came looking for me.” When his friend visibly relaxed, Hiccup made himself comfortable at his desk, sipping at the rest of his now cold coffee. “You want to know everything, don’t you? I can practically see the question marks and exclamation points floating in your space.”

Fishlegs rolled his chair sideways so there was no computer standing between them anymore. He leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk, eagerly waiting for Hiccup to speak. “Yes. Tell me everything!”

_______________

Astrid blinked her eyes open, the haze of slumber clouding her orientation for a moment. She was sprawled all over the bed, her bare legs tangled in the sheets. Burying her nose in the pillow, she closed her eyes against the daylight until she was fully awake. This second round of sleep had done wonders.

For a while, she enjoyed the feeling of soft linen on her skin, reminding her of the events of last night. In reality, they had put all her previous fantasies to shame. Her nerves still felt raw from the amount of electricity that had used her entire body as an electric lead at every skin-on-skin sensation.

Stretching profusely, she crawled out of bed, shuffling through the apartment, collecting random pieces of clothing from the ground. Her jeans, shirt and jacket were hanging from the drying rack, the jeans still damp. She maneuvered the rack into the hallway and stepped into the shower. There was an almost empty bottle of shampoo and two different shower gels. She picked the one she hadn’t seen her husb– her ex use before.

Once she had towel-dried herself, she slipped back into Hiccup’s sweatpants and t-shirt. Then she took her time making coffee and rifling through his CD collection, spotting several of her own favorite records on the shelf. She found carrots and kohlrabi in his fridge and, humming and dancing to the music on the spot, cut the vegetables into sticks and dipped them in the rest of his cream cheese.

Snacks and coffee on the couch table, she spent an hour scratching Toothless and simply lazing about. Mouth full of carrot, she answered Eret’s curious texts about the success of her mission and talked him through his nerves about his own date that night. It felt so good, so natural, lounging in her boyfriend’s clothes on his couch, texting her best friend about boys.

She didn’t know how to stop smiling. It was only the beginning of the honeymoon phase of a new relationship, she knew that, but at the same time, she felt like it had always been this way. She felt at home.

Since she was already in this fantastic mood, she recorded a long voice message about the whole story to Ruffnut, expecting a lengthy, very detail-oriented talk as soon as her friend got back to her. Said details being mostly sex-related. Maybe she should fix her up with Snotlout some time. She texted Hiccup about it, receiving an affirming answer almost immediately, followed by the pro tip that he and her better not be in the same room as them when they met.

Briefly considering showing up at his workplace during his lunch break, she instead decided to tackle one other thing off her list first. After cleaning the little mess she’d made in the kitchen, she grabbed her remaining clothes and hesitated at the door. He’d offered her the extra set of keys. Would it be weird if she already had access to his place after only one night of dating? On paper, it might seem so, but her gut said otherwise. So she took the keys and left the apartment.

On a whim, she turned back, quickly scribbling a note on a piece of paper that she planted on the small kitchen table, and added a little kiss face. She could have just texted him that she would see him later, but who didn’t like to come home to a hand-written note from a loved one?

Once in her car, she turned up the music and sang along to every upbeat song she could find in her playlist. Only when she parked in front of her parents’ house did she lower the volume, tapping her steering wheel to the beat while she waited for the current shower to pass. When it slowed to a trickle, she collected her damp clothes from the passenger seat and got out of the car.

A little nervous, she entered the house and immediately disappeared to the laundry room where she put her dirty clothes in the machine and her damp shoes underneath the radiator. She was still wearing Hiccup’s clothes, but she didn’t want to change into any of hers. Not yet. They smelled of him.

As she left the room, she met her father in the hallway. He raised his eyebrows at the bunched-up pants and the large shirt. “Hello. You look like you just fell out of bed.”

“I’ve been up at least two hours, dad. And these aren’t mine.” She pointed at the clothes, awaiting her dad’s reaction. He wrinkled his forehead and inspected her closer. Now he realized that Eret’s clothes were bigger and Ruffnut wasn’t even in the country at the moment. And when his brows slowly knit together, he probably remembered her mother mentioning a boyfriend last night. And then…

“Where exactly have you been last night?”

“With my boyfriend.” She stood tall, meeting her dad’s eyes with confidence. She would not convey any notion of guilt or secrecy, because there was no reason to, finally, not anymore.

The surprise and bewilderment on his face was almost comical. “Your what now?”

“My boyfriend. As of last night. The one I’ve been looking for when I came by.”

“You mean when you made me spill my wine on the good, new carpet?”

A sheepish expression scurried over her face. “Sorry.”

“Anyway…” He scratched his beard. “Do I need to lie the next time I see Eret?”

She frowned. “I’m not having an affair, dad! And even if I did, I wouldn’t just tell you like this. I’d swear you to secrecy and threaten you with an axe or a sword or a machine gun, if you will, before I gave you any details.”

He snorted. “Spoken like a true Hofferson.”

“I am one, after all.”

Her dad nodded proudly, then raised his hands. “Before I reach any more false conclusions, let’s say we sit down tonight and you tell me what’s going on, alright? Just one thing really quick before I go back to work – do I need to be angry at Eret?” His expression changed to that of a father ready to drop everything and go punish the guy who had made his daughter miserable. And in that true Hofferson fashion, it made her want to protect Eret from certain death.

“No, no, no, there’s no need to beat anyone up here. Nobody did anything wrong.”

“Alright… Would have been a shame, anyway. He’s a valuable member of our family, after all.”

Astrid realized it would probably need a lot of convincing for her father to actually get used to the changes that would come their way. But she knew he would never try to object to her life decisions.

“Don’t worry, dad, your monthly night of beer and card games is not in jeopardy. I’ll explain everything later. Now, where is mom? Is she home yet for lunch?”

She followed him to the front door where he picked up his bag and keys, preparing to leave for work again. “She should be back any minute.” He gave her a parting nod. “We’ll talk later. I’ll be home at six.”

“Okay.” She was already looking forward to the end of their conversation that night so she could drive back to Hiccup’s place. “Bye, dad.”

Not five minutes after he’d left, her mother’s car pulled into the driveway. Astrid leaned against the kitchen counter and fiddled with a pencil while she waited for her to come in.

“Ah, Astrid, perfect,” her mom said when she walked past the kitchen and spotted her daughter. “Help me with lunch, will you. Then there’s more time to eat.”

“And talk,” Astrid mumbled while she pushed herself away from the counter and took the bag of groceries Wilma handed her.

“What’s that?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Lunch first, Astrid. The line at the store was extra long today and there was this idiot customer at work…”

While her mom ranted about her day, Astrid followed the instructions she gave her in-between complaints about people she had to deal with at work. Half an hour later, they sat at the table, loading spaghetti and freshly made Bolognese sauce onto their plates, with a salad on the side.

“Now what was it you wanted to talk about?” Wilma took a bite of lettuce. “I suppose you’re not going to tell me what was going on yesterday?”

“Actually, I am.” Astrid toyed with the long end of a noodle hanging from her fork.

“You are.”

“Yes.” She laid down her fork and met her mother’s eyes. “You were… You were right. There’s been a lot going on and… I didn’t want to talk about it; I hadn’t even allowed myself to acknowledge most of the issues I’ve been dealing with. And, well…” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Wilma gestured at Astrid’s plate. “Please eat it before it goes cold.” When Astrid picked up her fork again, she continued, “I’m not mad, dear. I just hate to see you struggle when I can’t do anything to make it better. I’m your mother, I’ll always worry.” She huffed a laugh. “I just told my grownup daughter to eat her food.”

“I know, mom. But I’m ready to talk now.”

“Well, it’s about time. Is everything alright with you and Eret?”

A weak smile played on Astrid’s lips as she chewed on a piece of meatball. “It wasn’t, but now it is. It’s a long story and I will tell you everything tonight when dad’s home. Just know that he and I…” She trailed of, staring at her half-eaten food. This was the hardest part. She was still not quite over her fear of failure, especially in front of her mother.

But there was no need to be afraid, she told herself firmly. If she had learned anything, it was that the world wasn’t split in two factions, black and white, winning and failing. Her marriage hadn’t worked out, but she had gained a friend back and collected experience, and she was in a new relationship, one that made her happier after one day than she’d ever been in said marriage. Plus, her mother had just made a point that she was on Astrid’s side. She looked back up. “We’re getting divorced.”

To her surprise, Wilma reached out and laid her hand over Astrid’s, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “I’m so proud of you.”

“What? For getting a divorce?”

“For doing what’s good for yourself.”

“Oh… Thanks, mom.” She’d anticipated a completely different reaction and had to wrap her head around this positive response.

“So what’s with you and Hiccup?” Her mom didn’t hesitate to get right to the next point, not missing out on anything.

Astrid’s smile widened despite herself, and under her mother’s sincerely curious gaze, she gave up on restricting it. She promptly received a knowing look which she ignored, concentrating on the rest of her spaghetti. “I know, I know. You told me and I wouldn’t listen.”

When she didn’t continue, her mother sighed. “Do I have to worm every word out of you?”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine, we’re dating now. I liked him the whole time, surprise!” Wilma scraped the last pieces of carrot from her salad plate and shot her a disapproving glance, but before she could open her mouth, Astrid cut her to the chase, forgoing the sarcasm this time. “I like him a lot.” After a short pause of consideration, she added, “A very big lot. As in… As in, I love him. And he feels the same.”

Her mother hummed. “I could tell. If anything, the baking powder was a dead giveaway.”

Astrid pushed her hair out of her face, a light blush dusting her cheeks, like a teenager talking about her first crush. She didn’t say it out loud, but she would eat all the raw baking powder in the world for him. And her and Hiccup knowing about each other’s favorite colors right off the bat had been just as much of a sign, probably – if one believed in signs, that was.

“I’m happy for you, dear. And if you could clean the table, that would be great. I have to got back to work.” She got up and paused, looking her daughter in the eyes. “I am happy. Because you are. Everything else you will figure out. And if you need any help, even if just a few comforting words, please talk to me this time.”

“I will.” Mother and daughter shared a look that communicated more than words ever could. Then Wilma collected her things and was out the door while Astrid loaded the dishwasher. Her belly was full, her heart was swollen and any weight atop her shoulders had dissipated into nothing in the past twenty-four hours.

She couldn’t wait to go back.

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (7)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist

7 of ?

Cal wakes up in a cold sweat.

“[Y/N]!!” he exclaimed as he shot up and heaved.

The image of you wailing in an ear-shattering agony, coated in a veil of violet lightning that covered you from head to toe, and eyes that are beyond recognition—it all burned in his mind, hotter than the fires of the explosives that tore down the tower. No amount of sleep can remove that from his system now.

He catches his breath as he was abruptly awakened by that horrid figment. He realizes he’s still in the cramped quarters in the rebel hideout—he’s all alone.

He curls up, drawing in his legs to his chest, props his elbows atop his knees while he rakes his blood-orange hair with his fingers—all of a sudden, he remembers the way you would do the exact same thing, sometimes you would hum softly a wordless lullaby—and then his heart ached. Parroting the way you caress him from his hair to his cheek didn’t seem to make it all feel better—it only made him miss you much more sorely.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and then another, and another… until a wet patch formed on the leg of his pants.

“You can’t be gone… you’re not…” he mumbles under his breath, he grips a clump of his hair caught in the spaces between his fingers as he buries his face into his knees.

“Bee…?”

Apparently, BD-1 was alerted by Cal’s waking from his nightmare. The little droid scampered towards his owner and nuzzled his head against the Jedi’s calf. The young boy didn’t budge, he retained his position as if nothing touched him or tried to get his attention. The only thing moving is his hunched back rising and falling as he breathes. Lulling himself to sleep was a struggle; for weeks, he had been restless, and even if he caught a wink of sleep, it will oftentimes be cut short by nightmares—such as this one.

Cal returned to his bed, pulling up the blanket up to his neck. BD-1 persisted to make himself seen-he stands right in front of the boy lying on his side.

“Sorry, BD… It’s gonna be a long night for me. Go ahead and set yourself to sleep mode if you like,” Cal muttered as he pets BD’s head gently.

The droid didn’t sleep until his owner dozed off first. Cal tossed and turned as he attempted to fall asleep. He tried everything: emptying his mind, reciting Jedi mantras in his head about any aspect he can think of—at least the ones he knows by heart—and remembering the serenity of the warm mornings where he’d meditate in the temple garden with Master Tapal. He was careful not to recall any memory of you because that would only worsen his insomnia—it would be instantly warped into horrendous scenes that his wild imagination makes for him.

Cal repeated the cycle until it bored him to sleep; when BD saw this, he switched to his sleep mode right away and scooted to his owner’s arm.

—–

They kept you in that torture chair—day in, day out.

For the rest of the days that they continued to interrogate you, no words came out of your mouth when they demanded it. As a reply to your continuous rebelliousness, they would switch on the voltage and send it flying straight into your body. Regardless, you held your tongue.

The medbay wardens tried to feed you, little by little with scraps of foodstuff and rations. It was them who insisted they be allowed to check on you for vitals—since you’ve been receiving volumes of shock after your prematurely-concluded recovery. They’re quite astonished by the threshold of your body and its instinct to preserve you.

In protest, you didn’t bite into whatever they gave you in the first few days. Eventually, they gave up on their kindness and stopped—or so you’ve thought, when in fact they were personally commanded by the Seventh Sister to cease your feeding. However, your fasting didn’t hold for long; you had too much pride in regretting and wishing that you should’ve taken whatever food they were trying to give you—even if it was anything short of edible.

Ignoring the pain of the electrocution was much easier than ignoring the relentless growling of an empty stomach.

Keeping the rebels’ location hidden at the expense of your health was commended by the Inquisitor—and the Grand Inquisitor, no less, when he heard of it through reports.

“She’s even stronger than I initially thought. I seem to have underestimated her.”

“She has been silent for days. When we come to her and find her with her eyes closed, she’s not even asleep! She’s just… blatantly ignoring us. I’ve never seen a Jedi this…”

“Resilent.” The Fifth Brother finishes on the Mirialan’s behalf.

She growled, “I grow tired of this! Why not just set it to the highest voltage and leave it on until she dies?! We can hunt down the rebel faction no problem, along with the Jedi she cavorts with!”

“And waste your time in an empty goose chase? I’d rather not, if I were you,” the Grand Inquisitor, in a contrasting tone of voice from the Seventh Sister’s, scoffed through his hologram. “Jedi like her can be of value to us. All she needs is a bit more training.”

“Are you saying, Grand Inquisitor, that she’s to become one of us?”

“How else would you interpret what I said, child? If her spirit is broken, she’ll be easier to bend.”

The Grand Inquisitor concluded the transmission from his end, the pair of Inquisitors headed to the torture chamber.

The two exchanged glances, but it was the Mirialan who had the most shocked look between her and the gray humanoid. She was neither keen nor disdainful for having someone added up to their ranks, she just didn’t know how to feel about it. Whether she liked it or not, the Grand Inquisitor’s word is to be honored. If it’s any consolation, one new headcount would factor to the likelihood of the newcomer being the one assigned to even the most mundane of assignments.

In that very chamber, you’re still underneath the halo of a white light pooling above the very chair. Mist from the piping and hydraulics wafted about your calves, it was an eerie sight. Whenever the dead silence was your only friend, you thought that death was a much easier fate to accept, or perhaps you questioned why you even survived the explosion. You afforded the quiet moments where you struggled to empty your mind, but the thoughts of rage and hate were too loud; provoking you with the thought of Cal being found and sharing the same fate as yours was a catalyst—perhaps, that is what the Grand Inquisitor sensed, even from afar, and what convinced him to bring you into the fray.

The blast doors whipped open, but that didn’t do much in catching your attention. Anyone who came in and out didn’t matter to you, the sounds and sights were dull and bleak to you now; at this point, they’re all the same, faceless, sentient mannequins that come to glare or gloat at you every now and then, poking you for a reaction to see if you’ve dropped dead or just clinging to the last threads of dear life.

“She’s alive, but weak,” the Fifth Brother observed aloud.

The bags under your eyes were prominent, patches of red swelled on your arms from the constant electrocution—the more severe ones made your muscles bloat—and your unkempt hair shrouded your cheeks. Despite your shoddy appearance while strapped to the torture chair, the Seventh Sister squints to take a closer look at you, there was something about your eyes: still and peaceful, despite all of that suffering—to her, it appears as though you were only sleeping.

“Unlock the restraints,” ordered the female Inquisitor.

Doing as what they’re told, the operator set you free those cold, silver handcuffs at the push of a button. Without anything to hold you anymore, you gradually slid away from the bed of the torture chair, the Inquisitor pair stepped back as if you’re some kind of leper when you plopped limply to the floor—without an ounce of strength left in you to bring yourself up, at least on your knees.

The Seventh Sister stepped forward again, bent down to your level, angled your face as she clutched you quite roughly; moving it left and right, to examine you at a much closer view. She watched you struggle to lift your eyelids, slits barely revealed the color of your eyes, seconds later, you gave up and eyes closed shut.

“She’s alive, alright. Follow me.” She sternly ordered as she erected back up, turned tail and made her way to the door.

Seeing that you’re fully incapable of doing so, a pair of Stormtroopers took you by each arm and let your knees drag across the metal floor. They hauled you all the way to a training dojo. Your garish entrance took the practicing Purge Troopers by surprise, they paused their sparring session and stared; a single nod from the tall, gray Inquisitor prompted them to leave, they walked past you hooked to each Stormtrooper’s arm and sniggered on their way out.

“Jedi,” one said in a tone intending to insult.

When the dojo has been emptied by those who weren’t needed, the Stormtroopers dropped you and you plopped on the cold, glossy tile. The coldness stinging your cheek eventually woke you up, your body realizes that it’s not strapped to that terrible apparatus anymore—though your limbs ached when you moved them—and you craned your neck to face what’s in front of you.

“Get up,” the Fifth Brother bellowed.

And get up you did. Your knees were still wobbly and shook off the grogginess in your head as you studied the new room they’ve put you in.

“Where’ve you taken me this time?” your words rolled off your tongue, though you’re still partially coherent.

“You’re in our training dojo,” the Fifth Brother simply replied. A sinister smile played along his stony face.  “We’re gonna play a little game, you se.”

“I don’t think I’m in the best shape to play along,”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, you’re part of the game and if you wanna live—you gotta fight,”

“With what—my fists and legs?”

The Fifth Brother chortled, then provided you with a baton similar to a Scout Trooper’s. He tossed it and you failed to catch it in time as you’re still seeing double. You crouched to retrieve the baton and practiced the firmness of your grip with it.

“So, are you two gonna be my playmates?”

The Seventh Sister flashed a toothy grin, “No. We have someone better in mind.”

They retreated to the main hold—like the bridge to a command ship—in front of the dojo, it also served like a watching room for those who spectated training sessions as a pastime and a control room to manipulate the setting of the dojo’s environment. There was an awkward yet tense silence humming across the room, you looked around and notice every single rectangle on the wall that could be a door—anticipating for one of them to shoot open and set whatever enemy they have reserved for you pouncing to you with bloodlust.

The only thing that you needed to look at was the door just below the control room. The metal groaned and out of the shadows came a familiar face. The armor had been remade back to its original appearance, in the place of a red haloed saber was a lance, the helmet was unmistakable—it was the Second Brother in a second face-off against you. Even when you’re groggy, you can sense the flaring hate within the Second Brother, more intense than the combined heat of Tatooine’s binary suns.

As he strode forward, weapon in hand, you struggled to get yourself straightened up to prepare for a fight.

“You’re lucky they only gave me this pathetic electrostaff!” the Second Brother hissed, putting himself in a stance as he would with his own saber. He continued striding towards you who’s barely made a proper posture with your block against the incoming attack.

You’re envious that the Second Brother has recovered so soon, but then again, he wasn’t the one strapped to a torture chair and be electrocuted almost everyday until you were treading the tightrope between life and death.

You wished that you could have uttered a comeback in mind, but you were too weak, and you prioritized staying alive in this unfairly-matched duel.

Your deflect was flimsy and unskilled, as expected.

However, something inside you refused to die in an indignant circumstance such as this—thrown into a dojo like livestock, pitted against a fully-recovered enemy while you’ve barely had a proper shred of recovery or medication.

The Second Brother didn’t hold back, neither was he thrifty with his windows of opportunity—he made all of them count. Whenever he would see an opening from you, he pommels you with the electrical end of the staff on your rib, your shoulder, arm, leg, anywhere and everywhere he could get a jab at. Dodging his attacks or returning it seldom happened, all you were doing was side-stepping away from him and the lance. He retained his dexterity and nimbleness that you initially saw in your first encounter with him; though, he seemed much quicker than you remember, more difficult to catch up with, and certainly more annoying. His acrobatics made it worse for your eyes—as you can’t even see without the hazy, mirage-like doubles of the things you fix your eyes to.

“Come on, Jedi girl! You seemed to be so tough in our last fight!” taunted the Second Brother in a cackle. “Where’s that spark I saw? Don’t tell me the explosions outshone it?!”

As much as you wanted to, you could barely put up a fight. He simply stepped five inches to his right or left when he sees you lunging at him, you’d clearly miss and in turn, he’d jab you—except this time, he’s keeping the end stuck to your body for a few seconds longer. If he’s feeling sadistically indulgent, he’d keep it for as long as a minute or so.

“Come on! Show me that little tough girl front again!” he chortled. “Again, Jedi!”

He might not have sensed it, but the Second Brother’s fighting tactics were beginning to get into your nerves. It was genuinely annoying now; it was nauseating enough to catch up to his lunging and pouncing around, adding to the mockery he peppers in one-sided banters during the fight, and they’re fueling to your rage in this mismatch of a duel. This went on until your attacks became raggedy and graceless—a dramatic contrast to your original fighting style.

Finally! Just finally! You found a small burst of energy which seemed to grow by the second, though you didn’t know where it came from—it just naturally came to you. Whatever it was, you weaponized it more than that sorry excuse of a weapon in your hand. You paid back for the moments where you’re denied of a chance at hitting the Second Brother because he wasn’t taking you seriously, mostly due to your state. He met the same ferocity beneath that tawdry exterior, eyes burning brightly with a menacing passion that lit through the dangling locks of hair, and your blows were weak but they packed a punch compared to the first few moments.

You gained your momentum in this fight. The satisfaction of finally being at par with the Second Brother’s caliber—with your current condition—was intoxicating. You found yourself tethered to it and can’t seem to get enough.

Faster, more intense!

With every strike, your strength and dexterity returned.

At first, the Second Brother was amused. Finally! He thought as a grin stretched across his face, albeit masked. Some fun!

His amusement was short-lived as he saw you trembling—not out of fear, but out of rage that could no longer be contained in the vessel that is your body. Slowly but surely, your body regained its confidence and composure; your stances were now more pronounced, the impact of the blows were much heavier, and your footwork was no longer faulty. This startled and amazed the Second Brother, Seventh Sister, and Fifth Brother altogether.

When you caught the Second off-guard with your burst of attacks, you cut the air with the baton—swinging it and landing its mark straight into the Inquisitor’s diaphragm. The two other Inquisitors in the bridge flinched in reaction, as if they felt the pain of your attack since they’ve been immersed with your duel ever since you started gaining the upper hand.

“Agh…!” the Second Brother winced, falling to his knees, the electrostaff fell to the glossy floor, the rhythm going from beat per beat until it faded out into a rattle.

“How’s that for a tough girl façade, you asshole?!” you snarled.

For good measure, as revenge for him humiliating you for the last time, you delivered a heavy overhead strike against the middle of his spine. The velocity of your swing was so intense, the Inquisitors heard the whoosh from where they stand.

When you were done exacting revenge on the Second Brother, you flung the baton to the direction of the bridge—it was like a statement, but it was just a final compulsive action from you. The weapon ricocheted against the walls and then to the floor, creating a gong-like sound as it clattered around. When the two of them caught sight of your face—that fiery tenacity, and your eyes…

They could almost see the hate and anger in your bloodshot eyes.

“Interesting,” the Fifth Brother mused.

“Well now, I think I’m going to enjoy training duty for once,”

The two Inquisitors exchanged glances and snickered together while peering through the glass, staring at their new, little experiment—you.

[baekchelor]

𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

pairings: George Mackay x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13  synopsis: on the set of his new film, golden boy George Mackay learns a basic human truth: that the heart is deceitful above all things. warnings: slight smut

❝i  love  the  ground  under  his  feet,  and  the  air  over  his  head,  and everything  he  touches  and  every  word  he  says.  I  love  all  his  looks,  and all  his  actions  and  him  entirely  and  all  together.❝                                                                                                  ― emily  brontë

FOUR | ENDINGS & BEGINNINGS ◄ ᴘʀᴇᴠ

George has six different scripts waiting for him on his red mailbox when he gets back to his apartment building. The tail end of this autumn is a chilly, constant rainfall —one of the coldest London has seen in recent years.

Alma rolls down her window and waves, "Call me if you need anything." She's in the passenger seat of the Range Rover that picked them up from the airport.

"My sister sent over food," George responds. Daisy's text came in shortly after they landed. "I'll survive, Alma."

"That's not what I meant," his manager replies pointedly.

A mob of fans had been queuing in wait at the airport. George knew they were in for the hysterical cries and invasive photography, the obstacle course of thrust-out gifts and feet to trip over. He wished he could have had his last goodbye in peace, a memory in a hushed corner, however brief. But the sheer mass of bodies had been too much to contend with. In the end, he and Y/N were escorted out through separate gates. She took a flight to Los Angeles, he to London.

So again, with only the slightest fluctuation in tone, George says, "I'll survive." Because he and Y/N's friendship remained on good terms, and now that her T.V. Series promotion summoned her to L.A., he will have time to get over his little infatuation. When they see each other again, George's heart won't be able to jeopardize their relationship, and the prize will be to have Y/N in his life forever.

Not even an hour later... his plan goes to shit. George considered himself a man with a strong will. Apparently, when it comes to the girl who stole his heart in Mumbai, his resolution is tossed to the trash. He played London Boy first, then the Heartbreak Prince song, and before he noticed, he had ordered Chinese, simmered his ass on the sofá, and listened to Taylor Swift's entire discography as thoughts of Y/N, Mumbai and the way she makes him feel invaded his mind.

It takes almost a month for George to meet up with Dean, who's finally back from his filming schedule in France.

They kept in touch via texts. Dean asked for advice in certain scenes, described his character and his approach to him, and narrated funny anecdotes on set. In turn, George told him about Mumbai in vague, emotionless terms. He's had no contact with Y/N since they got back to their real life, and instead of making him forget, it filled him with a deep sense of loss. George partially blames Taylor Swift for that, but he doesn't tell Dean. It would be too humiliating, especially since George has never been lovesick before. The feeling is persistent and tactile, and terribly unsettling.

Today, they're at Dean's flat, smack dab in the centre of Soho. Dean has got his head bent over his phone, reading some table nonsense to not lose the habit. George nurses an iced coffee he ordered from UberEats and delves upon the fact he doesn't even like Taylor Swift's music yet his phone automatically play her songs whenever it is connected to Bluetooth.

George still holds out hope that he's going through a phase. A Y/N induced phase. Maybe, sometime soon, it will pass.

"You okay, Geo?" Dean is looking at him with concern.

George blinks, and he realizes belatedly that his friend is no longer at the table. He's standing by the water dispenser in the kitchen.

"I'm just thinking," George says dismissively, eking out a smile. He doesn't want to talk about this.

Dean smiles back, understanding, but he refuses to cave. Once his glass of water is filled, he returns to the table, and with a sigh, he asks: "Have you read the news lately?"

"No, not recently." George drums his fingers over the table. They produce a dull sound. "Why?"

"I'll show you," Dean says, handing the phone with a window open in a gossip article that headlines Henry Cavill and Y/N Y/L/N had ended their long term relationship. This time for good.

George's mouth quirks, "I see."

Pressing his elbows to the table, Dean nestles his face between cupped palms. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"About what?"

Dean's eyebrows slope and George traces the wood grain of the table with his fingertip. "You could be happy, you know? If you tell her," Dean addresses him openly.

There's that all-too-familiar twinge again; a heartstring plucked. "You don't know that," George bites the inside of his cheek. "We never even..." He trails off, and of course, he remembers: Y/N's fingers lacing into his, Y/N's warm body wrapped around his… Y/N's mouth, slick and soft and open for a kiss.

"That doesn't mean nothing happened," Dean mutters. "I know you, George. I know how much you're keeping from me. Your texts were dead giveaways if anything at all. Do you know how sad you look right now?" That word, again. "It's the first thing I noticed when you came in. I've never seen you like this. Like you're lost, or something." He puts his hand on the back of George's chair. "You realize everything's changed, don't you? And it's never going to go back to the way it was, no matter how much you force the issue?"

"What do you want me to do, Dean?" George says, feeling caged and itching with defensiveness. "Throw away our friendship, this special bond we have for an infatuation? For all I know, she can only think of me as a friend. Nothing else." He's embarrassed by the tremor in his voice. "I don't even know what I'm doing, pining over a girl like this, and she and I —we never discussed what this was, between us. And it's like you're asking me to risk it all, our friendship, Daisy, my peace of mind, so I can try for something uncertain with, with..." He hasn't said her name in a while, so his tongue stumbles over it. "Y/N."

"Yes." The word is as solemn as a prayer. "Because, clearly, you don't love Daisy, you never had, that's why things between you were nothing but a fling. You love Y/N. It's not just an infatuation."

George breathes silently, heavily, staring at the table.

The next words that come out of Dean's mouth are gentle, designed to coax, not provoke, "You have to stop torturing yourself, George. It's just making you miserable."

"Dean..."

"Listen," he sighs, clearly exasperated. "You say you don't want to put your friendship with Y/N at risk, but you already did. You're losing her in every fucking way possible. You haven't talked to her in weeks. Right now, you two are as close as strangers. All because you're scared."

"I am not scared. I am rational."

"You are not, Mackay. And you need to realise it."

They would've most likely kept going in circles if friends-with-benefits Daisy hadn't chosen that moment to text George. He replies because he wants a distraction and needs reassurance that what he is doing is the right thing to do, but the words of a dinner date and romantic plans sting nonetheless because it's something George wants with Y/N and can't have.

When George leaves the apartment, promising Dean to meet on Sunday for a match of Call Of Duty, the latter looks over and asks for George's well being.

George pulls up a smile to reassure him, but it's acted, and he knows it. All he can think about is that barely-there brush of lips in a hotel bed, that Thank you for Mumbai, that last look at the crowded airport, that question Y/N never asked him fading away like so many summer days.

It takes another four more months after that, and up until the very end, George vacillates between doing it and not doing it, making up his mind only to change it again at the last minute. But when he finally ends things with Daisy, it's almost like she's prepared for it.

They're sitting in her car, in somewhere's basement parking lot. Daisy doesn't have a speck of makeup on. It makes her look younger, more fragile.

"I wondered who was going to end it first," she says, thumbing at the steering wheel. "I thought it might be better if it was me. Maybe it would hurt less." She shrugs, and a lock of hair falls over her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," George mumbles. He brushes it back, out of habit, before he realizes he doesn't have the right to do that anymore. His hand recoils. "I never wanted to hurt you."

She shrugs again, but her mouth twists this time. It's a defence mechanism. "I shouldn't be this upset. We weren't dating, you didn't love me, and since day one you made it clear you didn't seek for commitment," George can't stand the look on her face —one of pure defeat. "I told myself so many times that I could win you over. For a while, I was convinced I would actually get you to love me. There used to be this shiny little space in your eyes, reserved just for me... but when I visited you in Mumbai, I'd already been replaced without even knowing why."

"Daisy..."

"Do you really think I believe you want to end this because of your agenda, George?" she murmurs. Her laugh is brittle, like clattering metal. "Don't lie to me. I know it is because of Y/N." Her lip trembles, so she sucks it into her mouth.

She had known, after all. And she's angry, of course, she is. George deceived her. The shame of it makes his stomach roil with acid.

"Daisy," he entreats her, "She never...we never...I didn't..."

"It's worse that way," she hisses back at him. "It's even worse." She doesn't expound, but George understands her perfectly: a betrayal of the heart, not of the body.

When she adds, "I always knew you would fall in love. I just thought it would be with me," the blood rushes straight to George's head.

"I am not —I am. I don't know," George answers helplessly. He's dizzy, and he feels naked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I loved you so much," unrelenting, she whispers. A plump tear rolls down her cheek, followed swiftly by another. She draws herself up; proud as the Ophelia she plays in the theatre. "I don't want to see you anymore. Not anywhere. Delete my number. Delete our pictures. Don't bother sending back anything I've left at your place —you can have it all. Throw it out, if you want. I don't care."

George thought he'd been prepared for the consequences. He didn't realize it would feel like he was tied to a whipping post, his back exposed, as Daisy's words lashed him again and again.

The worst part is that she probably feels the same kind of pain, too.

"Why couldn't you love me?" she shakes out. Her cheeks are wet.

And George doesn't care if she hits him, doesn't care if she bruises his chest and his face with her balled-up fists that still smell like the coconut in her lotion. He reaches across the passenger's seat, pushing right past the boundaries he'll have to observe from now on, and he envelops her in a fierce, hopeless embrace.

She cries silently, her tears and sobs suffusing his shirt with damp heat. He holds her through the whole thing, knowing full well it will be another one of those last times until, after a long spell, she calms.

"I did care for you," George says then, tenderly, his voice breaking. "How could I not?"

Her entire face gentles, just a moment, before the softness is gone; the keenness of fresh heartbreak taking its place.

Daisy nods, perfunctory, and looks away.

When the door on his side unlocks with a quiet click, George knows she's telling him to go.

The bitter afternoon turns worse as George settles down on his couch, back at his apartment. His phone rings with a notification from Dean claiming it is better if Georges hears such news from him. A link is attached, and as soon as George opens it, he feels his heart rip apart.

All along, Dean was right. The time spent worrying over Dev Patel and Henry Cavill was a waste. He never saw Luke Hemmings coming, the thought didn't even cross George's mind, and now Luke and Y/N had been spotted together. Several times.

They went to Trader Joe's, left the store with bags of organic food and bottles of pink lemonade. They spent a weekend in San Francisco, Luke's nails painted red, and his fingers resting on the small of Y/N's back. They shared a cigarette at Sunset Strip, outside some old bar 80's rockstars use to hang out at. It annoyed George the most. She smokes with Luke but refused George's cigarettes the many times she came along to watch him poison his lungs with nicotine.

Dean was right.

Taylor Swift is right too, it feels like death by a thousand cuts. There's no use to get drunk, it won't be enough, he knows it. George pretended it was okay for so long when it isn't. The morning will come, and Y/N won't be his baby, won't be his friend. She is Luke Hemmings', and it is all George's fault.

At the pre-screening party for Dharma, two days before the film is slated for release, George finally sees Y/N again.

It's been months since Mumbai, months since Daisy, months since Luke Hemmings and months since they've had any sort of contact.

George's dyed his hair chestnut in preparation for a new role. Tonight, he wears eyeliner under his eyes (it reminds him of those days he filmed Hamlet) and a leather jacket. Greta thought it would be fun to throw a rock-themed party, she hired a band to perform live and required the dress-code to be inspired by the Age of Rock.

Y/N is wearing a black chain embellished mini skirt, a white turtleneck underneath a fucking 5SOS t-shirt, and she's, again, hanging off Luke Hemming's arm. His hair is a blond silk sheet draped over his forehead, and his lips hover close to Y/N's ear, speaking into it confidingly. It gives George a pang, right in the centre of his chest.  

There's no avoiding each other. Not when Y/N is looking at him, all smiles and excitement, and she excuses herself from the conversation with Luke, Timotheé Chalamet and Florence Pugh to run straight towards George. He is tongue-tied, yearning, and all he manages is a lame nod that suits neither him nor the object of his affections. Y/N stops right in her tracks.

"George." Not London Boy, neither Heartbreak Prince. It sounds unnatural.

"Y/N," he replies. Not Gorgeous. "It's been a while."

They shake hands, and George is satisfied with that, but Y/N encircles her arms around his neck, hugging him as tight as George had wanted to hug her all those months they spent apart.

"I missed you," she says, a whisper. If only she knew how much George missed her, and the lengths he went to get her out of his head. He tried to hang out with new people, meet new girls. Hell, he even went out with his ex-girlfriend Doone. Twice.

Before George can be honest, his body tingling from the embrace, Luke greets him. He is polite and keeps things as brief as possible, but George forgets about him immediately after. Y/N is here, right here, within his grasp. She's with a handsome man, and it's been so long, and George is afraid she's forgotten all about their time in Mumbai. But there it is —that blessed, steadfast question flickering behind Y/N's orbs, and George clings to it like a port in a storm.

The moment Luke excuses himself to the stage (he will bless every guest with a song —George want to roll his eyes at it), the atmosphere shifts between them. She attentively waits for Luke to start singing; everybody is cheering and excited, and people let out awe sounds when Luke strums the first chords of Eye In The Sky. Of course, he would sing such a hit. Of course, his voice sounds perfect, and George grows embarrassed over his two songs from the Been So Long soundtrack. Of course, he feels, once more —The first time was when he walked inside and Here I go Again blasted on the speakers—, attacked by a song tonight.

"How've you been?" Y/N murmurs, eyes trained on a point across the room. The stage. "We haven't spoken to each other since we got back." She licks her lips into a cautious smile.

George follows the movement closely. "I ended things with Daisy," he says. Just like that.

"Did you?" The smile falters. "I mean if that is what you wanted... I'm —I'm glad..." If George hadn't spent so much time with Y/N before they stopped spending so much time together, he would have missed the subtle quake in the girl's voice. "How are you holding up?"

"Better." George looks over at her. He doesn't mean he felt terrible because of Daisy, and now he is better. George is better now because she's here, near him. "It was a big mess, but now I feel free." He licks his lips too because they've gone dry. And then he catches it —Y/N's gaze darting quickly to his mouth.

He places his hand on Y/N's thigh. It tenses, just for a second, before giving in. George realizes, at this exact moment, when Luke sings about how he can read someone's mind by just looking at them, that he can read Y/N's mind, and gaze, and body language, and he knows what Y/N has wanted to ask him. He's just been a coward.

"That's good," she exhales. "I'm glad."

Well, he won't be a coward anymore.

"We should talk," George says, voice pitched low. "You should come over to my suite, and we should catch up."

"Tonight?" her limbs tense again, muscles shifting under George's palm.

"If you like." George wants and wants and wants. "But only if you haven't got anything planned with your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," Y/N tells him, and George knows there's an unspoken yet in her words. His heart skips a hundred beats. He still got a chance. He can still get the girl. And he can't wait for this party to be over.

"I'll come over tonight," Y/N agrees. "After this, whenever it ends. Wait for me." She passes her hand over the one George's resting on her thigh. Every meeting of skin on skin is a promise. George wants to hear it out loud for once.

"Perfect," the last of George's fingertips traces over her knuckles. Luke is weaving his way back through applauses and clinking champagne flutes.

"All right then, Geo."

George French-exit at ten, because he just can't sit still any longer. Plus, parties ain't something he is kneen of, they are a part of his job, and he has to endure it as much as filming in cold-ass water. He didn't even attend The Oscar's after-party, to begin with. Tonight he decided to come along because he wanted to see her, be near Y/N at least one more time. If everything goes well after midnight, he will lay eyes on the girl of his dreams forever. It gives George hope.

He squeezes his way out of a cluster of guests and quickly pulls Y/N aside.

"I'll see you around midnight," she whispers. George's thumb traces soothing little circles into the underside of her wrist.

"Midnight." He feels the skinship all over his body, like concentric ripples of water. "I'll be waiting."

George is wearing sweats now, showered, changed, and just...ready. His bangs are flopping into his eyes (he grew his hair for the same role he dyed it, and it is long enough for him to tie it in a small bun at the back of his head). With arms exposed to the warmth radiating from the fireplace, George rests on the duvet in front of it, staring at the flames and cursing himself for blowing it out of proportion. The fact he has felt blue since Mumbai is his own doing, and taking such responsibility, is what tells him this love is worth the fight.

The clock on his wrist reads half-past twelve. It's not that he is afraid Y/N won't come —although the thought of it makes him lose his mind. It's that the build-up to this moment has been torturously slow, achingly indefinite and he just hopes this thing, whatever it is, works out the way he wants it to. Which is Y/N, telling him that her heart belongs to him, that they'll be just fine.

It's a quarter to one when the doorbell sounds. On the other side of the door, Y/N's face is exhausted. "I'm sorry. I couldn't get away until now."

"It's fine," he says, stepping aside so she can come in. "You've never been late before."

Y/N slides off her jacket at the entrance. She's still in her party outfit, and even though she's still wearing that damn 5SOS t-shirt, George has never seen anybody look so perfect. Perfect for him, especially.

He doesn't know what his body is telling his brain, but suddenly he's reaching out and curling his fingers into Y/N's hair.

Both freeze on the spot, unsure of their actions. When she looks up, George's ocean eyes are perilously wild.

"I don't wanna lose this with you," he says.

And finally, velvet-toned and whisper-soft, she asks: "How do you feel about me?"

George is standing in the portal of the foyer, a step above her. Barefoot, in a tanktop, shutting the door close. This is it, he intones, brimming with everything he's kept to himself all these months. Finally.

"How do I feel?" he mumbles, more to himself than anyone else. Then he rests his forehead against Y/N's, his hand cupping her face with such love, if they were still filming Dharma, Greta would have gone nuts. He once told Y/N that James and Marina's love seemed out of this world, and now, he understands them. He feels such. "I'm in love with you."

All the resistance seeps out of Y/N's body —a vapour, escaping. Her shoulders sag in relief. Her expression softens, turns bittersweet.

They've wasted so much time.

"That's good to know," she breathes out, shaky "because I am in love with you too."

It's George who steps forward and presses her against the wall. Y/N is ready for him, craning up, so their lips latch together like magnets. At first is gentle, soft, almost fearful, but it slowly morphs into a kiss hot and heavy, deep and merciless. They breathe in through their nostrils, so they don't have to stop kissing. There are no polite introductions, no tentative licks against the seams of their mouths. She opens up for him willingly, without being asked. Their tongues circle in a primal dance and George gets completely drunk off of it, plunging in for more.

The sound it pulls out of her makes George kiss her harder. He takes one hand from where it's tangled in Y/N's hair and trails it down her neck, her shoulder, her chest, and back around to her bum. When he creeps a hand under the skirt to palm her legs all the way up to her smooth back, the girl breaks away for air.

"Do you know," George rasps, "how crazy you make me?"

"Do I?" The question isn't provocative, is innocent. Y/N really is clueless about how she makes him feel.

"You're making me jealous all the time," George mutters. He pushes their hips closer together, and they both let out sibilant gasps.

"I thought you were in love with her. When you brought her over." Y/N is trying to regain control, but George presses in to make her shudder. "Thought it was over between us."

"It was never over." George tugs at Y/N's bottom lip with his teeth then lave over the spot with his tongue. "My body is mine, my lips and skin as well. But I am not. I am yours."

On cue, Y/N slips a hand under his tank. Her fingers meander over the grooves of George's abs, searing the skin. "Your body is yours, your lips are yours, your skin is yours. And I am. Yours," she murmurs, chest heaving.

George shuts his eyes. It feels so good. All of it. He brushes his thumb, feather-light, over her lips. His voice is dangerous, "What parts of you?"

"Everywhere," when she answers, George pulls the girl flush against him, peeling away from the wall so he can walk them both in the direction of his bedroom. Y/N lets him lead the way, as she sucks at the side of his neck. She's going to leave marks at this rate —a row of dark red roses—, and fuck it, he wants her to, so he can see the evidence of their mutual longing tomorrow. Y/N feels George's heat and his strength, there, between her legs, and it's enough to make her shudder. "Everywhere."

They don't say it while they're naked, writhing at every touch to uncharted territory, sweating from their exertions towards climax as they come together as one.

George does say, "I didn't look at anyone else since I saw you," and Y/N whispers, " I didn't think of anyone else since I thought of you."  

They say it in the daylight, over the pot of coffee Y/N brews and the out-of-a-magazine waffles she blushes at when she sheepishly serves it to George, sprinkled by powdered sugar and syrup.

"Hey," George says, pushing around the berries. She's sitting on his lap, wearing his shirt, his scent on her skin, and George feels in heaven. "I love you."

He strokes the side of her face, slowly, sweetly, shyly, until the two of them are blushing. He suspects this is one of those moments he will carry around with him like a photo in a locket —a small and lovely secret.

"And I love you, Geroge Mackay," she says in return. "More than anybody else."

►

A/N: aaaand, that’s it. Hope you enjoy it. Next week I will post the Epilogue and the heartfelt message for all of you who have read this. Lots of love. xx

[queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm]

Daminette December Day 8: Robin Hood Au

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Damian Al Gul was not a patient man. When he heard news of a theif stealing from nobility, it would be an understatement to say he was angry. The king, Ra Al Gul, and his subordinates lived lavishly while the rest of the kingdom lived in poverty. Being the grandson of the king, it put him directly next in the line of succession. This Robin Hood would be audacious enough to steal from his kin. They would have to be taught a lesson.

“King Ra, let’s not be too hasty,” his advisor, Tim Drake, pleaded. Though it would fall onto deaf ears, “No one knows who Robin Hood is and because of this you would punish the kingdom as a whole?”

“Of course,” the king’s voice was as cold as ice, “they need to be taught a lesson. Think of the people as dogs. If they are not disciplined, then they will never obey.”

Tim looked horrified by that statement. He knew the king was cruel, but cruel enough to not value the lives of those he ruled would inevitably cost him the crown. Damian, who had been listening to this confrontation, may not have shown his love for the kingdom, but it was there. He knew his grandfather would let the entire kingdom burn before admitting defeat. “Damian,” his grandfather called, “They are yours and you are able to do as you see fit.”

‘You’re right, Grandfather, I’ll do as I see fit,’ Damian thought bitterly. He’d do what he’d have to to ensure the future of the kingdom. Damian Al Gul is not a patient man, he can’t just wait for Robin Hood to be apprehended or for Ra to die. He would have to do everything himself. His plan needed to be enacted faster then previously expected, no matter it will be done and Damian will succeed even at the price of his soul.

The thief, who the kingdom took kindly to calling them “Robin Hood,” was the orphaned daughter of bakers. Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her parents died due to them falling ill and couldn’t afford the medication needed to save them. That was the final push Marinette needed to fight against the rich. This would be no ordinary heist, this was war. All goods stolen went directly back to the community. This resulted in a following of the Robin Hood persona. However, as all of this happened during the cover of night, no one knew who Robin Hood was. Most assumed a man because a woman wasn’t that clever. Most nobility underestimated the women of the time and what pleasure it brought Marinette to know of their suffering.

Marinette needed to slow down, she was prone to spells of clumsiness. Another selling point as to why no one suspected her to be the smoking gun, how could such a sly thief be a clumsy peasant girl. A certain god of destruction helped with that. Plagg, Kwamii of destruction and bad luck, chose Marinette to be his vessel. With the help from the cat Marinette could disappear into the shadows of the night. How ironic that the kingdom crowned her the prey of her transformed form. Nevertheless she would creep, stalk, and hunt her prey for the good of the nation. It’s a shame that her plan would be intrupted.

It happened on the 8th of December of the year 1519 A.D. Robin Hood fell through on a job. She got sloppy. A child had been involved and threw her off her usual rhythm. On this night Marinette’s sights were set on a Duke that lived near the palace, a high risk target. She didn’t know that the Prince had been watching her activity and predicted her next move. Prince Damian Al Gul was expecting a man and did not anticipate a woman in a cat suit. Her eyes were glowing an electric blue, her suit was loose with many pockets, her hair was long and braided it mimicked a tail, a staff was at her side, and sharp claws were visible. He also hadn’t expected her to destroy the chains he bound her in, “Sayonara, Your Highness!” With that she vanished within the night.

The days following had both Marinette and Damian on high alert. Robin Hood had not been active in seven days and the Prince was trying to convince his grandfather that the culprit was a woman with powers. “There’s no need to punish the whole kingdom, it’s a woman with blue eyes that can destroy anything with a single touch and long hair. The others need not be effected.”

“They help aid and abed a known criminal. They are as bad as them, and are you certain it was a woman? They aren’t smart nor strong enough to achieve such feats, perhaps the night tricked you. There is no such thing as magic,” Ra laughed heartily.

“I know what I saw,” Damian’s voice steeled, “you shouldn’t underestimate an opponent you’ve never encountered. It was definitely a woman, I’m sure of it,” Ra dismissed Damian saying how he was fooled. Damian would kill him before Christmas Eve, he swore it.

Robin Hood took a hiatus for one week before heading back onto the saddle. She hit lower risk nobles. The poor surrounding towns have been receiving copycats and claiming to be Robin Hood. All of which were males, therefore Damian didn’t even bat an eye at these claims. He didn’t understand how she could just vanish from every scene. Not a trace could be found at any of the nobles’ homes. It made him livid.

Marinette had been working odd jobs in an effort to keep food on the table for herself. She never once kept her heist rewards, all of it went back to the people. If she kept it all, she would be no better then the nobels she stole from. Redistribution of wealth would have to come eventually to keep from another French Revolution. The king should be thanking her, without “Robin Hood” the people of the kingdom would have certainly overthrown him by now. All Ra seems to be doing now is sitting on his laurel in the palace. He seems to be on a warpath because of her though.

The people of France are now being punished with lower rations, the king says until “Robin Hood” is turned in, the rations will continue to decrease. Marinette contemplated revealing herself so that the rest would not suffer because of her, but then the people of France said they would defend Robin Hood till their dying breath. “Robin Hood is the only reason my children are still alive,” one citizen shouts, “and you expect me to turn my savior in? Who are we Judas?”

The others seemed to murmur or nod in agreement. Marinette was almost brought to tears. The people of France regarded her as their hero, and as far as they were concerned Robin Hood was their true monarch.

Damian, however, was becoming increasingly more and more frustrated with Ra and Robin Hood. His plan to kill Ra would be complete by sunrise on the 23rd of December, but he was getting nowhere when it came to her. That was until a certain female baker was hired by the palace.

‘She is beautiful,’ Damian thought to himself. He did not know her name, but boy did she take his breath away whenever she walked near him. Her eyes we the most gorgeous blue he’d ever seen, her hair was short and pulled away by two ponytails. She was a goddess in mortal form. Every time she graced him with her presence, he’d drop everything to stop and stare. The baker was none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

She knew the job was risky, but what’s life without a little risk. She had to be careful though, the prince constantly had eyes on her. He never spoke to her, but was always watching her. There’s no way he could recognize her, last time he saw her she was wearing the Miraculous. It’s impossible, so why was he so interested in her?

Marinette was still active as Robin Hood, she never stoped. She wasn’t as frequent, but not once did she stop. This was about something more then her safety, there were real lives on the line and all were counting on her. The palace should probably up their security, how did no one realize that she was in the palace?

Oh, they did. It was just Tim Drake’s idea to keep silent. If Ra wanted to look at them like animals, then Tim would give him animals. They weren’t obedient dogs for his bidding, the people were foxes that were plotting against every move that was made. All but the nobels knew that Robin Hood was part of the palace staff and the staff would do anything to protect one of their own.

The 22nd night of December rolled around and everything was in place for the fall of Ra. Damian had spent weeks of preparation just to ensure the perfect crime. After his mother’s disappearance, Damian’s skill set began to incorporate some less then legal activities. He knew of the types of poison Ra became immune too, he knew of Ra’s intensive knowledge of combat, he knew the interworkings of the castle’s interior. Every piece was in place, noting was left to chance.

The only unknown variable would be the appearance of Robin Hood. Ever since their first encounter, they’ve seemed to slow their pace. They didn’t stop though. It was weird how she was attacking smaller fish other then the big leagues. But she would be a headache for another day, today Damian needed to get rid of his beloved grandfather and he knew just the way to do it. He bumped into someone, “I-I’m sorry Prince Damian! I wasn’t l-looking where I was going!”

Damian recognized the voice as the baker’s, he drew a breath. He was the one who actually bumped into her, “N-No,” he cleared his throat, “No, it was my fault.”

A flush creeped its way up his neck. He didn’t understand it, Damian had experienced attraction to women before. But with her, it was like breathing for the first time. He didn’t know how to explain it, she made his stomach do somersaults and caused his mind to go blank. “Umm,” she spoke again, “well, I think it’s time I take my leave.”

“Wait!” Damian grabbed her wrist and quickly let go after turning off autopilot, “What’s your name?”

“My name?” She questioned.

“Yes, what do they call you, other than a vision of beauty.”

It was Marinette’s turn to be embarrassed now, “O-Oh, my name’s Marinette! Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

“Marinette,” he said as if it was a spell on his tongue, “what a beautiful name to match the face of the beholder.”

Not knowing how to respond to that Marinette bowed to take her leave. After she left, Damian snapped out of his daze and continued to push his plan into motion.

*Line break*

It was the morning of December 23rd and King Ra was found dead in his bed. He died in his sleep with no signs of foul play. Oh, but foul play was at work. This left a vacancy for the throne. A vacancy that would be filled by Damian Al Gul, Heir to the throne.

After his coronation, Damian started a initiative to improve the kingdom’s poverty situation. Damian knew the Noble families horded their wealths like dragons protecting their treasure, but that would no longer be acceptable. Damian made the kingdom’s economy flurish within 2 years time. And during that time, Robin Hood retired. She said the kingdom no longer needed her.

Marinette continued her work in the palace, she as promoted as assistant to the crown in no time. She spent more and more time with the king and grew an affection for him. But in order to sustain a life, she’d need to find a husband as were the times. Tim Drake seemed like the safest choice, they were best friends. She knew Tim and a man named Conner Kent were infatuated with each other, but not everyone was as accepting as Marinette was.

Her and the king had their daily chat as he was doing his daily duties when Marinette brought up the subject, “Do you think Timothy Drake would make a good husband?”

Damian raised and eyebrow, “Yes, why do you ask?”

“I’m wondering if I should pursue him as a husband or not,” she said plainly.

“W-What?” Damian spat his wine out, “W-Why would you need you pursue him as a husband?”

“I need a husband to sustain myself. I don’t want to marry Tim, but in order to keep my family legacy alive I will need a husband.”

“True, but Tim?” Damian tried to keep his distain to himself as much as he physically could.

“What’s wrong with Tim?” Marinette asked quited angered.

“Oh, nothing... if you enjoy talking to a wet, half-asleep napkin!”

“Hey!” Marinette snapped, “That’s my friend and yours, remember that. My king,” Damian knew me messed up, she only called him king whenever he really made her mad, “do you have a better solution?”

“I-I...” he couldn’t think of anything.

“That’s what I assumed,” Marinette huffed, “Please refrian from talking bad about him like that. What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” ‘Everything that you said’ Damian’s kind took over.

Marinette had left the room, the atmosphere became too much for her. She went to help the other servants in the neighboring rooms. It was then Damian decided he would ask her to marry him.

Damian was never a patient man, remember?

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A/N: I’m sorry for not posting for day seven. I wasn’t feeling the prompt for it and didn’t want to give y’all something subpar in comparison to the other thing I’m capable of creating for you. Still, thank you for continuing to read, like, comment, and reblog my work! It’s crazy to think so many of you enjoy my work! If you want to be added to the tag list all you have to do is comment or send an ask!

 Tag list: @daminette-december2019 @persephonebutkore @gingerdaile @seraphichana @mystery-5-5 @krispydefendorpolice @jardimazul @royalchaoticfangirl @theoryfan205 @goblinwhoships @emeraldpuffguide @spicybelladonna @thesunanditsangel @coltaire

[juneiswriting]

Open Heart: Second Year, Chapter 7, Ethan Diamond Scene Rewrite

Author’s note: My first time doing a rewrite! Hope I captured the characters right and hope you enjoy it!

Summary: This is a rewrite of  Open Heart: Second Year, Chapter 7, Ethan diamond scene

Caution: I dislike how PB changed Ethan’s backstory from book 1 to book 2, so I wrote in a way that I felt convincing.

Ethan met Baz in the corridors, and went into the office together, the office door swung open, Ariel and June were chatting, at least right before they went in. Ethan looked at both of them, June was in his seat, which raised his eyebrows, but soon Ethan’s attention turned to Ariel, who didn’t look very well. At the same time, June looked as composed as she always was. He wondered what they were talking about.

‘Who wants donuts?’ Baz hoisted the paper bag in his hand higher, with his playful tone. 

‘There’d better be a glazed in there for me.’ June joked and went to Baz, checking out and picking her donut. Ethan silently rolled his eyes. Why would anyone love those sugar-loaded food-like substances? Were they planning to be at the hospital as a patient soon?

Then Ethan realized Ariel hadn’t moved, did she not also like donuts? He looked at her, she was staring at the ground, her body seemed to be tense. Ethan knew her pretty well, something had to be wrong. He cocked an eyebrow at her, ‘Something on your mind, Ariel?’

‘I’m fine.’ Ariel straightened up, slowly making her way to join Baz and June at the meeting table. Ethan followed her, and he knew she wasn’t fine. But this wasn’t the right place to talk about it, he would figure it out later, when he got a moment with her privately.

‘Alright then, let’s get to work…’ Ethan started the meeting, updating the team on new cases they got and follow ups for their patients. After he divided up assignments among the team, June and Baz headed out, Ariel was packing up the paperwork. 

‘Ariel, I want you to stick with our coma patient. I think you have the best chance at convincing her to do the study.’ Ethan instructed Ariel. 

He had spent the last night thinking through this, getting research funding for the team, and it felt like he was using the patient. He almost got a sleepless night. At least the research could do good to more patients, and getting research funding was not an ethical dilemma in itself. He decided to let Ariel handle this, she was always inspiring and she could see hope and good in every situation. The patient, Stephanie, could use a dose of that.

‘Got it.’ Ariel nodded, her face solemn. 

‘You know you can tell me.’ Ethan leaned forward in his chair, looking Ariel in the eye, he was concerned, it must be something significant to give Ariel this look. Usually, she was a beam of sunshine, while he couldn’t admit it to her, he knew she was, both to him and to the hospital. Ariel hesitated, before she could answer, his phone buzzed, catching both of their attention. Ethan looked at the screen, ‘Incoming Call: Dad’ Ethan ran a hand through his hair in frustration, could there be a worse time for calling? He declined the call, sighed. His attention now turned towards his dad, away from Ariel. 

Ariel looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed, ‘Is everything okay between you and your dad?’ She asked, and Ethan felt he had to answer truthfully. If there was anyone he could lean on with personal issues, she was the one. He remembered his talk with his dad in the coffee shop, and her support, although not needed, still warmed him.

‘He says my mother reached out again, wanting to see me. And he thinks I should.’ He thought of how his father tried to convince him, but Ethan knew nothing good could come out of that. 

‘It’s infuriating. She’s essentially making me hurt my father when I say no. She won’t stop.’ Thinking of his mother made Ethan angry, she should know how she hurt both of them. Yet she wanted to hurt them even more than before.

Ethan remembered how he and dad weren't on talking terms for a while, a pretty long while, after arguing over his mother. All through high school, dad tried to make Ethan stop blaming his mother, making him forgive her, which he couldn’t and wouldn’t. This prolonged argument gave Ethan the strength to stand with his choice of applying to medical school, seeking a life for himself, despite his dad wanting him to study somewhere closer to home and become something else.

It was not long ago before Ethan managed to talk to his dad. After Naveen’s condition, Ethan felt the urge to at least try to reestablish his relationship with his dad. It took him endless sleepless nights, rethinking his choice and contemplating how he would do it. At last he decided that he was mad at his mother, and dad acted as a displacement of his anger, who he shouldn’t be mad at. Yet, when he was trying to have peace with dad, this happened.

‘I wish he would realize that this isn’t genuine, her coming back out of nowhere. She wants something, I know it.’ Instead of anger toward his mother, now Ethan felt bad for dad. The man helplessly believed that woman, who hurt him more than anything. How could he believe her?

‘How can you be sure?’ Ariel asked. Just as Ethan thought, she could always see things from the bright side. But her doing this now upset him, he suppressed his anger, no, he shouldn’t be angry at her. 

‘There’s a rational explanation for everything, Ariel.’ After picking his words carefully, Ethan sighed.

‘If we’re being rational… why not get a little more information?’ Ariel asked.

‘What do you mean?’ Ethan knew she had a tendency to challenge his way of thinking, but even when it came to his personal issues? Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.

‘Do you know where she’s staying?’

‘My dad mentioned a motel in Southie.’

‘So, let’s check it out. We could tail her, see what she’s really up to.’ Ariel said, with her usual enthusiastic tone and a grin on her face. It was impossible to say no to her. Ethan tried to stifle his lips, but still, a smile slowly spread across his face. He shook his head amused. The power this woman had on him was unbelievable.

‘That’s completely insane. And immature. And possibly immoral. And… not a bad idea.’ He chuckled. The method she suggested, must be the result of her watching too many detective movies, who knew what kids these days were watching. Even more surprising to him, he was onboard with that. 

‘I haven’t seen her in twenty-five years but… more and more, I feel as though I need answers.’ Ethan was confident he was right all along, but he still wanted to know first hand. He wasn’t sure he was ready to find out, but with Ariel on his side, maybe he was. More importantly, stealing some time alone with Ariel would be great. 

A light rain pattered against the windshield as they drove across town. The closer they got to Southie, the more he was nervous. Maybe he should have turned down Ariel and stayed in the hospital instead.

‘You’re sure she’s staying at the Bay Motel? It looks like a drive on the website… and nothing ever looks as good as the website.’ Ariel looked out of the window and gasped.

‘I’m sure. It’s the address she gave dad.’ Ethan shrugged, he also had no idea, he had never been to Southie before. He was usually busy in the hospital, and there wasn’t a reason for him to drive all the way here.

‘My guess is that she’s hoping a renewed relationship with me comes with a side of cash.’ Ethan was irritated, he was close with his instinct, his voice was hard. At the same time, he wished he was wrong. During his time at medical school, he had enough people trying to get close to him, just to get tips on exams. Being at his position now, there were even more people sucking up, so they could get benefit, and within seconds he thought of the big pharmas, and that Delcan Nash, he gritted his teeth. Ariel’s eyes were on him, she swallowed, ‘Maybe she’s just… thrifty.’

Ethan pulled up outside a derelict, two-story motel with rusty metal bannisters and bars over the windows. ‘...And really thrifty.’ Ariel was shocked. Ethan hid his grimace, it wouldn’t be too bad if his hypothesis on his mother’s outreaching was wrong. It’s very rare that he was wrong, but he could admit it when he was, and in this case, he was willing to admit it.

He pulled into a parking spot across the street and turned off the engine with a sigh. ‘This might have been a bad idea. It’s been twenty-five years. I don’t even know if I’ll recognize her.’ He realized that this never occurred to him. Twenty-five years was a long time, a lot could have changed.

‘You’ll recognize her.’ Ariel said with such confidence that he had to at least try believing that. They sat still in silence for a brief moment, before Ariel broke it, ‘Ethan, what happened the day she left?’

‘What little there is to remember. I was eleven, she said she needed to go to the grocery store, and then she just… didn’t come back.’ He said, staring out of the window, leaning on the steering wheel. 

‘Oh, God.’ Ariel looked surprised.

‘We never saw her again. Dad was beside himself. He called the police, thinking something terrible had happened to her.’ A small wryly smile appeared on his face, and he continued, ‘He left me with a babysitter and went out searching for the 48 hours before the police were able to do anything.’ His jaws tight, the thought of his dad running away helplessly in search of that woman pissed him off, even years later. ‘They found her within a day and told Dad he’d been dumped. One laughed. Thought it was funny to see a man cry over his runaway wife.’ He snorted.

Ariel gave his shoulder a squeeze, ‘I’m so sorry Ethan.’ Her voice was calming, Ethan felt himself loosen up slightly, he shook his head, frustrated, ‘Don’t be…The thing that gets me the most isn’t that she left us… It’s that Dad forgave her.’ This was the thing that made him angry all through high school, and caused countless arguments with his dad. 

‘He waited twenty-five years for her to come back, and now she’s here, and it’s not for him. And he still thinks the best of her.’ Ethan winced, he looked at Ariel, searching her eyes for support.

‘I never told him this. That the thing that stung the most back then is that I hated her… and he loved her.’ he paused to take a breath, ‘Why didn’t he ever resent her the way I did?’ He wasn't sure what he expected Ariel to say, but he meant it, he had no idea why dad was so soft, he had even more reasons to be mad at his mother. She was the woman who turned her back to his dad, making him cry for the weeks and years that passed, shattering his heart into pieces.

‘Because it’s not always that easy to fall out of love with someone.’ Ariel said with a soft voice.

Ethan saw a flick of sadness in her eyes, assuming it was for his dad, he retorted, ‘But she left him. She made a fool out of him!’ he snorted, holding his hands into fists.

‘Apparently that doesn’t matter to him.’ Ariel averted his glare and looked at the floor instead.

‘I can’t understand that.’ Ethan sighed, fell back into his seat, shaking his head. This wasn’t logical, for Ethan if something hurt you, it was the only reasonable thing to avoid it, to avoid getting hurt once again. 

‘I don’t think you have to. It’s your dad’s heart. He gets to take as long as he needs to heal, even if that’s forever.’ Ariel said calmly. Ethan wanted to fight back, but he struggled to find the words. Heart, yet again the thing Ethan couldn’t understand. He disliked unpredictable, yet the heart was the thing he couldn’t make a formula out of. He sniffed and looked up through the gentle swipe of the windshield wipers.

‘That’s her!’ He gasped, eyes widened. He caught sight of a woman walking quickly across the motel parking lot. She held a magazine to shield her from the rain as she spoke into a cell phone.

‘Are you sure?’ Ariel looked at the woman and asked.

‘I’m sure’ Ethan gritted his teeth, the rage was coming back to him. After all those years, his memory with his mother slowly faded into whispers, he barely remembered her face. Yet, the moment he saw the woman walking, he knew she was the one, and this was another thing he couldn’t explain.

The woman hurried up the street and disappeared into a store. Ethan sighed and slumped back against his seat. He was so close to an answer he wanted, but part of him didn’t want to know. ‘This was a mistake. We can’t learn anything about her from fifty feet away.’ He was deflated, motioning for the car key, wanting to leave. 

Ariel grabbed his arm, stopping him, ‘So let’s follow her in and do some eavesdropping.’ She was determined, her eyes intense. Ethan was taken aback, ‘I… What if she recognizes me?’ His face fell as a second, unasked question hangs in the air: What if she doesn’t? He had know idea. Seeing how he managed to recognize her in a split second, maybe she would. But what twenty-five years did to a kid was unimaginable, it was equally likely for her not to recognize him. And he didn’t know which way he preferred.

‘Then I’ll go. She’ll have no idea who I am.’ Ariel gave his arm a squeeze, and proceeded to leave the car. ‘Ariel, no, you don’t need to do this for me.’ He tried to stop Ariel, but with the word he said and the tone of his voice, he doubted he would even convince himself.

‘I know. I want to.’ Ariel looked him in the eyes, with a smile, her eyes warm and supportive, and with determination. Before he could say anything, she went out, closing the door behind her. Ethan fell back on his seat.

He didn’t doubt her words. He knew how far she would go for her friends. She had the passion towards people, and she put herself before others. She was always by her side, since the day she came in as an intern. There seemed to be no way he could get away from her, it felt like the inevitable. It took all his restraint to keep himself from her. He cared about her, so much that he couldn’t bear the thought of putting himself in the way of her career. He knew she could be the greatest doctor there had ever been, even surpassing himself. It was his job, his calling to push her where she needed to be. Before that, what he wanted didn’t matter, it would be foolish and selfish for him to allow his emotion take charge.

He was angry with himself, it was his dad and his mother, why couldn’t he figure out what and how to do on his own? Why must he drag Ariel with him? He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t push her away. Deep down, he knew she would find out, like how she found out about Naveen, despite his effort in hiding it from everyone. When she found out, she would still insist to help. The thought of Ariel’s smile calmed him, making him smile at himself. What did he do to deserve her? At least deserve her as a friend?

Ethan seemed to see a figure slip out of the store, he jolted up in his seat, he squinted, looking into the heavy rain. He barely made out the shape of a person. It didn’t look like Ariel, he fell back in his seat, waiting. He found himself breathing quicker, his palms were wet. He started imagining everything that could go wrong with Ariel. He stared at the steering wheel, trying to calm himself. She would be fine… Nothing could go wrong...

Suddenly the car door opened, and Ethan jumped at it. ‘Jesus!’ he gasped, snapping back from his thought.

‘You didn’t see me coming?’ Ariel giggled.

‘I can’t see anything in all this rain.’ He rolled his eyes at her, then he furrowed his eyebrows, ‘How’d it go?

‘Ethan, she made me her unwitting accomplice in shoplifting.’ Ariel looked at the floor sheepishly.

‘Damn her.’ His jaw tightened, he knew it. That woman couldn’t be of any good. He winced, disappointed that he had to call that woman his mother even though he wanted to have  nothing to do with her, since twenty-five years ago. Quickly he recomposed himself, ‘Well. That answers that, then, doesn’t it?’

‘We don’t know she’s only here for your money.’ It was unbelievable to Ethan that Ariel was still trying to make out something good in this situation, he frowned, cutting her off, ‘We know enough. We should get back to the hospital, where there are patients that needed us, where truly important things are’

He turned the engine back on, the headlights cutting twin paths through the rain. The drive started off in silence, Ethan was busy processing what had happened. He wasn’t sure was this what he wanted to know, but it was what it was, he turned to Ariel, while keeping half attention at the road, ‘Thanks for making me do this, Ariel. I think I needed it.’

‘You’re welcome, Ethan.’ Ariel replied with a grin on her face. A grin so warm that it melted his heart and his walls. Before he knew it, he was lacing his fingers tenderly through her hand, a familiar spark in the touch sent him a shiver. They exchanged a smile, and he held her hand tight all the way back to Edenbrook...

Ethan wished he could do something more than holding her hand and thanking her. He wanted to let her know that he really cared about her, more than she could imagine and more than he was comfortable admitting. He also wanted her to know he needed her, but before he ran off the cliff and destroyed her career, he had to stop somewhere safe. 

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1023]

Any animal can be trained.

Sure, there's some that are easier than others. There are animals that hav a history of domestication and being trained to do specific tasks. And the training for these animals has been passed down and through era’s and civilizations. But the lack of history and widespread knowledge of other, less common, animals being trained does not necessarily imply that they can’t be.

You can train anything with enough time, patience, and incentive.

Of those three things Bull is pretty sure Ellana’s only got two.

And yet, she’s possibly the only person Bull’s ever known or heard of to train a house cat. Unless Astra’s got some kind of crazy mixed blood with a mountain lion. Unlikely considering how small he is.

Bull stares at Astra. Astra stares back at him.

Astra is a neat little black circle right in front of the door. His tail and paws are perfectly tucked underneath his small body.

The little bastard’s in it for the long haul.

Bull attempts to scoop Astra up again but the cat’s ears flatten, entire body bristling as he hisses at Bull’s hand. And in the interest of keeping all of his skin Bull takes his hand back, holding his hands up in surrender until Astra calms down.

“How did she put you up to this?” Bull asks, crouched down three feet from Astra. The cat yawns. It’s an impressive display of teeth and attitude. It’s true that animals resemble their owners, then. Or vice versa. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Either way the resemblance right now is downright unfair. “Astra. Let me out. If I have to move you by force I will. Don’t test me.”

Astra has more balls than probably half the damn continent because that’s what he does exactly. He's testing Bull.

Astra slowly closes his eyes and starts to sleep. Or pretend to sleep.

“You’re too young to be a dick. You’re less than a year old, that’s still infancy or something in cat years. I’m assuming there’s gotta be cat years if there’s dog years. Which I don’t get, but sure why not. Let the Dog Lords muck around with measurements of time. It’s better than whatever bullshit nonsense Orlesians pull.” Bull says to the cat, “Hey. Remember I’m the one who got you? Where’s your loyalty? I even convinced her to keep you. Don’t you owe me something?”

Astra, predictably, doesn't respond. If Ellana’d figured out how to teach Astra how to do that Bull’d give up right here and now. He’d also probably throw the cat at Evelyn and try to get her to purify or exorcise the thing.

“Do I need to bribe you? Did she teach you extortion?” Bull asks, taking a slow look around the room. He doubts that there’s any food in here that would be of particular interest to the cat. He’s got some field rations on hand but that’s nothing. The damn creature’s been spoiled by everyone cooing over him and giving him scraps. It’s a surprise he isn’t fat. It’s all the running around and causing trouble. Like his owner.

He sighs, slowly standing to try and find something anyway. Maybe he can find some sort of toy to lure Astra with.

Again, unlikely, but he ought to give it a shot anyway.

When did Ellana even get time to train Astra to be a little bastard? It isn’t innate. Astra didn’t do this before.

Well. Astra’s going to have to move eventually. The door’s going to open one way or another. Ellana’s got to come inside, and she isn’t going to risk hitting her cat. There must be a command she used to get Astra to stay and another she has to get him to move.

Could he possibly guess the code phrase she used? If she’s taught Astra to stay then she’s probably taught him some other tricks, too. And knowing Wolf, they’re probably the nasty kind. The kind that’ll get Bull more trouble than its worth.

He sighs as he rummages through one of his packs, coming up with nothing that would interest a cat except maybe a worn piece of thread that’d fallen off of something that was in here.

Bull turns and waves the threat at Astra anyway, who doesn’t even bother opening his eyes to see what Bull is up to. But he’s probably listening.

This cat is too much like Wolf and that’s going to be a pain in his ass. A pain in his ass that he brought on himself twice over.

Bull considers puling on some of his thicker leather armor pieces and just going for it when the door starts to nudge open.

Astra is up and out of the way instantly, running to leap onto the bed and curl up there instead.

Ellana, herself, walks in, turning to survey the room. Astra on the bed, looking unbothered. Bull holding up a thread that could, if someone were generous, be called a string.

Her expression turns smug. “Ah, so it works.”

“Dirty play,” Bull replies, striding towards the door to try and get around her. Ellana moves to keep blocking him. “You’re gonna have to let me out at some point.”

“Sure, but not this one,” Ellana says, shrugging. “How’s the burn?”

“Better. It’s not like I can make it any worse.”

“Don’t tempt the universe like that. Go sit down, let me check the dressing.”

“It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse.”

“Just because you’ve had worse before doesn’t mean you can neglect the wound you currently have.” Ellana pinches his side and starts to herd him towards the bed with that traitor of a cat waiting and watching.

“If I ask you how you got Astra to pull that trick would you tell me? I wouldn’t be able to pull it off even if you did tell me. It’s academic curiosity.”

“I’d rather leave you in suspense. Let the mystery occupy your thoughts while you’re on leave to recover,” Ellana says. “Besides, if I don’t keep up the mystery you’ll get bored of me.”

“Untrue on so many levels. I think you’d have to actively try to bore me at this point. And you can’t be pretending like that at all hours of the day. You’ve got to sleep at some point.”

“And I’m not boring when I’m asleep?”

“Ah. So you don’t know then. Good. No one’s told you.”

Ellana’s eyes narrow. She stops in the middle of unpacking her medical kit and she moves to stand right in front of him, taking his chin in her hands as she makes him look her in the eye.

“Told me what.”

Bull smirks. “I’d rather leave you in suspense. Let the mystery occupy your thoughts while I”m on leave.”

[cinnamonrollorder]

Whoops

I DID IT AFTER 9000 YEARS. This is prompt 3 of the set that the lovely @annikatti gifted the world with.

 Everyone knew Sonic was tired. It wasn’t a secret, no matter how much the Blue Blur tried to hide it. There was eventually no hiding the super-sized bags under his eyes, or how hard it was to catch his breath after a long run. He usually stood tall and proud, with his signature smile upon his face, so it was hard to not notice how much he slumped, or his smiles were strained. And yet, matter how bad it seemed to get, Sonic never stopped.

Anyone he’d pass by would at least get a greeting, or a half-hearted smile. He was trying so hard to bolster everyone’s spirits, even if the metallic patches of fur that always lingered on his skin nowadays dulled the effect. Sonic would often stop by Cream and Whisper, trying to see if they needed anything. When it was late at night, he’d go around making sure everyone was asleep. Amy eventually just let Sonic do all the night jobs, at the promise that he’d wake someone up if he was going on a run. Sonic never did, but somehow always turned up fine.

Espio should know, since he had been watching the hedgehog. It had been Amy’s request.

“He can’t run off the infection for long. I just worry about him, and I don’t have time to check up on Sonic.”

“You want me to watch him, correct? I can do that.”

“Thank you, Espio.” Amy had looked so tired in that moment; so tired, in fact, Espio had no choice but to set aside his grudge against the blue hedgehog and agree. He was quite aware that Sonic had no way of knowing that letting Eggman go would cause all this, but it didn’t change the fact that Sonic had caused all of this. If Sonic had destroyed Metal, and let Eggman be put away in a monitored location, then no one would be in this mess.

Vector and Charmy wouldn’t be in this mess.

The chameleon shook his head, dispersing those thoughts. There wasn’t any point in dwelling on the “what ifs”. What was happening now was too important.

The “now” was evacuating a sizeable little town that had just gotten hit by the virus. The problem with this town is that it had been adequately defended up until now; there were walls all around the town, along with multiple choke points made with buildings, and freshly dug draining holes that were supposed to limit the spread of the liquid virus. They couldn’t tell how well it worked, since they had to land outside the walls. Eggman and Starline had already flown off, seemingly content on leaving their group to suffer, and probably not wanting to risk getting infected themselves.

Sonic was there, this time, he, Silver, and Tails were supposed to climb over the wall and find a spot for the others to get in. Sonic and Silver would clear the spot out as Tails would go back to report it. On the surface, it was a sound plan. Sonic and Silver were the only ones who could safely hold off zombots, and Tails could easily fly to escape any dangers.

The problem was that Espio had been watching Sonic, so he know exactly what the hedgehog had been doing the last two days.

He’d watched as Sonic stayed up the past two nights doing all the night jobs, having convinced everyone that he was fine and they needed the sleep. Espio himself had to sleep both those nights, since he’d be found out if he just ominously was in dark, shadowy places watching Sonic. Not to mention, Sonic kept periodically checking everyone to make sure they were resting.

So, technically, he hadn’t seen Sonic stay up, but considering the hedgehog’s virus always stayed relatively contained those nights, it was clear Sonic hadn’t let himself rest. Or eat. Eating was another problem entirely.

Espio hadn’t noticed until it became his job to notice, but Sonic didn’t eat. He already had permission to eat at a different time than everyone else (Amy and Tails agreed that it’d be easier to keep Sonic away from the small crowd that always gathered when food was handed out), so it was easy to miss. Sonic just seemed to rarely stop by to get food. Espio remembered one night, where Sonic had stumbled into the storage room, grabbed a hidden half of a ration, and ate it. He realized what Sonic was doing at that point.

Sonic was trying to conserve food. He’d stop by every once in a while, and eat half of what he should. He’d leave the next half for whenever he came by again. That left more food for everyone else.

The problem with that was Sonic’s metabolism was as fast as the blue blur himself was, and that half of a ration was certainly not doing anything but barely keeping him alive. Oh, and the fact that Sonic ran enough miles every day to short-circuit a fitbit.

However, addressing this would reveal Espio had been watching Sonic, and then that would lead to asking why Espio had to watch Sonic, and then that would lead to Sonic being told he was slowly losing his immunity. Which, all things considered, wasn’t the best idea. Despite the fact the hedgehog was the easiest one to blame for everything, he was their one bit of hope. Even if it was running out, Sonic had an immunity to the virus. He was trying to bolster spirits and help as best he could.

Espio couldn’t afford to dim Sonic’s spirit, even just a little.

So, he pulled aside Silver and told him to keep an eye on Sonic.

“Got it! You can count on me!” He said, with a little smile. Espio left it at that, glad Silver didn’t ask why.  He was a good kid, but Espio wasn’t sure he was the best at secret-keeping. He’d done what he could, at least.

----

Silver may not always have the best judgement, but he wasn’t an idiot. He know what Espio wanted, and he knew why. He’d have to be stupid not to. Silver wasn’t around the pink hedgehog that often, but he’d noticed last time he was that she kept glancing at Sonic, who’d been on top of a shelf in the corner, watching everyone. He noticed her concern.

Besides, he was worried, too.

He could see it in the way the hedgehog carried himself, and he had a better picture of it by not seeing him every day. One week he didn’t have any bags, the next week he carried the world in them. One day he’s standing up straight, the next time he sees the blue blur he’s hunched over all the time. It was like watching a slideshow progressing towards someone’s death. He hated it.

It was obvious Espio was keeping an eye on Sonic, most likely because of Amy’s orders, and since he couldn’t come with them right now, he’d asked Silver to do it for him. He could do that. He was gonna do it regardless, because Sonic was particularly bad today.

----

Sonic couldn’t remember the definition of self-care. Sleeping, eating, drinking, all of it was foreign. Well, not exactly. He had a bit of stale bread…. A… day ago? He wasn’t sure. He knew he hadn’t slept all week, at least. Maybe it was getting to him.

He felt stiff all morning, and his head was pounding with vigor the rest of him didn’t have. He knew they were nearing a place with people, though, so he did his best to appear awake and alert.  He was pretty sure he did a decent enough job at it. No one stopped him, at least.

When he was finally told what his mission was, he couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease. It wasn’t that he thought it would be difficult, it was just some inherent feeling he couldn’t shake off. Silver was certainly capable of taking care of himself, since no Zombot could even get close to him. Tails was smart, and he could literally fly. Sonic himself didn’t have to fear being touched, he just needed to make sure he wasn’t grabbed and pinned. All things considered, he shouldn’t have felt so worried.

Upon later consideration, Sonic believed what should have happened was a future Sonic would suddenly appear, shake him vigorously, and demand to know why Sonic only had one brain cell.

The mission started off well enough. They scaled the wall, got inside, and Sonic hopped from roof to roof trying to find a nice, safe enough spot for everyone else to come in. He realized that the village’s defenses had actually sort of worked. The holes weren’t big enough and numerous enough to hold everything, but it did keep most of the virus from spreading through everything. The funnels between buildings helped keep the hordes at bay, since they were too stupid to wait to go through one at a time, and just amassed a body pile at the entrances. By now, uninfected townspeople were rushing over to the trio. A male goat with a kid in his arms pointed to a specific spot on the wall and yelled, “over there! There’s a mechanism that’ll open it up!” Sonic gave him a quick salute and darted over. One of the bricks was jetting out more than the others, so he pressed it. He was feeling oddly energetic, so he made sure Tails saw the opening in the wall before running for the zombots that were slowly beginning to get close to innocent civilians.

----

Silver made sure Tails got out before turning in the air and going after Sonic. He had only stopped for a second, but that was enough for Silver to realize that Sonic had been shaking. The blue hedgehog didn’t seem to realize it, of course, but he somehow looked like death had a ton of caffeine. Sonic was making a beeline for a few zombots who were trying to grab any nearby people they could. A few solid kicks from him and they were beaten back, so he moved on. Silver watched this as if it were a ping-pong match, just watching as Sonic seemed to bounce between targets.

It was at this point Silver remembered something very important.

The ground was all grass, and it was infected. It was slowly spreading through the town. At this point, everyone who could be infected was safe at the escape area, minus Silver himself. At least for now. Silver started trying to cover up alleys and breaks between houses with anything nonliving he could find. Sonic was watching him, too, and started clearing out areas specifically for Silver to block. They had to fall back a little, since the virus was still trying to spread, and the zombots were zeroing in on them, but it was OK. They were doing fine.

About half of the town had been lost, but the rest were OK. Silver glanced back a few times to see the progress of evacuation. They were almost done, it seemed. Some people hadn’t left, and they were trying to find them and get them out while they still could. They could hold out a little longer, it was OK.

Then it was suddenly very much not OK.

It was like watching dominoes fall, but instead of a gentle little tap knocking them all down, it was like Shadow had come in on his truck and ran over all the dominoes. One of the barriers failed, releasing a bunch of zombots and the liquid virus. When they went over to fix it, another barrier failed. Then another. And many more barriers.

“We can’t hold them! Get out of here!” Silver yelled as loud as he could. He couldn’t check to see if they’d heard him, because a zombot tried jumping up to grab his foot. He barely managed to fly out of reach. Sonic, who was grounded, wasn’t so lucky. A small beetle child had snuck up behind him and latched onto him. Silver used his psychokinesis to wrench the little kid off and throw her back towards the approaching hoard. Taking one look at Sonic was all Silver needed. His chest was heaving, and he was covered in metallic patches. He was still shaking, but this time he actually looked worn out. “Sonic! Run!”

“No way! I’ll be fine if I keep them off me; I’m not leaving you to hold them all off!” Sonic yelled back, delivering a firm punch to a zombot. Not wanting to waste time arguing, Silver accepted this. He kept a close eye on the hedgehog, keeping the zombots from grabbing the blue blur. Sonic, in turn, made sure no zombot had a chance to go after Silver. Suddenly, Silver heard his communicator beep. I forgot I had this. He quickly tapped it.

“Silver, everyone’s out. We have to shut the gates. Can you and Sonic make it out?” It was Amy. He glanced back to find that, yes, everyone was out, and that the virus had almost spread to the exit through the grass. There wasn’t time to go out that way, but they could use the wall.

 “Yeah, we’ve got this. Shut the gates, and we’ll get out.” He responded. Another beep and the closing of the gate (or sliding panels in the wall to be more specific) was all Silver needed. “Sonic! We’re clear!” He called to his friend. Sonic, without missing a beat, whirled around and started running away from the zombots. He didn’t have much time. Silver flew low enough to keep a good eye on Sonic.

This is the point where the dominoes actually get run over.

Sonic faltered in his steps, and stumbled clean off the roof he was on. Right below him was a river of the virus. Silver grabbed him with his psychokinesis, only to suddenly realize Sonic wasn’t moving. He’d just… completely shut down. Setting him gently down on the roof, Silver quickly tried to look the hedgehog over. He was injured, but not bleeding. So he’d been right. Sonic had passed out. The hedgehog from the future had about one second to take this in before he was brutally reminded of where he was. The zombots had gotten onto the roof, and they were not happy. Psychically grabbing Sonic and himself, Silver jetted up from where he once was. His head hurt. Sonic was twitching, probably due to being manhandled in the air.

Silver tried to get away, he really did. Just as he geared himself up for a dash out of the area, a rock hit him square in the head. Hard. He and Sonic dropped out of the sky like disappointing pizza dough. Sonic almost slid off the roof, but Silver caught him. It was then Silver realized something very very important for the last time.

His head hurt too much to focus now.

He couldn’t carry himself and Sonic out. He’d have to leave either himself or Sonic behind, which was a no-brainer. He scrambled to his feet, ran forward, and psychokinetically chucked Sonic as far as he could like a football, in his haste missing the fact the hedgehog’s eyes were suddenly wide open. The second he let go of his hold on his inert friend, he tried to lift himself away. It didn’t go nearly as well as Sonic Toss had.

Something grabbed his foot before he was a foot off the ground. Silver turned to see that same gremlin beetle child, latched onto his boot. He quickly tapped his communicator as he teetered on the roof ledge, unbalanced. He sent out one last message before he fell and plunged into the ton of metal virus on the ground.

“Sonic got out.”

-----

Everyone had seen something get thrown out of the village. If they were looking, that is. Espio was looking. Espio saw it. And being a detective, it took him one second to see something blue fly out and realize holy heck that’s Sonic’s body. Espio also correctly deduced that something had gone very, very wrong. He started running towards where Sonic had fallen, but stopped when he saw Amy’s face.

It was like someone had just died. Which, considering the situation, was probably what it was.

“Amy, what-“

“Silver didn’t make it.” She said, then threw her communicator to the ground. Espio wished he had the time to say something to that. He did. But, instead, he just started running towards Sonic’s impact zone. Once again, he was stopped by seeing that telltale blue streak of a supersonic hedgehog running away from him. From everyone. He just turned on his heel and went back to the group, clenching his fists.

He did not just sign up another one of his friends to die. He did not set Silver up to die.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

That’s what he told himself when he saw Amy giving out orders through her tears.

That’s what he told himself when Tails kept telling everyone that Silver probably couldn’t use his psychokinesis anymore, but that they still had to go.

That’s what he told himself when right before they took off Sonic came back with a haunted look in his eye.

I’m so sorry, Silver.

[secret-engima]

Pretty Song verse Drabble: Little Bird, Little Bird

(inspired by something that @hamelin-born mentioned when chatting with me about this AU, hope you enjoy XD. This takes place several weeks after the first drabble btw.)

...

     There was someone out here tonight. Pretty Song could feel it in the way her friends kept pausing and sniffing the air, hear it in their hungry rumbles as the Thirst reared its head whenever she stopped playing her flute. She wondered who was out here, so far away from a Haven. Maybe Nifs. They didn’t seem to be afraid of the night like most humans were —mostly because they didn’t have human soldiers, she didn’t know what the metal men where but human wasn’t it—.

     Without really thinking about it, Pretty Song diverted her path toward where the human must be. Not because she wanted to see the human, but because … well…

     Humans weren’t trustworthy, but she didn’t like seeing them get eaten by her friends.

     She heard an Iron Giant groan angrily not far ahead, heard the shriek of steel against tough hide and carefully raised her flute to her lips. The Thirst faded, the sounds of frantic fighting ceased. She finished her song and wondered if she should go now. She could lead them away usually, so it shouldn’t be that hard. Except… she sniffed the air and hummed unhappily when she smelled blood. The Thirst was always much, much worse when there was blood to smell. She dithered, not sure what to do.

     In the end, kindness won out and she moved closer, humming and singing to keep the daemons calm until she found a large pile of rocks. The smell of blood was stronger here, and Pretty Song was careful as she followed two Goblins up the rock until she could look down into the small lea of shelter it formed. Furious brown eyes glared back, squinting a bit past the blood running down the side of his head. The man was crouched there with sharp knives in his hands, teeth bared more like a cornered wild thing than a human. Behind him, pressed further into the rock and smelling even more strongly of blood, another man blinked up at her dazedly. She didn’t think he was entirely aware of what was going on.

     The angry one swore softly and Pretty Song hunched away. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She didn’t like her friends eating humans, but if this was an angry human that would hurt her, she couldn’t help. It would be too dangerous to help. One of the Ronin drew its sword at her flinch and the two goblins at her side hissed. The man’s eyes widened and his hands tensed on his knives. Then he …

     Lowered them?

     “Hey … you’re that kid Nyx met a few weeks ago, right?” She blinked at him warily, not sure what he was talking about or how to react. The man licked his lips and shot a glare at the nearest daemon, “Don’t suppose you could call off your friends?”

     She still didn’t move. Just hummed softly and patted one of the Goblins’ heads to keep the Thirst down while she tried to think. 

     Tredd was pretty sure he was about to get eaten while a little girl wearing Nyx’s old kingsglaive coat like a cape watched. Assuming that really was a little girl like Nyx insisted and not a new daemon that really enjoyed screwing with people. He squinted past the throbbing in his head and tried to keep his voice gentle and friendly as she stared at him and absently pet one of the Goblins like it was a freaking puppy dog, “Come on, please? I’d owe you one or something.” The kid kept blinking nervously at him, looking more scared of him than of the literal monsters all around. Behind him, Pelna whimpered and Tredd was reminded that he was running out of time to get his comrade to medical help. He knew which way the nearest Hunter outpost was, he’d been dragging Pelna’s half-conscious butt that direction since before sunset after he and Pelna got separated from the other glaives during a retreat. But getting there when there were daemons trying to eat their spleens was an impossible task for just one injured glaive who had to haul a semi-conscious friend around.

     He grit his teeth, don’t yell. Yelling scared the kid off once before. Don’t yell, think of something else. An Arachne tapped closer with a chatter, stilled as the girl hummed like she was some kind of daemon whisperer and Tredd groaned at the idea that came to him, “If the guys ever hear of this,” he muttered, “I am never living it down.”

     He looked up at the girl still watching him warily and cleared his throat as best he could.

“Little bird, little bird fly through my window,”

“Little bird, little bird fly through my window,”

“Little bird, little bird fly through my window,”

“And find molasses candy…”

     Icy blue eyes widened at his singing, then her shoulders slowly relaxed. Her nose crinkled as he repeated the verses and she actually tittered a laugh. Tredd paused and tried not to glare, “Yeah, I know it’s a dumb song and I sound like a dying frog. Wanna show me how its done?”

     She tilted her head at him, wariness still in bony shoulders —she was way too thin, Astrals—, but the borderline terror in her eyes wasn’t there anymore as she tapped her fingers against the rocks a few times in rhythm before singing back the verses he’d just croaked out. She tilted her head the other way, humming the melody and nothing else and Tredd … thought she might be wanting more verses. Tredd glanced nervously at the daemons surrounding them —if this was how he died, singing one of those stupid kid songs Axis’s kids repeated ad nauseam, Tredd was going to come back and haunt Axis’s sorry tail for the rest of his life—, then slowly sheathed one kukri so he could sling Pelna’s arm over his shoulder again as he sang.

“Through my window, my sugar lump,”

“Through my window, my sugar lump,”

“And find molasses candy.”

     The bony girl cautiously clambered down after him, repeating the verses in a much better voice than his —he knew he wasn’t the worst singer, but he was hardly pitch perfect and his head was throbbing so he had good reason to sound worse than usual—. Tredd glanced around as he took a slow step in the direction he needed to go. The daemons just watched. Another step and the girl hummed and the monsters parted way like water.

     Tredd squinted down at her and asked halfheartedly, “You know any birds?”

     She blinked at him from well out of his reach, three Tonberry scampering at her feet like freaking kittens, “Thunderroc, thunderroc?” she singsonged questioningly, which wasn’t the next bird in the verse but who cared.

    “That works.”

“Thunderroc, Thunderroc, fly through my window,”

“Thunderroc, Thunderroc, fly through my window,”

“Thunderroc, Thunderroc, fly through my window,”

“And find molasses candy.”

     And that was how Tredd’s night went. Hauling Pelna’s semi-conscious hide toward a Hunter outpost while cycling through his mental collection of the most annoying of children songs ever because those were the only ones that stuck in his head. All so that a little girl who liked daemons more than people would happily parrot them in a much better voice and keep the daemons calm.

     What was even his life right now.

     She always stayed well out of reach, but as time went on, she stopped flinching when he swore at the latest rock he’d stumbled over in the dark and instead just crinkled her nose and laughed at his bad temper. Good to know his suffering was funny to the daemon child of the night.

     She slowed down as the lights of the outpost came into view and Tredd saw genuine fear creep back onto her face. Tredd stopped to catch his breath and eyed her. She looked like she was thinking of disappearing into the night rather than going into the outpost. Tredd was suddenly angry again, but not at the daemons this time, “Hey,” she glanced nervously at him and he swallowed back the curse that he wanted to say and instead gentled his tone, “It’s okay. I won’t let anything hurt you in there. I’ve fought meaner things than a few sleep deprived Hunters since I was your age.” She didn’t look convinced and Tredd adjusted his grip on Pelna, “You’re helping me, and helping my friend. I owe you one. Nothing is gonna touch you while I’m breathing. Got that?”

     She glanced up at the Ronin she was holding hands with, then over at him.

     Tredd tried not to feel unworthy at the very fragile trust that appeared in her eyes as she slowly resumed walking for the outpost, singing softly the entire way.

     The tipster was more than a little shocked to see two glaives and a tiny kiddo in a ratty glaive coat blow into his diner, but he gave them the medical attention Pelna and Tredd both needed and stayed well away from the girl when Tredd growled at him. Tredd hauled Pelna’s now fully unconscious-but-going-to-survive-the-night tail to a caravan for the night, deciding to forgo getting a hot meal at the diner just this once because the girl looked like she was going to lose her mind surrounded by human buildings and what few Hunters were still awake at this hour and Tredd didn’t want her running off into the wilds again if he could help it.

     He coaxed her into the caravan with food and Astrals she was so small. It was impossible to tell her real age. She could have been anywhere from six to ten, but she was too tiny to know what was age-related shortness and what was from a lack of steady food. Tredd let her have the majority of his rations. He wasn’t hungry and Pelna wasn’t awake to eat anything anyway. She kicked her legs idly as she watched him, never taking her eyes away from either him or the door where more people might enter.

     If Tredd ever found out who made a child more scared of people than the freaking daemon infested wilderness and starvation, he was going to gut them. Slowly. For now he just sat as far away from her as he could and kept his movements slow whenever he had to do anything, all while keeping up a low stream of talking that hurt his throat —first singing dumb songs for hours and now this, he hadn’t made this much noise with his voice in years—. Eventually he realized he had a question.

     “You got a name kid?” A shy look from over the ration she was steadily chewing through, Tredd tapped his chest, “Name, you know, name? Mine’s Tredd, by the way. The idiot I just hauled halfway across the wilds is Pelna.”

     “Pretty Song, my name, Pretty Song,” she sang. Literally sang. He was beginning to wonder if the kid even remembered how to talk normally —don’t think about that, he was angry enough as it was—. Then he had to breathe deep to keep from reacting to the definitely-not-a-person-name. Okay. Okay. So either the kid named herself or someone named a kid like a dog-. Yep, no. Tredd was furious.

     Astrals he needed a drink.

     “Nice to meet you. Thanks for saving my hide out there tonight.” The girl just shrugged and Tredd let the topic go because he had no idea where to take it. He managed to talk her into sleeping on the couch while Tredd shoved Pelna against the wall and squeezed onto the bed, promising himself that he’d call Captain in the morning and figure out what to do with his tagalong then. He drifted off to the soft sound of the girl humming, because that didn’t seem to be something she ever really stopped doing —and if music kept daemons calm, he could guess why—.

     The next morning he woke up to silence and an open window just big enough for a tiny child to slip through.

     The kid was gone.

[michiigii-writes]

Of Shadows and Tyr (1/??)

Summary:  So, after 20 years of searching, I have stumbled upon a DnD group that is willing to deal with my absurd work schedule, and let me play with them!  I have no idea what I’m doing, and I cannot fanart my way out of a wet paper bag, so I appear to have subconsciously decided to write a novel.

Craven and the other Tiefling have written more succinct and appropriately lengthed (that’s a word) summaries.

I have created a neutral 21-year-old Tiefling druid, named Strive.  She has cinnamon skin, short garnet hair, black eyes, a whip-like tail, and horns that curve out and then slightly down and back (Bharal sheep horns).  We have started our journey at level 2.

This is my version of a “the story, so far.”  It is already too long.  8)  I have no idea how many installments there will be; I already had to separate into a second part of our first session because I wrote too much.  I also have an origins chapter for Strive because IM’ SORRY OKAY.

In the beginning:  There was a city (part 1/2)

Master said it was time to see the world.

I didn't want to, of course. I was comfortable enough to live with the Lizardfolk tribe, secreted away in a little hut by the edge of the forest, serving as their healer when Master finally passed on. Why would I need to go out into the world? Our swamp had everything I needed, and that was enough.

But as usual, Master wanted more for me.

As per Master's orders, lightly veiled as 'advice,' of course, the safest way for me to see the world would be with a group. And apparently, the easiest way to find a group of adventurers was in the city.

He failed to mention how busy and loud and DUSTY the city of Kendrith was.  I don’t like sand.  It’s rough, irritating, and it gets everywhere.

There were too many people. Too many humans. It was a warm, sunny day, but I had to keep my cloak closed and my hood up to hide my tail and horns.  Even in the depths of my big cloak, I felt exposed.

And the dust! There was so little natural life in Kendrith; barely any grass or trees.  It had been less than a fortnight, and already I missed the lush reeds and soft, insect-ridden mud near Master's hut. The city was dry and lacking, like stale bread.

I was trying to find quieter streets when I somehow managed to almost step on a small figure, tripping them into the road.  Naturally, I stopped to help them up, but my apology died in my throat when I saw her horns and tail.

She was a Tiefling, too. A young Tiefling with beautiful blue eyes and a spade-tipped tail.

But...her skin...it was purple.

Unbidden, I recalled warmth, and softness, and a smile resting on a purple-skinned face-

And then the Tiefling bared her teeth at me and the memory evaporated.

"Are...are you okay?" I asked, reaching out to her with an empty hand. She hissed at me and scrabbled back. I froze, then raised my hands, palms out, in a sign of peace.

“My name’s Strive,” I said softly, and asked her if she wanted help, but she just hissed and cocked her head at me.  I wasn’t sure if she didn’t speak Common or if she just wanted me to leave.  She made me think of my tribe’s hatchlings:  feral to anybody aside from their family.

We were interrupted, then, by a human in armor.  He had some kind of insignia on the breastplate, but what worried me was that the Tiefling hissed at him, recognition crossing her face.

He was following her and she did not feel safe.

I stood between the human and the girl, tried to brush the him off, but he continued to press forward, offering us shelter, of all things. Why on earth would a human want to help two Tieflings?  People in general didn't trust our kind, but humans!  I felt anger rising to flush my face.  Humans were the whole reason...

If all Tieflings are not alike, the same must be said of all races, Master's voice echoed in my head, stopping my temper.

I wasn’t home, anymore.  I had to be smart, and I had to keep a cool head.

I eyed the human knight carefully.  He introduced himself as Valzan Corindal, and again, he said he wanted to help.  I've always been good at reading people, and for some reason, I couldn't detect any lie in him.  It was odd, but...somehow I believed him.

Almost like a natural 20 had been rolled on my insight.

It helped abate my suspicions when an elf woman wearing similar armor joined him, and he backed away.  I relaxed a little, although the Tiefling behind me still seemed wary.  I spoke a little with the woman.  She seemed kind.  Bitterly, I wondered if it was easy to be kind when your race was generally admired.

Nobody chooses their blood, Charity. Only their path, Master chided.

I did my best to shut down my concerns, and listened to the elf woman's spiel about their church.  Her name was Elyssia, and according to her, she and Valzan were hoping to develop a church worshipping Tyr in Kendrith.  I wasn’t particularly interested in converting.  Semuanya, Master’s deity, was enough for me, valuing my survival instead of my dark heritage. 

Thankfully, Elyssia wasn’t trying to change me, only offering me a place of rest, and then she retreated into a run-down old building nearby. That made me wonder: I'd been taught that churches were grand affairs with coloured windows, not dusty ruins. This 'church' didn't look anything like that; it looked significantly more forlorn than what I had imagined a church to be.

It was then that the Tiefling shook her head and looked even more upset.  I didn’t see any flies buzzing near her ears.  I couldn’t hear or sense anything, myself.  But I knew I was missing something, and that bothered me.

My answer came sooner than I expected:  a very tall gentleman decided it was time to join our group and with a booming voiced asked if he could be of some assistance.

I wanted to go home, personally.

The Tiefling girl spat an insult at the tall man, making him dizzy, somehow.  I suspected he had done something to upset her.

I, on the other hand, looked at the newcomer appraisingly.  He seemed otherworldy to me, somehow.  In a loud, boisterous voice, he announced that Craven was his name.  He was tall for human standards, but his hair stood up in a crest and his eyes glowed blue.

I had never seen anything like those eyes.

I also started to wonder if maybe the Lizardfolk and I were the strange ones and everyone else on earth had blue eyes.  I glanced at the human.  Nope, his were green.  Stranger and stranger...

I decided then that I was going to try to convince the Tiefling girl to come back with me to the swamp where we would never have to deal with anybody on Semuanya's green earth ever again.  That was the only logical thing to do.  There were too many things happening out in the world and I, personally, was done with it.  Master was clearly wrong; I did not need to see the rest of the world.

Instead, two men in black sauntered over, chains on their belts, and clearly looking for the Tiefling girl behind me.

The way she hissed and backed away from them, by comparison, she had been downright cozy with Valzan only a moment before.  Forget not trusting the Paladin of Tyr; these two men, who were soon joined by a third, were definitely an active danger.

To my pleasant surprise, I saw that Valzan and Craven were also of the same mind; together, we fought to take girl’s enemies down.

The four of us made short work of the three men. I entangled the one who was closest to us, using vines, while the girl behind me spat curses with some kind of magic.  The tall Craven cut down one slaver with his great sword, while the paladin finished off the other with a few swings of his axe.  The third enemy tried to run, but was quickly caught by Valzan, and the coward passed out as soon as he saw his fate was sealed.

Craven carried their hostage into the church, but Valzan stayed behind, hoping to talk us into following them, once again talking about safety.

I looked at how thin the Tiefling girl was, then instead of properly answering him, asked if the paladin had any food.  He pulled out some bread, offering it to her.  She shifted back, ever distrustful.  I didn’t blame her. 

Silently, I took the loaf, took a bite of it to show that it was fine, then offered it to the girl.  She hesitated, then snatched it from me, munching eagerly away at what I now knew was incredibly dry bread.  I mentioned so to the paladin, but with a small smile and shrug he explained that it was rations.  I nodded, chewing thoughtfully, noting that he didn’t snap defensively at me.  A comment like that would have earned a slap, with Master’s tribe. 

I was also impressed to see that the girl was almost done the loaf; quite a feat considering how dry it was.  Without thinking, I said out loud that she reminded me of a chipmunk. 

She did not appreciate it.  She pulled a face, and I regretted saying it.

Again, we were invited to the church.  I told the girl that it seemed like a good offer, and if she was anything like me, she didn’t have anywhere else to go.  I slowly followed the paladin to the church, and was pleased to see that the girl stayed right behind me.

Crossing the threshold, I paused, and it was with some degree of relief to find that I would not burst into flames.  The highest point of my day, so far.

In the main foyer of the church, we found that the elf woman, Elyssia, had prepared a wonderful spread for us.  The Tiefling girl made a beeline towards the fruits and sweets, but my eyes gravitated to the cheese!  There were great, big, yellow and red wheels of cheese, beside loaves of bread that were so fresh I could still see steam rising off of them.  And wine!  I loved wine.  I’d only had it once or twice, but I knew it was so much better than the brackish moonshine the Lizardfolk made. But first, to business.  Craven and Valzan hauled their unconscious slaver into the church’s basement, myself following silently behind.  Elyssia stayed with the girl upstairs, so I figured she would be safe. 

In the basement, a lone chair, small table, and candle awaited them, along with two large barrels of water.  My mouth twisted, hidden by the shadow of my cloak.  I could imagine what was coming.  I reminded myself that their victim was a slaver, and a cruel one, if the Tiefling girl’s scars were any indication. Valzan splashed water into their victim’s face, effectively reviving him.  Craven thought it would be a good idea to dump a whole barrel onto him; I rolled my eyes, hiding a smile at the unnecessary action.

It didn’t take much to make the man talk; almost immediately, he willingly shared everything he knew about his employers, even if it wasn’t much.  I frowned when he mentioned that he was just a hired hand, trying to make his way in the world.  He was a slaver.  A slaver.  How could he stomach such work?

But his insistence that he just wanted coin rang true.  He needed to work to eat, and jobs were scarce.  It just happened that what he had to do was vile.

I didn’t want to hear any more.  Without the others noticing, I turned away and slipped back upstairs.  I would much rather keep company with the cheese and wine.

--(part two)--

[hallowedmuses]

Discord Chat: Hydra Hunt

SUMMARY: Clint brings Scarlet’s doings as a Hydra mole to the attention of Natasha, Bucky, Steve, and Daisy who agree that the only solution is to bring Scarlet in and interrogate her to see how far the leak has gone. TRIGGERS: Hydra mentions, Assassination mentions, Angry Dads WRITTEN WITH: @ofbartons, @captsteve, @sovieticweapcn, @daisyljohnson MENTIONS OF: @littleredscarlethood

Clint walked into the safe house address that Nat had sent to him, fury still flowing through him. How could Red be HYDRA? She didn't really seem like the spy type, but then again neither did Clint or Hayden. He let out a sigh before walking up to Nat and Bucky, trying his best not to take his anger out on them "So, I don't know how to ease you into this so I'm just gonna spit it out." he pulled the tablet out of his bag and set it on the table, Red's file on display "Daisy's kid is a mole."

NATASHA: Nat had been trying, and failing, to break the news to Bucky regarding Clint's latest antics as Ronin when she'd gotten a text from the man himself. She was already annoyed but a cursory glance at the message had told her it was important. He wanted to meet with them immediately. She'd sent him the address to a safehouse she was using and less than a half hour later he was storming in, madder than hell. She'd never seen him this pissed. "Clint, breathe," she instructed as she went over to calm him. "You're gonna pop a sti--" she glanced at the tablet as he thrust it into her hands. "Holy shit." She quickly began scrolling through the information. She'd met Red a couple weeks back completely on accident. The kid was being tailed by some fishy types and Natasha had stepped in to get her out of the situation. The entire time something about the girl felt off. Natasha now realized those men following the girl were likely a Hydra ordered hit squad. "You've got to be kidding me..." she held out the tablet to James. "She was being tailed not to long ago by three thugs. She insisted we not start a fight so I helped her dodge them."

BUCKY knew Natasha had something important to say, but for some unknown reason for him, she was taking longer than usual. It was about Clint or Steve, he was sure, but what could get her that upset? He was about to ask what was the problem, when a pissed off Clint entered the room. His veins could be almost seen and his tension be sensed. “Who is Daisy’s kid?” Buck reaches for the tablet and tried to read first, but the eyes of the displayed picture got his full attention. He had seen this girl before. “I remember her.” Maybe many of his memories were still a bit blurry, but he was sure of this. This kid was part of Hydra, the base that - RJ. “How long has she been around?” Asked, his voice changing from a neutral tone to something more winter soldier-like. Something that hadn’t happened in years. Did RJ meet with her, here in New York? “She knows RJ. Think about a rational way to say this to Daisy or I’m doing this the old way.”

Clint bit back a groan, having overdone it in his anger and his side was screaming at him again. "I swear to you, I wish I was but all other info I got through the same channel has been good." He leaned over, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath "Well, this explains the thugs. They put a hit out on her, if it wasn't a kid and you wouldn't kill me I was gonna take them out." his eyes moved from Nat to Bucky "Fucking hell. If you know her than it's not bad intel. Shit. I let her in my house! She slept on my couch feet away from Hayden!" The blonde straightened, clenching his fists "I'm with him on this, slap some duct tape over my stitches and I'm good to go."

NATASHA: Concern flushed over her face as James mentioned he remembered the kid. Clint was right. If Buck remembered her from his Hydra days there was no denying who she was. Natasha sighed and went over to Clint, gently but firmly directing him to sit on the couch. "We are doing no such thing," she replied, giving both of them a pointed look. She could see how worked up it made Clint and she couldn't blame him. She knew how much he feared losing Hayden. Who knows what kind of info this mole might've given Hydra on his kid...on all of them. "We need to know how much she told them," she replied as she retrieved the tablet from Bucky again to take a closer look, reading through some of the details. "She's a kid. We do this clean and we do it with Daisy's input. The mole's been mascaraing as her kid for god knows who long." Natasha pulled out her phone and texted 077 along with the coordinates to the safehouse to Daisy. The old code would notify her of a suspected mole within the agency and the coordinates would tell her to come to the safehouse for further debriefing.

DAISY was at the cemetery with Steve. She hadn't wanted to mourn before then, to admit that Coulson was dead and really gone, but she'd needed to come eventually. Having Steve there was helpful and comforting. It made it easier for her to mourn and talk about how Coulson died, what he meant to her, everything he'd done to protect her through all the pain and all the deaths and all the betrayals. But then she got that text from Natasha, and she was reminded that even though Coulson was gone, the things he would've normally tried to protect her from didn't just stop coming. The betrayals just kept coming. She and Natasha had talked before about someone who seemed suspicious to her, and Daisy had to imagine that this might've been about that person. She just didn't want it to be. She hoped against everything that it wasn't the case, but she was going to meet Nat before she really assumed anything. Daisy told Steve about the situation, thinking about how it'd be better to have him there than to just go it alone. She was already broken up about Coulson, and she needed someone like Steve to lean on if this got worse than she already thought it would be. They didn't take long to get there, knowing that in these things, wasting time could mean people losing their lives, though they were careful to make sure they weren't followed. When they got there, Daisy was surprised to see Clint and Bucky too. "Okay, I'm here. What's happening?"

Steve had been hoping that after going to the cemetery he'd be able to convince Daisy to get some food with him, hoping to try and brighten her spirits some. He knew how she felt, some days it was like his mom's funeral just happened and walking into his empty apartment just gave him flashbacks. When Daisy told him the code that Nat had sent, he instantly got worried, muttering a not again under his breath. Before they walked in, he gently squeezed her shoulder "Whatever it is, we'll take care of it." He gave a nod to Clint and Bucky, instantly knowing this was serious if they were involved. Steve turned to Nat, but keeping an eye and and ear on Daisy's condition "How bad is it?"

Clint sighed from where Nat had placed him on the couch, hand on his side "A uh, A friend forwarded me a batch of HYDRA intel. I've been keeping an eye on them after what happened to Hayden... I didn't expect to see a hit out on your kid. You know, the one that stayed with me and Hayden. I let my kids worst nightmare through the front door and let her stay." The blonde glared at Daisy, teeth gritted, as he tried to keep himself seated on the couch. He pointed to the tablet Bucky had given her "It's all there."

NATASHA: Natasha was surprised to see Steve walk in with Daisy, but thankful at the same time. He'd been there with her the last time SHIELD had been infultrated by HYDRA. He knew better than most how serious this was. Nat had previously brought her concerns up to Daisy and knew Daisy likely wouldn't be surprised by the confirmation, but she also knew this betrayal would hurt nevertheless. The woman had opened not only her home to the kid, but her heart too. While she'd ensured Nat that all SHIELD information was compartmentalized, she couldn't very well guard her heart from the kid too. Natasha could see Clint getting worked up too. She put a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him down. "No one is going to let anything happen to Hayden," she reassured him. Hayden was as much a son to her as RJ. And everyone in this room knew how far she'd go for both of them. How far they'd all go for both of them. "We're going to take care of this. Daisy, I'm sorry," she sighed as she looked at her director. "I wish it wasn't true, but the pieces are all falling into place. We'll follow your lead on this one. We can keep it official or...if you don't want the rest of SHIELD to know, we keep it off the books and in this room."

After some time without making a commentary, BUCKY looked up and reached for the tablet. Having Steve there meant he wouldn’t be able to proceed as he wanted, but maybe it was for the best. Maybe. “How long has this kid be around you?” He handed the tablet to Daisy, all the information on “Red” displayed there. “HYDRA made a move on RJ a few weeks ago. And I can’t help but think she’s involved in this.” If she tricked Daisy, he imagined RJ was tricked into the innocent act too.

DAISY: Taking the tablet that Bucky offered to her, Daisy was surprised at how much she wasn't just falling apart at this news. In all the times that things like this had happened in the past, her heart had felt like it shattered. Getting stabbed in the back metaphorically still felt like the physical action during those times, but now? As she looked over the info and heard what everyone had to say, she didn't feel angry or like she was going to start sobbing. She felt . . . hollow. She felt cold. She felt nothing. Maybe each betrayal she encountered just chipped off another piece of her soul, and now she had nothing left of it. Maybe she'd just spent all of her emotions at Coulson's grave, and all it left was this cold calm outer shell. "I didn't expect to see one either," she admitted. She didn't have to look up to feel Clint glaring at her or to know that Bucky was just as angry. They were justified in their anger, both at Scarlet and at Daisy herself. She'd fucked up majorly by letting Scarlet into her home, even after all the things she'd been through in her past. She'd looked at Scarlet and thought that she could do what Coulson did. She'd thought she could take Scarlet away from a bad situation, and in doing so, set her on the right path. Right now, it was ridiculous, but Daisy's first thought was that Scarlet was either really trying to play the long game or she just really sucked at being a hydra operative. If she'd wanted to, she had several chances to just kill S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director in her sleep. They'd need to launch a full scale investigation to make sure Scarlet didn't get any intel, but on Daisy's end at least, she'd been careful to not let the kid anywhere near S.H.I.E.L.D. things. That didn't make her feel any less betrayed though or any less empty inside.

Daisy passed the tablet on to Steve and started wringing her hands. "A few months. Early November of last year." She sighed. It didn't matter. Any amount of time was too much time to spend with a Hydra spy in their midst. "I'm so sorry guys. I should've known." And she really should've. Maybe she had known that it was always a possibility. It was easy to overlook things when you just hoped for something else so hard. She shook her head. "No, we need to figure out who all has had contact with her, figure out what kind of things she might've been reporting, so we can deal with it properly."

Steve gently squeezed Daisy's shoulder before taking the tablet, going over the information regarding the hit. He understood why Clint and Bucky were so upset about the entire situation, their kids had been hurt by HYDRA and Bucky... well, he had the biggest axe to grind with HYDRA. His lips were pursed as he read the file, trying to find something that would help them any. Letting out a sigh he looked up, tossing the tablet to Clint. "Clint, Nat, can you guys put out some feelers with your contacts? See if we can find her HYDRA file, that would tell us exactly what her mission is and let us know what's been compromised." The blonde crossed his arms over his chest "We need more information to work with than just a hit. If the kid was properly trained then she won't tell us anything."

Clint caught the tablet and pulled up the remote access for his Ronin systems to begin sifting through the HYDRA intel he had, happy for the distraction. "Sure Cap." Deep down, he knew Hayden was safe. Between his demonic family and Loki, Clint knew that his kid would be okay. He was also glad that Hayden was spending time with Loki today. The blonde let out a slow breath before looking away from the tablet, slipping into a mission focused state of mind "What we do is up to you Daisy, but we should get more information before taking this to SHIELD."

NATASHA: She nodded as she listened to Steve's request. "It's doable but it will take time. Time we might not really have," she replied. "Hydra is large and disorganized. One head often doesn't know what the other is doing. It's going to take some time for our contacts to find the right head and follow the trail." She glanced at the photo on the tablet for a moment, recalling her time with Scarlet. "If she's got a hit on her it means she's failed whatever mission they sent her out here for. I've interacted with the kid. Her trade craft skills just aren't there," Natasha admitted. "If we bring her in for interrogation we could crack her within an hour. A dark web hit is more than enough probable cause to bring her in for questioning."

BUCKY listened to everyone without stepping in, silently agreeing with it all. He wouldn’t do anything before Daisy was okay with it and Natasha knew Hydra as much as he did. “And as unorganized as they are, they wouldn’t let one of their assets free for so long. Which means she’s not one of their best ones or they don’t care about the mission, which I don’t think is the case because we are talking about S.H.I.E.L.D here.” His last mission was taking Captain America down and it was a matter of two days for the whole world to turn their heads, he would know. “I agree with the interrogation. It will be pretty easy to crack the egg. But we would need to pick carefully who goes in.”

Daisy nodded, agreeing with what everyone was saying. A small part of her, the part of her that always had hope, wanted to believe that maybe Scarlet could still be good, that she'd failed her mission intentionally because she didn't want to work with the bad guys, but the other part of Daisy, the one that had been broken down by constant betrayals, silenced everything else. That part reminded her what happened when she let people get close. Either they died too soon or betrayed her, and both things broke her just a little bit more. Even if Scarlet told them everything, Daisy doubted that she could just forgive and forget that easily. She wasn't sure what would happen to the girl, but Daisy wouldn't be able to look at her the same for a long while. The lies stung just a little too much. “I know I can't be a part of the interrogation. I'm too close to it.” She knew that she'd watch the interrogation on the cameras and listen in, but she didn't want to be in the room when it happened. She'd be too biased. Scarlet, while not the best hydra operative, could likely manipulate Daisy's emotions about the situation in either direction, and even if she didn't, Daisy was already upset on her own. “It needs to be someone more level headed, so out of us, I'd say Steve or Natasha.” Bucky and Clint had obviously been more emotional about this when she'd first come in. Now, they seemed to have cooled off a little more, but she imagined it was still a lot for them. Steve and Natasha had both dealt with the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. from Hydra the first time too, but Natasha had a little more experience when it came to things like espionage though. “I think you're our best bet, Nat.”

Steve nodded "I know it's a long shot but the more information we have the better." The blonde knew this would be tricky, HYDRA back at their old tricks... and using a kid to do it. If they put that kid through even a fraction of what they did to Bucky, well Steve didn't want to think about it. "I agree, she broke Loki in a matter of minutes you can handle a kid." 

Clint kept tapping at the tablet, trying to keep his focus one one thing so he didn't lose it again. Hearing talk of an interrogation he looked up "'tasha is the best after all." a small smirk on his face "Look, I don't want to be anywhere near the kid, and I certainly don't want Hayden to know just yet. If she won't talk we can just have Bucky in the corner glaring, he's got a good scary face."

NATASHA: She nodded in agreement at the assessment. She was well trained in the art of interrogation and could keep her emotions out of this. Not to mention there wasn't much she wouldn't do for the team in this room. "I can do it," she agreed. "We'll need to pick her up on probable cause. We don't have enough evidence to get her on anything else yet. Do you happen to know where she is or do you need me to run a trace?" she asked Daisy. She then turned to Clint. "It might be best if you stay here and try to dig up more evidence. Something I can throw at her during interrogation?" she suggested. She didn't need him splitting his stitches on transport.

BUCKY huffed, knowing he wouldn't hold back in that situation. kid or not, if she had the minimum to do with hydra's little visit to his son... "Not a good idea. We can wait outside, if Natalia needs something, which I doubt, then we go in." He shrugged, trusting Nat blindly in this and everything else. "We should do that. See what else we can get. And that way, you cal tell me about what the fuck is going on with you and those stitches."

DAISY: “She should be at my place right now.” It's where she usually was anyways. Daisy did allow her to go out on her own, which she was now realizing was terrible considering the circumstances, but she'd thought she'd been in Scarlet's shoes, knowing what it was like to feel trapped in a place with a family that wasn't really her own. It meant something entirely different when you considered that Scarlet was actually working with Hydra. “I can set up an interrogation room for you.” They wanted to keep this secret until they knew more, and Daisy had the authority and the clearance to make sure they had the secrecy and privacy to conduct this in a way that it didn't spread like a wildfire.

Steve nodded "We have a hit out on a kid, we can bring her in for protection. If anyone asks we can say it's HYDRA trying to clean up their mess, you did find her in a HYDRA base after all." he knew they would need to split up, a team to get the kid and another to prepare for interrogation. Steve wished Sam was here, have another set of eyes when getting the girl. Not that bringing her in would be hard, but when it came to HYDRA Steve liked to be well prepared. "Here's my thoughts, Nat and I go get the girl. Clint, Buck, you guys work on intel, get as much as you can on her. If you don't want to be at the interrogation then stay here, otherwise go in with Daisy." He looked over to Daisy, to get her approval on the plan since she was in charge. 

Clint pursed his lips, eyes shifting between Bucky and Natasha before muttering Oh, I'm in danger. He nodded "As long as I don't have to talk to her I'll go wherever you want. I've got a line to some HYDRA channels, I'll see what I can find out." the blonde began pulling up more of the data he already had on his servers "I came in my jeep if you want to use that."

NATASHA: She squeezed Bucky's hand gently. She could see he was just as worked up over this as Clint. More so, she was leaving the two of them to their own devices and Clint hadn't exactly come clean to James about Ronin. Her eyes said go easy on him as she let go of his hand. She nodded as Daisy replied that she would get an interrogation room ready. If there was anyone who could keep this under the radar it was Daisy. "Steve and I will get her. It shouldn't be a problem, she's just a kid. Let's hope someone else hasn't gotten to her first. We need to know how far this leak goes," replied Natasha, going to her weapons cache and grabbing a few hand guns as precaution. She nodded as Clint offered up his jeep for the mission. "You sure you wanna risk it?" she asked, tossing him small smile. "You yourself might want to make a quick get away," she replied, glancing at Clint, then at Bucky, then back at Clint again.

DAISY: If S.H.I.E.L.D. was like it used to be before she started leading it, they wouldn't have needed any kind of reasoning whatsoever. She couldn't help thinking of all the shady things Fury Sr. had done while being director simply because of the fact that he couldn't or wouldn't trust anyone. All of this happening had her thinking back to him convince her that he was justified in what he did because of the position he had. He might've been right about her not being able to trust anyone, but she still couldn't believe that he was just in the measures he took. They needed these kinds of things for a reason, to keep them in check just like everyone else. She nodded once Steve detailed the potential plan. "Be careful in any case. You never know, and if anything happens, let me know. I'm just gonna make a few jumps to get back to the interrogation room, but I can make it back pretty fast if I need to." She gave a short look to Steve. She had needed him with her before because she'd been experiencing so much grief that it was hard to stand let alone quake jump, but this happening gave her an odd sort of focus. Plus, she felt like jumping back to HQ would give her some time to herself to clear her head. She just wanted to make sure Steve knew she was okay to handle it now. "You all know how to contact me, I'll see you at the interrogation room," she said before heading out.