#are you honestly looking me in the eyes and telling me you’re shipping the malicious god with the fucking slug boy

[vee-thebee]

i’d gotten used to seeing one of my mutuals posting about malevolent (<- hasnt listened to it but said mutual could convince me ykwya 👁️👁️)

but i can say that i wasn’t expecting the sudden bombardment of ihnmaims content from the same mutual

i love seeing my mutuals interests switch around just as quickly as mine do love y’all 🫶🏻

[uncommoncold]

Treasure

Summary: After a lengthy chase, Park Seonghwa finds himself face to face with the dread pirate Hongjoong. Will he find a blood thirsty pirate or dashing rogue? Will he lose the one thing that he holds most dear, his heart?

Word Count: 11.2k

Content Warning: Top Park Seonghwa, Bottom Kim Hongjoong, Pirate-teez, Boys Kissing, Oral Sex, Two Sex

The flag whipped violently with the gale winds and blistering rain. “Captain, if we keep going like we are, we’re going to break apart.”

“I know but unless you’re looking for a long drop and a short stop, we have to keep going.” He peered through his cabin window and into the storm, trying to make out the shape of their pursuers. The fact that he couldn’t see them gave him hope.

At first they had kept their distance, following just far enough away to make him think perhaps he was mistaken. But they had followed for two days, getting closer the closer they got to the islands. He knew what that meant, they were being hunted.

Not that he wasn’t sure that someone thought he deserved it. He had done more than enough to put himself a few people’s sights.

“They can’t possibly see us if we can’t see them.” Hongjoong mused.

“Let’s head for the leeward side of this island.” He pointed to the map. “There’s a cove there we can shelter in. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they already took refuge from the storm, or better yet, maybe they sank.”

His first mate, Yunho smirked and nodded.

A short while later, they were pulling into a sheltered cove. It was a risk, if their pursuers were still chasing them, then they were stuck with nowhere and no way to run. However, it was sheltered enough that if you didn’t know it was there, you could sail right by and never see a ship. The island wasn’t populated by more than flora and fauna but it would do to sit out the storm.

Normally, it would have been a good time to pull out the casks and enjoy some downtime but he didn’t dare when they didn’t know who was on their tails. It seemed unlikely that whoever it was was hunting him to give him birthday wishes. He couldn’t count out revenge or the authorities.

***

“We’ve lost them sir.” Seonghwa informed the captain.

“It’s this blasted storm, keep looking. I’m not letting that son of a bitch slip away again.”

“Again sir?”

“I’ve been looking for him for nearly three years since he took my last ship. Brazen, cocky, and slippery as an eel. I’ve been so careful… I’ll have the reward and see him dance on the end of a rope yet.”

Seonghwa wasn’t entirely sure he liked the malicious light that lit up his captain’s eyes as he talked about seeing the pirate they were chasing hang. It wasn’t that he was ignorant of crime and punishment, he just preferred not to watch it and he took no joy in death. The captain was no longer a young man and he was determined to have the pirate Hongjoong in his grasp before he died.

“Since we’ve lost him, I suggest we shelter from the storm at one of the nearby islands, sir.”

For a long moment, the captain was quiet before heaving a weary sigh and nodding, “Alright, take us in. We’ll pick up the search after the storm dies down.”

“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa went out on deck and informed the helmsman of the captain’s decision and they fought their way into the bay of a nearby island. It was just in time as well as the storm was only getting worse. It was just a little spit of land, mountainous and good for nothing unless you liked coconuts and sea birds.

***

“Captain!” Yunho tore into the room.

Hongjoong had been nursing a headache but he bolted upright from his bed, “What is it.”

“A ship pulled into the bay sir. They’re making no moves toward us but if they get any closer, they’ll surely spot us. What do you want to do?”

Hongjoong headed up on deck and looked through his telescope at the ship’s colors. Shit. He knew exactly who that was, he had been chasing him for nigh on three years now, ever since he took his ship. In fact, it was his ship that he was using now. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the railing. He could send the men with the cargo inland but there were no promises they wouldn’t go looking for them and they would be vastly outnumbered… “I have an idea.”

Yunho turned slowly, Hongjoong was grinning broadly at him. “I don’t like that smile.”

“It’s a really stupid idea that just might get me killed but will ensure everyone else’s safety.”

“I really don’t like this idea.” Yunho crossed his arms and glared at his captain sternly.

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I’ve heard enough to know I don’t like it, not if it might get you killed. The last time we went with a plan that might get you killed, I ended up running naked through town.”

“You won’t end up naked this time. I promise.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“No, you won’t like it.” Yunho tended to think of himself as Hongjoong’s keeper, he chased after him when he needed to be chased. He protected him from his own most dire instincts. He was the best first mate and friend Hongjoong could ask for. This time he wasn’t joking, it really might get him killed. It was a roll of the dice, then again, life was a roll of the dice.

Yunho groaned, “Alright tell me.”

Yunho listened to Hongjoong’s plan and it was absolutely the daftest thing he had ever heard in all of his life but if he could pull it off, it would save the lives of everyone on board but it still would leave his own life in a precarious place. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan. They were a small ship and they had two guns out of commission. He also knew that Hongjoong put the lives of his crew above his own, it was part of why he was so well loved. He was a great captain… and friend. “Why do I get the feeling if I say no, you’ll do it anyway.”

“Because I will.”

“Shit.” Yunho ran his hands through his hair and braced his hands against his hips. “Fine, I can’t stop you.”

They set to work, loading one of the dinghy’s with provisions and a small amount of the treasure they had accumulated. It took a little cajoling but he had Yunho punch him a few times.

Hongjoong then cut his head with his trusty knife and let the blood run down over the side of his face and ear. “How do I look?”

“Like a man who has had a rough time.”

“That’s how I want to look. Let’s go.”

“Be careful.” Yunho grabbed Hongjoong in a tight hug. “If you get yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”

“How do you think I’d feel about it? I’m not ready to die yet.” Hongjoong grinned brightly and stepped into the dinghy. He waved as it hit the water. Happily, the wind was on his side, he sailed out to where he should be able to be seen by the larger ship and lowered his sail. He then lay down in the boat and waited. It didn’t take long before he saw two boats break away from the larger boat and come his way. “Ahoy!”

Hongjoong put on a show of struggling to lift his head before raising a hand, “Ahoy!”

They towed him back toward the bigger ship, when he was brought on board, he spun a tale of intrigue. There had been a mutiny on his ship and he had just barely managed to escape. The men who had picked him up were enraptured by the tale he told. Seonghwa stood by and listened, he certainly looked the part. He had seen better days. There was something about his story that niggled at the back of his head but their guest was still a man alone with few provisions and just looking for a lift to the closest populated island.

They were a full crew of able bodied men with arms. Seonghwa was just about to show him to a cabin when the captain came out. Immediately he began pointing and sputtering. Hongjoong paled when he saw the captain. The old man immediately lunged at Hongjoong and caught him right on the chin with a forceful left that knocked him to his knees. In all truth, it had taken Hongjoong by surprise. He wouldn’t have thought that someone of his age could have come up with such speed.

“What’s he doing here?” The captain said as he stepped back nursing his sore knuckles.

Seonghwa told him the story that had been relayed to them. The captain’s expression slowly shifted from incredulous to gleeful. “All of these years and I’ve finally got you where I want you. Toss him in the brig.”

“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa grabbed one of Hongjoong’s arms and another sailor grabbed the other.

Hongjoong shot a look of pure venom at the captain.

“What are you going to do? Swim? We’ve got your boat and this island is uninhabited. Maybe the magistrate will be lenient on you but considering you're a wanted man, I doubt it. Oh and one more thing…” The captain hauled off and punched him again and again. “That’s for my ship.”

By the time he was thrown into the brig, his head was swimming and his ears were ringing. Yunho hadn’t pulled his punches, nor had the captain. He was alive… for now. Considering that they didn’t go into battle, nor were the rest of his crew joining him, his ruse had worked. He breathed a sigh of relief and waited.

Eventually, the storm passed. He could hear sounds overhead of the crew making ready to get underway. It was another hour that he strained his ears for every little sound before deciding that they really were underway and heading back out to sea. Only then did he risk laying down and closing his eyes.

Seonghwa lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling. It seemed almost miraculous that the very man they were looking for just happened to have a mutiny and just happened to end up in their hands. He couldn’t think of a reason why he would just hand himself over to someone who wanted him dead. Surely stranger things had happened in the history of the world. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, pirate or no. He had had a string of really rotten luck.

Since the captain hadn’t given him any orders to not feed the prisoner, he took it upon himself to bring him down some food. The fact that the captain just so happened to be busy when he did was purely coincidental… mostly.

The prisoner looked a good deal worse for wear, bruises had formed on his cheek, jaw, and left eye into his hairline. The swelling had gone down though. “I brought you some breakfast.”

Hongjoong lifted his head and offered a half smile as their eyes met.

Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat. He immediately looked away, unable to account for the strange feeling.

“I’m going to guess this wasn’t the captain’s order?” He said as he reached out to take the bowl of porridge. There were bits of some sort of meat in it, salted fish if he were to take a guess.

“How did you know?” Seonghwa looked back surprised.

“Someone who has been chasing me as long as he’s been chasing me, is not likely to be the forgiving sort. I doubt he would be worried at all about my comfort and would probably like to see me suffer as much as possible.” He took a bite, their ship’s cook wasn’t as good as Wooyoung was but it was passable. He was lucky he was getting anything at all.

“I guess you weren’t expecting to end up here.” Seonghwa watched Hongjoong take another bite.

“No, I have to admit, it was a big surprise to me. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I left my ship.”

Hongjoong paused for a moment before asking, “Are you supposed to be talking to the prisoner?” Despite what might be a harsh question, there was an almost mischievous light in his dark eyes.

“No, probably not.”

“A man who likes to break the rules, I like men like that.”

“Are you trying to charm me?” Seonghwa asked. It was unusual to find someone as charming as he found their prisoner. He found himself wanting to get to know him. His smile was a physical weapon he could wield as surely as a sword or a pistol.

“Only if it’s working. If not, then of course not.” Hongjoong flashed an easy smile.

That forced a surprised laugh from Seonghwa. There was that smile again, the weight of it hit him and he found himself gazing at Hongjoong’s lips. For some reason Seonghwa was suddenly wondering about the details of his mutiny. He seemed like an easy man to like, which meant that wasn’t why his crew had mutinied. Still, he was going to have to face the fact that they were probably taking him to his death. Then again, maybe he was entirely different here than he was with his men, perhaps he was a tyrant but something whispered to him, told him that wasn’t the case.

He didn’t like it.

If the prisoner was a pirate, then he had killed dozens of people. He found himself asking, “How many men have you killed?”

Hongjoong looked surprised at the sudden question, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you?”

“That means it’s either very high or very low.”

“Very low.” There was no hint of teasing when he said it. There were times when killing someone was unavoidable but every single death had repercussions, if not for himself then for someone, somewhere and he took each death as something that should be respected and honored, no matter who his foe was.

“Really?” Seonghwa asked, genuinely curious.

“There are usually many, many ways to get what you want without resorting to murder.”

“Then why are you wanted?”

“Ah, now just because I’m not a wanton murderer doesn’t mean that I haven’t broken any laws. I have broken more than a few laws and I don’t feel bad about that in the least.” The smile was back and this time he turned its full power on Seonghwa who felt more than a little shaken by it. Bruises and all, the pirate Hongjoong was a beautiful man and a fascinating one. He opened his mouth to ask another question when someone bellowed his name from above.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll bring you something later.” He turned and started to walk away.

“How far are we from shore?”

“We’re about three days out from the nearest port that I know you are wanted at.” He might be a pirate but he wasn’t a big enough name to be wanted everywhere. However, one group of people that wanted to hang you was more than enough.

“Three days… I didn’t catch your name.” Hongjoong said.

“Park Seonghwa, you?”

“Kim Hongjoong. For what it’s worth, I appreciate the food, even if it is going to waste in a dead man’s belly.”

“If it gives you comfort, then there’s no waste.” Seonghwa walked away then, heading up to find out who was calling him.

Hongjoong played with his food while he thought about his guest. He wondered if he might be inclined to help him escape. He drummed his fingers against his knee as he contemplated it. Yet his thoughts kept drifting back to the man himself, he was almost heartstopping in his physical beauty. There was a gentle aura around him that made him seem like someone he would want to protect. He sighed and pushed the thought of his sparkling eyes and sweet smile out of his head.

Despite what he said, he had no intention of dying. There were a thousand ways to get what you wanted, he had managed to save his crew now hopefully, he could find a way to save himself.

Over the next few days, Seonghwa continued to bring Hongjoong his meals and they spoke at length. Seonghwa told him all about his home, his family. His father used to have his own ship but he had decided that with the pirates, it was safer on shore so he had retired from the sea to run his own shop, which proved to be an excellent move on his part. Their family business did far better than expected and he had managed to secure an excellent retirement for himself and his family.

Hongjoong had planned on playing it close to the vest but he found himself opening up to Seonghwa, he told him of his ill-spent youth, why he had turned to piracy. He told him a good deal more about himself than he ever intended, he found himself waiting anxiously for just a glimpse of Seonghwa’s face through his day. It wasn’t just because he was bored either, it was because he genuinely enjoyed his company. He loved listening to his deep smooth voice, he loved listening to his stories. He was going to be sorry to lose him when there was still so much he didn’t know about him. Unless he could swing it so that he didn’t have to.

There was a buzz in the air on the fourth day since Hongjoong had been captured. He wasn’t sure what time it was when two burly men came down to his cell to let him out. When he was brought up on deck, the captain was standing there looking like the cat who caught the canary. Seonghwa was standing nearby but the expression on his face was conflicted. There were three men waiting, they looked like town guards and perhaps a magistrate. They handed the captain a small purse, presumably the reward for catching the dread pirate, before they clapped Hongjoong in irons and began to drag him away.

“Bye bye, I’ll see you at your hanging.” The captain called after Hongjoong.

Now that Hongjoong was taken care of, the captain turned a brilliant smile on Seonghwa, who couldn’t help feeling a little sick. “Now that I’ve seen to it that that miscreant will hang, what say you we have a talk eh?”

Seonghwa took a last look at Hongjoong’s back, he wanted to run after them but he managed to suppress the impulse before following after the captain who headed into his cabin. “You’ve proven to be an excellent first mate, have you ever thought about captaining your own ship?”

“Sir?” Seonghwa looked puzzled at the question.

“Well now that I’ve done what I wanted to do, I’d like to retire, head back home to my wife and family. That means this ship will need a captain, I’d like to hand her over to you. You keep running it in my name and we split the profits, what do you think?”

It sounded like a dream come true, “Are you sure, sir?”

“I think it sounds like a fine plan. Your first task as captain is to let the men have shore leave for the next week.”

“Yes sir!” Seonghwa did as he was bid to the delights of all of the crew

Seonghwa himself headed into town and found an inn. He was looking forward to sleeping in a bed that didn’t sway and a fresh meal. As he sat down to his lunch he couldn’t help but imagine Hongjoong in jail. In the days they had spent  together, they had grown to know each other quite well and he just couldn’t stand the idea of him locked up without a friend nearby to hear his woes or maybe help to make him a little more comfortable. If he were completely honest, the man he had gotten to know didn’t deserve the hangman’s noose. He deserved his freedom. He kept telling himself that he wasn’t going to interfere but still he found himself asking the locals as to the location of the local jail.

It was in a small wooden building, the front was where the guards sat and the back was the jail. It was a small town and it didn’t look like their city guard was the largest employer in town. It was a small and run down building. He couldn’t imagine it would be particularly warm or well insulated.

“What am I doing?” Seonghwa paced back and forth. He wanted to go see him, make sure he was alright. But he already didn’t like the idea that he was going to die. He didn’t like the idea of him being hurt or suffering at all. Maybe he was too soft hearted. By the time he finally made up his mind to go, it was getting dark. He marched up to the guardhouse. There was an exceptionally tall man talking to one of the guards animatedly.

He approached the other guard who was sitting behind a desk smoking a pipe and looking bored. “Excuse me, I was wondering if I could see a prisoner.”

“Sure, I’d ask who but there’s only the one?” The man drawled as he pulled his feet from the desk and sat up.

“Kim Hongjoong.” Seonghwa said anyway.

The man who was talking to the other guard looked momentarily surprised and stopped talking but seemed to shrug it off and returned to his conversation. He couldn’t tell since it was at his back but the man was now watching him.

The guard took him back into the back of the jail, there were only two cells and only one of them was occupied. Hongjoong was stretched out on the floor staring blankly up at the ceiling, when he heard the footsteps stop in front of his cell, he said without looking over, “I was wondering if you were going to come see me.”

“I almost didn’t.” Seonghwa said as he grabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it over to sit by the cell.

“What made you change your mind?” Hongjoong sat up and turned to face his visitor.

“I had a question for you.”

“Oh?” Hongjoong perked up and gave a curious tilt of the head.

“Is it true?” Seonghwa leaned forward, lowering his tone and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Is what true?”

“How you came to be on our ship?” It was the one question that he hadn’t asked that he had wanted to.

Hongjoong was quiet for a moment as he contemplated Seonghwa, “Let me ask you a question, how close are you to the captain?”

“He’s my employer. He took me on after my father retired. It’s purely business and if I’m completely honest…” He looked around and added, “I don’t really care for him much.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Hm… Then in that case, I don’t feel bad letting you know the truth. It was a plot.”

“A plot?”

“A plan, a ruse, a machination, you see… my ship was harbored in the bay that your ship sailed into. If I didn’t do something, then we would have been stuck with no way to run. Your ship is a good deal larger than mine, we were outgunned, outmanned and trapped. My crew means everything to me and if I could save them by sacrificing myself then I would… and I did. I was kind of hoping for an opportunity to escape but one never came.” Hongjoong sniffed and brushed the back of his finger against the tip of his nose.

“Is that why you were so friendly with me?” Seonghwa asked.

“Yes and no.” He answered honestly. “If you would have given me the chance, I would have taken it but you didn’t. I don’t hold it against you and I don’t regret having spent time with you. I-”

Hongjoong looked thoughtful, carefully thinking about what he wanted to say. He finally gave up with a sigh and shrugged, “I like you. I like talking to you, spending time with you. Even if we had met under different circumstances, I would have still liked you.”

Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth a couple of times and dropped his head thoughtfully. Conflicted emotions reflected in Seonghwa’s face, “I almost wish I had, you sacrificed yourself for your men. That’s not an act that should be punished but celebrated. I think, believe it or not, you might actually be a good man.”

Hongjoong smiled brightly, “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a man sitting in a cell waiting for escape or the hangman’s noose.”

“I believe it.”

“Then,” Hongjoong scooted closer to the bars, “if I asked, would you help me?”

“Help you how?” Seonghwa was completely cognizant of the fact that he might be being played but he didn’t think that Hongjoong was playing him.  

At the skeptical expression on Seonghwa’s face, Hongjoong waved his hands. “No, it’s nothing like that. Could you take a message to one of my crew, I know they are here. There’s no way they would let me swing without trying… something.”

“Only a message?”

“Only a message.”

“What’s the message and who am I taking it to?”  

“There’s an inn on the far side of town, away from the harbor, near the blacksmith. There’s a man named Choi Jongho, he’ll be staying there.” He proceeded to describe him down to the fact that he dressed far more nicely than you would expect of a pirate, a bit of a dandy and his jewelry.

“Would you tell him that if the weather’s fair then open the sails and if the skies are threatening, to fold up the sails and ride out the weather.”

Seonghwa frowned at the message, it sounded plain and harmless enough but he wasn’t a total fool. He knew there was meaning to what he was being asked to say. “Alright, I’ll deliver it.”

He took a deep breath and looked at Hongjoong squarely, “If you get the chance…”

Hongjoong turned a brilliant smile on him, “Absolutely. I’m a man who takes every opportunity he gets.”

“After I deliver your message, I’ve got some business to attend to but I’ll come back to see you again.”

“You know,” he paused and then nodded, “I think I’d like that very much. I’ll look forward to it.”

Seonghwa bid Hongjoong farewell feeling both better and worse than he had when he had arrived. He now knew the truth of how he had come to be on the ship but now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t just let him sit in a cell until they hung him.

He followed the directions he had been given to the inn near the blacksmith. When he asked for Choi Jongho the man eyed him coolly until he said he had a message from his captain. He repeated it back to him word for word. “He would say that. Idiot.”

He looked Seonghwa up and down, “Why did he send you with it?”

“I told him I wanted to help him if I could. I don’t think he deserves to be executed, maybe some prison time but not executed.”

Choi Jongho laughed outright, “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Thank you for the message.”

If the captain trusted him, he felt like he ought to extend him the same but the captain tended to fly by the seat of his pants sometimes and he was more cautious than that. He bid Seonghwa farewell and called together the other members of the crew to tell them about the captain’s message and then they all waited for Yunho and San to return to find out whether or not the guards were bribeable.

It was quite late when Seonghwa got time to go back to the jail. He should probably just wait until the morning but he didn’t want to leave Hongjoong waiting to know that his message had been delivered, assuming it was as important as he thought it might be. Much to his surprise not only was the door unlocked but there were no guards to be seen. Did they go home at night? That would be strange wouldn’t it? It wasn’t as if they had a lot of prisoners to watch but what if something happened? What if someone escaped? Although, in this case, he wished someone would escape. If it was empty and the keys were nearby...Yes, he would let him out.

If his men were here then that meant that his ship was here and they could escape. The captain would be livid if Hongjoong escaped but he didn’t care about the fragile ego of one vindictive old man who spent three years chasing someone because of one lost ship when he owned a whole fleet.

Seonghwa turned back to look at the open guardhouse door when he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see Hongjoong and then just as suddenly, he felt the other man’s lips close on his, his hand reaching up to cup Seonghwa’s cheek. He was too startled to remember to respond or push him away or react at all. He felt the hot wet brush of his tongue against his lips before he pulled away.

All he could manage was to gape at the shorter man who had just kissed him. Finally he managed, “You’re out.”

Hongjoong smiled, “I am and I’m getting out of here. Wanna come with me?”

“With you?”

“Whether you're coming with me or not, let’s get out of here. The guards won’t be gone forever.” Hongjoong grabbed Seonghwa’s hand and tugged him out of the guardhouse and toward the docks. As they walked, Seonghwa looked down at their still joined hands in total bemusement. He didn’t know what to do or say but he did notice when a man intercepted them.

“Captain.”

“San, is the ship ready?”

“Sort of.”

“I can’t really linger around these parts, we need to go - Now.”

“We had more damage from the storm than we realized and by the time we got into port… There’s no way the shipwright can have the repairs finished by the time we needed so…” San gestured for the pair to follow him. He spared a glance at Seonghwa, wondering if that was the man who had delivered the captain’s message to Jongho.

If the captain thought he was good to join the crew then it was alright by him. The more the merrier. However, the way they were holding hands made him think it might be something else.  He guided them to the docks and right to Seonghwa’s ship. Seonghwa stopped before following up the gangplank when Hongjoong pulled up to a stop, “Are you serious?”

“It really was the best option,” said San.

“And Yunho was feeling vindictive.” said another man who was a little shorter than San and bore an open smile. “It’s good to have you back captain. If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll keelhaul you myself.”

Hongjoong laughed, “It’s good to see you too Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung grabbed Hongjoong up in a warm hug and squeezed him tight. Hongjoong gave a little squeak at the force with which he was hugged.

“Where’s the crew?” Hongjoong asked as he canted his head toward the ship.

“Shore leave.” commented Seonghwa. All heads turned to look at him questioningly.

“This is Park Seonghwa, he was the first mate on this ship but he’ll be joining us now. Right?” He turned to look at Seonghwa.

Finally Seonghwa snapped out of the haze that he had been pitched into when Hongjoong kissed him. “I-”

Did he want to go with them? It surely meant being hunted, they were wanted men after all. Hongjoong was an escaped prisoner, a thief, a pirate, and who knew what else. Yet he was thinking about it, seriously.

“Go on, I’ll catch up.” Hongjoong said to the assembled men before he turned back to Seonghwa. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“But you want to.”

“Yes.”

“Well then there’s only one thing to do, come with us and you can say you were asleep in your room when we took the ship, so we accidentally kidnapped you. If you change your mind later, then we can let you off at the next port of call.” Not waiting to see if Seonghwa agreed with him or not, Hongjoong grabbed his hand again and dragged him behind him up the gangplank.

“Captain.” Yunho walked out onto the deck and smiled broadly.

“How much did it cost?” Hongjoong asked.

“They really should pay their guards more because it didn’t even take a quarter of our last haul to see to it that they found something else to do for half an hour.”

Hongjoong nodded, “Good, good if everyone’s on board, let’s shove off shall we?”

“Aye, aye captain.” Yunho turned and began to bark out orders. The men all jumped to and began to make way to set sail.

“By the way Yunho…”

Yunho stopped what he was doing and turned to look at his captain.

“Thank you.”

Yunho smiled and nodded, “You’re welcome. It’s good to have you back captain.”

“It’s good to be back. This is Park Seonghwa, he’ll - hopefully, be joining us permanently. He was the first mate of this ship but I think he needs a little time to get to know us first… or maybe just me. Seonghwa, this is my first mate Jeong Yunho. After we get out of here, I’ll take you around and introduce you to everyone. We’ve got some really good people on this ship.”

“Energetic people.” Yunho added with a touch of mirth.

“Maybe we have too much energy.” Hongjoong posited.

Yunho snickered and went back to work. As they cleared the harbor, the town bells sounded, likely announcing that there had been an escape. Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, “Want to show me around? Show me the captain’s quarters. I know the brig well enough, it’ll be nice to see the rest of the ship.”

Seonghwa still wasn’t quite sure this all felt real. One minute he had been trying to think of the best way to help Hongjoong escape, the next minute he was on a stolen ship making their escape. Then it occurred to him exactly what they had just done. They had stolen yet another ship from the man who had spent three years chasing him down for having stolen his ship.

Would he immediately outfit another ship and give chase again? He knew that his wife held the purse strings and she wanted him back home. Somehow he couldn’t imagine her sanctioning another three year long wild goose chase. He was likewise sure that Hongjoong wouldn’t allow himself to be caught again so easily, unless his men were on the line again. That didn’t seem like the kind of situation that happened more than once. The real question was, now what was he doing here? Was he perhaps infatuated with the dashing pirate? That was the only reason he could think of that he had accepted the offer of joining them as a trial run. His family was going to kill him if he became a pirate. He was supposed to take a few years out to sea and then come home and learn the family business with his brother, not take up piracy because he had a crush on a pirate.

“Sure,” he said after perhaps too long of a pause. “I’ll give you a tour, we can start at the bottom and work our way up.”

Fifteen minutes later they were standing at the door to the captain’s quarters. The door was locked but Seonghwa had the key.

“I guess he trusted you.” Hongjoong commented as he watched Seonghwa unlock the door.

That gave him a pang of guilt as he pushed the door open, “He offered me the captaincy of this ship after they took you away.”

“So I stole your ship?” Hongjoong asked as he followed Seonghwa into the room and closed the door behind them. It was poshly appointed. The furnishings were over the top in the extreme, it was as if the former captain was furnishing a mansion instead of a room on a ship. No wonder he had locked it.

“I hadn’t exactly taken control yet.” He said. It hadn’t actually sunk in yet that this ship was going to be his. Perhaps it was his ship that had been stolen but it didn’t feel that way.

“That’s not right, I don’t steal from friends.”

“Friends?”

“We are friends aren’t we?” Hongjoong took a step toward Seonghwa.

Seonghwa felt his heart pick up pace and he swallowed hard in a suddenly dry throat. “Are we?”

“Unless you want to be more…” Hongjoong reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over Seonghwa’s cheek.

“What do you mean more?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“I want to be your lover. You don��t know that already?” He asked.

Without really realizing he was doing it, Seonghwa took the final step forward, closing the distance between the two of them. There was nothing that separated them now. He leaned down, eyes intense as they met Hongjoong’s before he kissed him. The softness of their lips played together, their tongues met giving an electric thrill.

Seonghwa gave a small sound of pleasure as they sank into one another, their arms stealing around one another, bodies flush together. Their hands began to roam over each other. Seonghwa’s lips traveled down over Hongjoong’s jawline, down to his throat. He tasted his pulse thrumming against his lips, he scraped his teeth over the silken skin of his neck. “Why am I so captivated by you?”

“The same reason that I can’t get you out of my head.” Hongjoong gasped and sighed.

“I know the feeling, every time I close my eyes I see you, hear your voice, I can’t stop thinking about you. God you taste so good…” He leaned back in and reclaimed Hongjoong’s lips.

Running his hands up over Seonghwa’s stomach, he caught the material of his blouse and pulled it up, his fingers grazing against his bare skin as he did so. They traveled further, slipping under the soft linen as they moved over his bare chest, the slightly long tips of his nails raking over Seonghwa’s nipples. They tightened at the delicate scraping. A soft moan slipped between their joined lips, let out with a sigh.

Seonghwa pulled his jacket from his shoulders and let it drop at their feet, Hongjoong caught his shirt and pulled it up over his head, immediately dropping his head to rain kisses over his bare chest, to taste his skin.

Seonghwa moved to pull off Hongjoong’s clothes as Hongjoong worked at his partners’. They moved in concert back toward the bed, Seonghwa moving over the smaller man as they moved. The heat of their bodies grinding together, their cocks sliding together. Hongjoong reached between them, wrapping his fingers around their lengths, trapping them against one another as he stroked.

Seonghwa’s golden skin was beginning to glisten in the low lamp light. A drop of sweat trickled down over his smooth chest, running down to where their naked bodies pressed together. His kisses traversed their way down over Hongjoong’s chin, his throat, suckling and biting his nipples before continuing down. The muscles in his stomach trembled as Seonghwa’s lips brushed down over his ribs to his hip bones. Hongjoong squirmed, his hips rising up as Seonghwa’s beautiful lips wrapped around the head of his cock. His finger’s winding in Seonghwa’s thick dark locks, a heady sigh falling from his parted lips.

He had never wanted anyone so badly as he wanted Seonghwa and his body was on fire and Seonghwa’s touch were the flames that consumed him. He watched the way his lips glided over him, consuming him. He was so beautiful, their eyes met and Hongjoong smiled, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep that up.”

“Maybe I want you to cum… or maybe I just want to make you squirm.” Seonghwa smiled in return as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive underside of Hongjoong’s throbbing prick. Then quite suddenly, Seonghwa dropped his head down, pushing Hongjoong’s cock all the way to the back of his throat before bobbing his head up and down.

A sudden hiss and a sharp inhalation of breath as Hongjoong slammed his hands down against the bed, his hips arching upward without his bidding. His orgasm was ripped from him as he fucked back against Seonghwa’s face.

The first spurt of sticky sweet cum hit the back of Seonghwa’s throat as he sucked milking him for every last drop.

Slowly he let his lover’s cock slip from his lips as he crawled back up over his body. He caught Hongjoong’s lips in a sultry kiss before murmuring against him, “We need-...”

“I came prepared.” Hongjoong interjected before he turned and leaned over the side of the bed to capture his clothes. From a pouch tied to his belt, he produced a small corked bottle. As he wiggled back onto the bed, he held it up and shook it slightly.

“See?” He pulled the stopper and poured a liberal amount of oil into his palm and reached for Seonghwa’s swollen length. Seonghwa’s head fell back, throaty groan slipping past his full lips. He rested back on his hands, presenting himself for Hongjoong’s attentions.

The teasing smile was back on Hongjoong’s lips again as he lifted the bottle and poured some of the oil over Seonghwa’s chest and stomach, leaving him glistening as he ran his hands down, to return to stroking. He bowed his head to suckle Seonghwa’s balls and nibble the insides of his thighs. God he was so beautiful in the lamp light, his eyes filled with a universe of stars as he stared at him with unabashed lust, his golden skin aglow.

His breathing grew short, he could feel himself getting close so he reached out and caught Hongjoong’s hand and brought his fingers up to kiss them. “I want more than that now, I want you.”

Hongjoong licked his lips and nodded as he leaned into Seonghwa’s and kissed him. Seonghwa’s arm slipped around his waist as he leveraged Hongjoong back into the mass of pillows, slipping easily between his thighs. He buried his face against his throat and breathed, “I want to be inside you.”

Hongjoong gasped at the nip of teeth at his neck, he could feel Seonghwa’s cock sliding against him, not as eager as his words made him seem but slowly and methodically grinding against him. He wriggled against his touch as Seonghwa’s reached between their bodies and slid his slick, oiled fingers against him and into him.

“I’ve never done this before…” Hongjoong breathed. “But for you, I want you.”

Seonghwa raised his head and looked down at Hongjoong, instead of teasing or darkly lustful, there was supreme tenderness and affection. “I’ll go slow.”

As he promised, he slowly worked against him not going any further than his virgin’s body was ready for. Incrementally, Hongjoong began to relax beneath him. Only when almost all resistance was gone did he begin to enter him. Jesus, so hot, so tight. As he hilted himself he let out a sigh and for a lingering moment, he just held still, “Are you alright?”

Hongjoong nodded, “Yes.”

While the slow entry had spared him any discomfort, it had driven him slowly insane so that now he would have killed any man who dared to try to separate them. “Now fuck me.”

Seonghwa’s tongue flicked out to lap at Hongjoong’s lips before he languidly and fluidly began to move. “As you command.”

With little rolling lifts of his hips, Hongjoong rose to meet each and every thrust. His lover’s cock stimulated something deep inside of him, driving him nearly wild. They moved together, their pace increasing with a shared urgency.

Hongjoong’s fingers dug into Seonghwa’s back, leaving small crescent indentations. His balls tightened as molten sugar unwound in his stomach, slowly reaching its burning tendrils through him. The first spasm forced him to slam his head back into the pillow, the second brought a cry as his cum shot up between their joined bodies. Seonghwa’s arms sealed around him as he began to fuck him with ferocity. Each thrust brought a deep guttural growl, his cock swelled, balls tightened, and then he came, filling his lover with wave after wave of his seed.

For a lingering moment, they lay still, both lost in their own little world of pleasure. Seonghwa was the first to move, turning his head to pepper Hongjoong’s neck and ear with little kisses. Eventually, he sighed and rolled off to the side, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind his head as he pulled Hongjoong into his arms. Hongjoong took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as he laid his head on the pillow beside Seonghwa.

“I think,” Hongjoong began as he adjusted himself in the bed. “I’m glad this all happened. Sure I had to spend a few days in a jail cell but I got you.”

Seonghwa chuckled and let his eyes fall shut. He hadn’t realized exactly how stressed he had been, not until he felt the last of that stress flow out of him with his orgasm. “My new captain is making me feel quite welcome indeed.”

“Are you sure you can do it?” Hongjoong lifted his head and looked at Seonghwa seriously.

“Do what?” He reached up and ran his long, slender fingers over Hongjoong’s sweaty hair and face.

“Piracy.” While he had no doubts that Seonghwa would stay with him if he asked him to, he wanted to make sure that it was actually something that he wanted. He was equally sure he had the other man’s affections but was this life really what he wanted or had he allowed himself to be swept away.

Seonghwa bit the corner of his bottom lip thoughtfully, “I don’t know, really. I never thought I would become a pirate. I also never thought I’d help a fugitive escape jail and a hanging and then steal my ship.”

“Take some time and think it over.” Hongjoong sighed and laid back down. “It’s late and being in a comfortable bed reminds me of how little sleep I’ve had the last few days. It’s late, what say you we get some sleep?”

“Alright.” Seonghwa hadn’t really been giving any thought to his predicament. He had, as Hongjoong thought, just allowed himself to be buoyed along. Now that he had time to think about it, would he be able to do it? He wasn’t a fighter, he never had been and had only fought when his life had deemed it necessary and that wasn’t more than a couple of times. What would it do to his family? He was quite close with his family and he didn’t want to hurt them.

There was another matter, he was quite sure he was falling in love with Hongjoong at breakneck speed. If he were to stay with him, he would hurt his family and perhaps shorten his life. If he were to leave then… then he would break his heart? He wanted nothing more than to give into his heart but what should he do? It was the same thoughts chasing each other around his brain until he finally fell asleep in the small hours of the morning.

He awoke early as he felt Hongjoong slipping out of his arms. He opened his tired eyes to see the other man smiling down at him before brushing a kiss across his lips and whispering, “Go back to sleep, you deserve it.”

Seonghwa didn’t argue. His eyes were already closed before Hongjoong’s feet hit the floor and he was already returning to slumber before he reached the door.

Yunho gave him a look as he sat down at the officer’s table, a knowing smile on his lips.

“What?” Hongjoong asked the younger man.

“Me? I didn’t say a word.”

It was obvious from the expressions on the faces of the assembled men that the entire crew probably knew but none of them seemed inclined to ask the questions. Silent smirks and two looks of feigned innocence, one from San and the other from Mingi, were all Hongjoong received as he looked down the table.

“So!” Jongho broke the silence, “What position is our new crewman going to have? Yunho is the first mate, that’s not to say you couldn’t have two first mates… I think I heard Park Seonghwa was supposed to be captain of this ship?”

Hongjoong’s own smile faded a little at that. He wanted Seonghwa to stay but he wasn’t sure he should. Most of the men under his command had come to him from other pirate vessels or had their own situations that made serving with him ideal. Seonghwa’s situation was quite different and as much as he wanted to keep him with him, he wasn’t sure it was best for him. The thought of letting him go twisted his heart into knots. He had never been in love before but he was getting dangerously close to loving Park Seonghwa. Maybe he already did, it was hard to say never having felt this way before. Sure he had slacked his lusts but love? Never.

“What new crewman?” Mingi asked.

All of the heads at the table turned to look at him.

“The new crewman who came aboard with the captain last night.” Wooyoung answered.

“I didn’t see him. Where is he now?” Mingi asked for more information.

Yunho dropped his head into his hand and Wooyoung’s grin grew a little wider as he decided to answer again, “I imagine he’s still in the captain’s quarters.”

Yunho peeked up at Mingi through his fingers as if to beg him with his eyes alone to cease his line of questioning before it got uncomfortable.

Mingi started to open his mouth when he yelped in pain. He was seated at the end of the table between Yeosang and Wooyoung. He shot a look at Yeosang who was an expert at looking like a beautiful serene statue. Whatever he had done, his expression hadn’t changed but Mingi seemed to get the hint. He reached under the table and rubbed at his leg.

Hongjoong shook his head, “We can decide that, if he decides to stay. I’m not sure he will yet.”

“Why wouldn’t he stay?” San asked curiously.

“I’m not sure he’s cut out for the pirate’s life. He’s got a good family, a good job if he wants it.” Hongjoong shrugged and reached for his breakfast.

San straightened his spine as he said, “We’ve got the best family.”

All of the men hurrahed at that and breakfast settled down into something more normal… and boisterous.

The next three weeks were like a dream for Seonghwa. He sailed with the men of the Treasure, spent his days working beside them, spent his nights with the man he had come to love but there was a growing unease. He knew that Hongjoong was avoiding other ships but he was a pirate and he couldn’t avoid other ships forever. The men were looking forward to their next great haul. Hongjoong was not just a pirate but a successful one and the day they rather accidentally ran into some low hanging fruit was the day he knew.

Seonghwa stood outside the door listening as he heard Yunho and Hongjoong arguing about the validity of the target, a poorly defended merchantman carrying fewer than 8 guns. He knew Hongjoong was avoiding getting into any scrapes to protect him, he couldn’t let him keep doing it. A very angry looking Yunho stormed out of the captain’s room and he went in. “You should take it.”

Hongjoong didn’t look up from the map he was looking at, “Why’s that?”

“Because the only reason you haven’t already gone for it is because of me. The men are restless as it is. You can’t keep avoiding it because you think I can’t take it. This is, as much as we might like to have it otherwise, a pirate’s ship and you are a pirate. If I’m to stay with you, I have to learn to live with this part of life. If I can’t do it then…” Seonghwa let his words trail off, a knot forming in his throat.

Hongjoong finally looked up and met Seonghwa’s eyes and sighed. He was determined. Hongjoong was silent for a long moment before he nodded and walked over to Seonghwa and kissed him. “Alright, tell the men.”

Seonghwa clung to Hongjoong for a lingering moment before he turned and briskly walked out of the cabin. The next few minutes were an absolute whirlwind of activity. All of the usual silliness, chaos and levity were gone and they became a force of nature. They were focused and deadly accurate. They carried out the strike perfectly. Seonghwa watched with a semi-detached air. Could he do this? The first thing that hit him was the thrill, the exhilaration but he wasn’t sure.

The two ships collided. The men from the Treasure poured onto the decks of other ship. Blades clashed and the men of the Treasure worked as a well oil machine. Hongjoong found their captain readily, he was old but still defiant as they crossed blades. What he lacked in youth, he made up for in sheer bloody mindedness. He concentrated as he fought the captain, there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t tell you his next move if you were attentive.

There! Hongjoong feinted to the left as his opponent made a move to block but he left himself open. He struck, bringing him down. Just as he struck he heard a voice yell, “No!”

The rapport of a pistol shot rang out across the deck and momentarily all fell silent. Directly behind Hongjoong, a man lay supine. He had been just inches away from burying his blade in the pirate captain’s back. Seonghwa stood with perfect form, holding his pistol, smoke wafting up from the tip.

Seonghwa had just saved Hongjoong’s life.

The men were elated with the booty they had looted, it was far more than anyone expected. The casks were opened and the alcohol poured freely as the men rejoiced.

Seonghwa sat silently in the captain’s quarters in the dark. He hadn’t even realized that the sun had set, so deeply lost in thought was he. It wasn’t the first time he had killed a man and he had done it in defense of another. He didn’t feel badly about it and that was what bothered him. The captain had been the only man who had died today but he wouldn’t be the last. Every single man of the Treasure would fight to the last to protect one another and their way of life. They loved it, they thrived on it. He too had felt the touch of exhilaration, the rush of blood in his veins. The only thing that came close was making love with Hongjoong.

He knew he could do it. He knew he would grow to love it if he stayed. That was what scared him.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

A voice yanked him from his quiet reverie. “Oh, yes.”

“We’re headed in, we should make port in about eight days.”

“Eight days? I didn’t think we were that far from shore.”

“We aren’t but I thought it might be nice for you to go home, see your family.” Hongjoong didn’t put on a lamp, but just walked over to stand behind Seonghwa’s chair, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“I see.”

The silence was thick and heavy between them but neither seemed inclined to break it.

“How did you know?” Seonghwa asked at long last.

“One of the things I love best about you is your tender heart. What kind of man would I be if I destroyed the one of the things that I loved best about you?” Hongjoong���s voice was barely above a whisper but it carried in the darkened space.

“Promise me something.” Seonghwa said as he turned to look up at the moonlight kissed visage of the man he loved.

Hongjoong cocked his head slightly to one side, reaching to run his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair, “What’s that?”

“Promise me that if you ever decide to retire from piracy that you’ll come find me.”

Hongjoong smiled and drew a slow breath, “I will come find you.”

“Bring the rest of the crew too, we always need more hands.”

“You’re part of the crew. They’ve grown as fond of you as I have.”

“Have they really?”

“Well, maybe not quite as fond as I have.” Hongjoong turned his head and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek.

Seonghwa closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth of that small kiss. Eight days…

***

Seonghwa stood on the cliff by his family home looking out toward the sea. It had been three years to the day since he had said farewell to the crew of the Treasure and its exceptional captain. He hadn’t really known whether he would see Hongjoong again and he regretted his choice everyday. Now with three years between him and the roguish captain’s smile, he could see clearly. Life only gives you chances at real love maybe once if you’re lucky.

He had his chance and he had surrendered it because he was afraid of change, because he was afraid of the lifestyle. He had been wrong and now there was no way to go back and change it.

Hot tears trickled down his cold cheeks and he sniffed before reaching up to wipe them away. He knew now he would never see Hongjoong again and he had to live with that, as much as it hurt him everyday.

“Can’t you find him?”

Seonghwa turned and saw his mother standing behind him. She was the only one he had ever told the truth about his ‘accidental kidnapping’. The only one he had ever told the truth about the only love he would ever have. Not entirely trusting himself to speak, he shook his head before looking back at the sea.

“You don’t have to go through with this you know. I know your father is pressuring you and Soojin is a nice girl but…” His mother sighed. The wedding was in two days and she had tried to talk Seonghwa’s father out of it but he didn’t see the problem. Seonghwa was a good looking, polite boy from a good family. Soojin was a good looking, polite girl from a good family. They made for a good match and they seemed to like each other as friends at least. It was as good of a start for a marriage as any, so her husband thought. It was better than the beginnings of most marriages these days. She understood his reasoning but he hadn’t been the one to hold Seonghwa as he cried his heart out as he explained what happened.

She knew it wasn’t as if you could just post a letter to a pirate. If she could see his broken heart mended, she would go find this pirate herself and send her son to him but she didn’t know any better how to find a man who was constantly on the move and didn’t want to be found any better than her son did.

“Come on, let’s go inside. You’ll catch a cold and you don’t want to catch a cold right before your wedding.” She caught Seonghwa’s hand and he gave one last lingering look at the horizon before turning to dutifully follow after his mother.

“Why don’t you go down to the market and buy some of those buns you and I both love?” His mother suggested to take his mind off of things.

“Why don’t you come with me, mother.”

“Your father will be home soon, I wanted to talk to him when he gets home.”

“You’re going to try to talk him out of the wedding again aren’t you?” he asked with a sad smile.

“I’ll talk to him about what I’ll talk to him about. If it was for your ears, I would ask you to be there. Now shoo.” She swatted his behind lightly and bodily shoved him off toward the market while she stood watching him go.

The market was bustling, he had to squeeze his way between bodies to make his way to the vendor he was looking for. Someone bumped into him without apologizing or even slowing down. They hit him hard too. He turned and caught a glimpse of a familiar face, Choi Jongho? No, it couldn’t possibly be. He turned and tried to follow after the man, trying to push through the throngs of people who were all trying to go in the opposite direction. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make any leeway. He finally caught a pocket of space and managed to break through. He raced after the man he thought he had seen and caught up to someone wearing a jacket the same color as who he thought he had seen. The man turned and it wasn’t him.

Of course it wouldn’t be.

It was all he could do to keep from breaking down there in the middle of the market. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned around and made his way back to the vendor who was selling the buns he had been sent to buy. He wasn’t hungry anymore but his mother wanted them. The entire way home, he scanned the faces of the crowds of people around him. Surely who he had seen had just had a resemblance to his old friend.

He realized how much he missed them then, not just the love of his life but the entire crew. He had grown close to them all and it felt just as much home to him as the place where he had grown up.

What a fool he had been.

The entire next day, he moved through a haze. It didn’t feel like he was going to get married. He liked Soojin, she was a nice girl but she never could or would be the one he loved. Yet he would do what his father wanted him to. Maybe she could help him find some kind of, if not happiness then contentment.

His wedding day dawned bright and early. The families had planned the wedding for the late morning. He honestly hadn’t been too bothered by it one way or another. Actually, he hadn’t really cared about any of the wedding arrangements and only nominally cared about the choice of the bride. He checked the time and got dressed. He was just checking the mirror before heading out when a sound caught his attention. It sounded like someone saying, “Sorry about this.”

Just as he started to turn, there was a sharp and sudden pain behind his left ear and consciousness faded. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to greet him.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark but the room was warmly lit with lamp light and candlelight. At first, he had no idea where he was. There was something familiar though, a scent, old paper, candle wax, the tang of the sea. No. He had to be dreaming there was no way.

“How’s your head?”

Very slowly, he turned to see Hongjoong sitting beside him. His jaw slowly dropped open and he stared open mouthed at the very man he had been dreaming of for the past three years. “Hongjoong?”

“I’m glad you remember me. I would be heartbroken to think we had gone to all of this trouble and you didn’t even remember me.”

“Like I could ever forget you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Hongjoong smiled and put down the book he had been reading.

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“You kidnapped me!” Seonghwa accused.

“Well, technically I didn’t do it. San, Jongho, and Yeosang kidnapped you but I did ask them to and I was in on the planning. I was on the distraction team, I didn’t think I could hit you.” He reached out and gingerly brushed his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair.

“Why did you kidnap me?” Seonghwa asked, wholly bemused.

“When I found out you were getting married, I wasn’t sure that you would walk away from it. You know I can be a little impetuous sometimes and I’ll be honest, I was a little hurt.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. It’s been three years…”

Hongjoong winced, “I know but I wanted to be sure that I was the man I wanted you to come back to… and I love you.”

“Hongjoong…”

“I’ll be completely honest, I was so hurt I was ready to walk away and let you get married. Wooyoung was the one who decided we needed to kidnap you, for your own good. If you want to go back then we can take you back. If you want to stay-”

“I want to stay. I know I was wrong, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted the choice I made. I missed you, every minute of every day. Every night I would lay in my bed wishing I could turn back the clock to make my choice again. If I could have, I would have never walked off of this boat.”

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asked leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. I want to be here. I want to be with you. I want … I want the ocean, I want to sail the world beside you. I want to be part of this family.”

A slow smile curved Hongjoong’s lips and he blinked his eyes, overbright with unshed emotion. “How dare you try to make me cry.”

“I’m not trying to make you cry.” Seonghwa said innocently.

“I know, that makes it worse.” Hongjoong drew a shaky breath and reached out for Seonghwa’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being on my side, for wanting to be with me.” He leaned in, their noses almost touching.

Seonghwa squeezed Hongjoong’s small hand in his, he leaned further, closing the distance between them, sealing Hongjoong’s lips with his. God how he missed the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. He tasted tears, he wasn’t sure to whom the tears belonged but he didn’t want to stop kissing him, not ever.

“This is only the beginning,” whispered Hongjoong against Seonghwa’s lips.

Seonghwa smiled, his eyes still closed. “Here’s to our beginning.”

Again their lips came together, Seonghwa reaching up, his fingers slipping into Hongjoong’s wild locks, pulling him closer. Hongjoong rose and climbed into the bed beside his lover.

“I missed you so much.” Hongjoong murmured into their kiss.

“I’ll never leave your side again.”

“You better not, I’ll just have to kidnap you back again.” he teased with a nip of Seonghwa’s lips.

“Who knows, I might start to like it.”

Their lips, their bodies, their destiny came together in joy and love.

NOTE: Other words can be found on my master list.

[wiltingofthewhitelily]

{Hetalia Platonic Ships Week 2021} Day 5: Partners in Crime - Latvia & Moldova

A/N: Submission #5 for @hetaliaplatonicshipsweek!

Sooo I was originally gonna do Sealand and Latvia for this one (or just a submission with these two in general), but then I thought this scenario would be funnier for a reason I'll talk about in the next paragraph sooo yeah. Plus, I like to think that Latvia and Moldova probably grew pretty close to each other during the Soviet Union days, seeing as they were the two "little ones" I suppose. (Although, in general, I do feel like Latvia would've hung around Estonia and Lithuania more, seeing how his age and maturity level are much closer to theirs than to Moldova's. But anyway.) I don't know...I just wanna see more content with these two cuties just being friends with each other ok??

For this one, two of my hcs are joining forces to create one (hopefully) pretty humorous little fic. These hcs are: one, Latvia is a pretty big prankster; and two, Moldova is a goody-two-shoes and is lowkey a tattletale (though not in a malicious way at all; he's just trying to be good). I do honestly really like the end result of this one, though I think I got a little carried away with this story and may have made some of the characters a little ooc in the process, sorry 'bout that lol.

Ok, enough with this long ass author's note and onto the fic-

»»————-　➴　————-««

Latvia raced to the back of a chair, crouching down low and hiding behind it while also trying to hide his intense giggles. He watched as Ukraine went up to the pot in which she'd been cooking some soup—the same soup where Latvia had dumped a spoonful of spicy sauce in beforehand.

The woman did just as the Latvian had wanted her to—she picked up a spoon and dipped it into the pot to do a small taste test. The curly-haired boy bit his lip as he watched. Soon enough, she set the spoon down hurriedly, let out a noise that was halfway between a yelp and a surprised whistle, and shortly after began to cough lightly.

Latvia had to place his face between his knees to silence his laughter, his small body beginning to shake. Any sort of enjoyment he could get in this hell house, he would one hundred percent strive to get—and pulling small pranks like this on all the residents inside of it was just what he needed to accomplish that.

Soon, Latvia heard tiny footsteps and then a voice: "What's wrong, Sestra?" Moldova.

Ukraine let out another whistle and answered, "I don't know, the soup was really spicy for some reason." Latvia almost let out another snort at this, but caught himself just in time.

The teen heard a few more words of soft chatter and then footsteps coming up close behind him. Then, a pause. Latvia could already tell it was Moldova and got a bit nervous. The little boy tended to be, for lack of a better word, a bit of a tattletale—he was afraid the child would somehow find out what he'd done and go rat on him.

Sure enough, Latvia heard Moldova pull the table curtain back and crouch down to Latvia's level. "What are you doing down here?" he immediately asked curiously, sitting down on his knees as well.

Latvia turned to him and put a finger over his lips, trying to tell him to quiet down a little. "I'm hiding."

"Why are you hiding?"

Latvia bit his lip. "I...did something."

"Did what?"

He internally grumbled. The kid wouldn't let up now, would he? Latvia thought it might be a little okay to tell Moldova—he was, admittedly, kind of eager to show off what he'd done, to somebody. Even if it wasn't that big of a prank (especially compared to some of the other masterpieces he'd done in the past), he still thought it was funny. Plus, he could probably easily stop Moldova from tattling—all he figured he'd have to do was give him candy or something. "Okay—I put some spicy sauce in the soup Ukraine was cooking. As a prank." He bit his lip to keep from letting out a big laugh.

Moldova was much less amused—in fact, he looked more confused than anything. "Why?" he asked, brows furrowed.

Latvia didn't really know what to say; he just shrugged. "...Because it's funny."

"But that's bad," the boy pointed out, his tone turning a bit stern.

The teen sighed. "Yeah, I know...but it's funny."

Moldova gave Latvia one more quizzical look before slowly standing back up. "Ses—"

Latvia caught him, pulling him back down and covering his hand over his mouth. "Moldova!" he whisper-scolded through gritted teeth. "No."

Moldova looked over at Latvia, eyes wide. Finally, the teen released his hand from his mouth. "Latvia," he asked, "why did you do that? I only wanted to tell Sestra."

"No!" he responded. "It's a prank—you can't just tell her."

Moldova cocked his head to the side. "A prank?"

"Yeah—it's supposed to be funny."

"Funny?" the little boy asked. "I like funny things. Pranks aren't supposed to be bad though, are they?"

Latvia looked up. "Well, kind of. I'm technically not allowed to pull them—but I do anyway." Despite himself, he giggled a little at this.

Moldova blinked. "Why?"

Latvia placed his palm up to his cheek—this kid really asked a lot of questions, didn't he? "Because it's funny."

"Well, I wanna have fun too." Moldova sat for a few moments, looking down, as if thinking. Then, he pursed his lips and motioned for Latvia to come closer, to which the teen did. "...I kind of wanna try a prank, just a little one," he whispered into his ear. "Not one that's too bad, though."

Latvia contemplated this a bit. It would be fun to have a small partner-in-crime to his mischief—especially one as young as Moldova, whom he could hopefully mold and shape to be his sort of sidekick. He grew a little smirk. "Okay."

Moldova gasped in delight and clapped his hands. "Yay! What should we do first, Latvia?"

Latvia rubbed his chin, before getting a good idea. "I've got it." He grabbed the Moldovan's small sticky hand. "C'mon, let's go."

»»————-　➴　————-««

"Okay, so you have to be very quiet before he comes—got it?"

"Mhm!" Moldova replied obediently, grinning from ear to ear at the older boy.

The two had placed one of Moldova's stuffed bears—the one that said I love you! when the stomach was pressed—on a seat at the dining room table, where Estonia was about to sit, as he was in the kitchen getting a cup of coffee and a newspaper. The hope was that he would be surprised by it and jump out of his seat. Nothing very exciting, Latvia knew that—it was mainly because Moldova had been very picky about what kind of pranks he wanted to pull, as most of the ones Latvia suggested were deemed 'too bad.'

The two boys watched from behind the door in the small office across from the dining room in anticipation. Soon enough, Estonia walked in and was about to sit in the chair he always sat in, the one containing the bear. He flopped his newspaper and prepared to sit down. Once his butt hit the bear, it activated that sickeningly-sweet high-pitched voice: I love you!

Startled, Estonia immediately sprang from his seat, gasping; he spilled his coffee all over the floor and his newspaper tumbled to the ground.

Latvia and Moldova began to cackle at this hilarious sight (still trying to keep their voices down, which was difficult); Latvia held out his hand for a high-five, which Moldova gladly accepted.

Estonia must've heard this, as amidst wallowing in the mess he'd just made, he crept over toward the door of the office, poking his head into it and seeing the two boys. He cocked an eyebrow. "...What are you two doing in here?"

Latvia was about to make up some petty excuse before Moldova spoke first: "Haha! Haha!" he exclaimed, still giggling. "You got pranked!"

Estonia was still a little confused until he realized: they must've set that bear down purposefully on the chair (he already figured Moldova had done it, though he'd thought the little boy had just accidentally left it there after playing with it). He then put his hands on his hips and grew a bit of an angry look on his face—they'd made him spill coffee on the floor and ruined his newspaper, for crying out loud! "Well," the Estonian began, "hate to say this, but you two are gonna be the ones to clean up the coffee."

Latvia had been laughing right along with Moldova, though when he heard Estonia say that he immediately grew a cross look as well. "Aw, no fair!" he argued. "You're the one who spilled the coffee! You clean it up!"

To his surprise, little Moldova backed him up. "Yeah, you clean it up, Estonia!"

Latvia looked down at the small boy and he couldn't help but crack a smile despite himself, thinking it was quite cute how he was mimicking him.

Estonia gave the two an annoyed glare. Latvia backtalking him wasn't really that out of the ordinary, but Moldova? The kid who literally asked every morning if he could take out the trash? Okay, now that was ridiculous. He groaned and, now out of options, he turned around and shouted, "Ukraine!" If there was anyone who would back him up and make the two clean up the mess, it was her.

Latvia clicked his tongue and immediately jumped up to run after Estonia, already complaining. Moldova hurried up and followed him, parroting him again.

Soon enough, the trio had all stormed over to Ukraine, who was sitting in the living room reading a book. She set the book down and got up as she began to hear their complaints, throwing her hands up in the air. "Goodness, what is going on here?" she asked.

Estonia shifted his glasses and began to speak, now gaining his composure and standing up straight (Fake, Latvia thought to himself as he saw this): "Latvia and Moldova tried to pull a prank on me," he began. "They sat one of Moldova's bears down on the chair—you know, the one that Russia bought for him that says I love you when you press on its stomach?—yeah, they sat that one down in the chair and I sat in it; it scared me and I jumped and ended up spilling coffee everywhere." He cleared his throat and concluded, "So they made me spill the coffee, therefore they should clean it up. But they won't."

"Oh, please. We didn't make you spill the coffee," Latvia protested loudly. "That's ridiculous."

Estonia began to argue back with Latvia, before Ukraine stomped her foot lightly and demanded, "Quiet!"

The two teenagers obeyed. Ukraine stood with her hands on her hips then, her face angry as she turned to Estonia. "Latvia and Moldova pulled a prank on you and made you spill a cup of coffee," she repeated crossly. "Yeah, I really believe they did that."

"But the—" Estonia began to say before Ukraine interrupted again.

"They act like they didn't do it," she said. "Especially Moldova. Look at him! How could you blame a little kid for such a thing?"

The group turned their eyes toward the said boy, who had his arms folded, eyes widened, and lips pouted, looking as innocent as ever (even though he'd been a more-than-willing accomplice, of course).

"But!—" Estonia said, before sighing, deciding it was pointless. Then, Ukraine went to the laundry room, picked up a mop and a bucket, walked back, and handed it toward Estonia. The bespectacled blond sighed again, taking it and going into the dining room to clean his mess. All the while Latvia was standing behind them, his hands tightly clamped over his mouth to avoid rolling on the floor in laughter. Moldova stayed just as he was, analyzing this interaction curiously and carefully.

Ukraine stood in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, watching Estonia. In the living room, Moldova watched Latvia closely. "Are you about to laugh?" he asked, tilting his head a little to the side as he looked up at the teen.

Latvia took his hands away for a brief moment, biting his lip, before nodding vigorously.

Moldova paused for a few moments, still staring at Latvia, before asking, "Is it as funny as when you put that spicy sauce in Sestra's soup?"

Moldova had said that loudly, loudly enough for Ukraine herself to hear; the woman turned around slowly, giving Latvia the same look she'd just given Estonia a few minutes prior.

Latvia stared ahead in absolute shock, feelings of dread mixed with anger simmering through him. Oh. My. God. Moldova truly hadn't learned anything, had he?

»»————-　➴　————-««

Soon enough, Latvia was in the dining room alongside Estonia, helping him clean the mess on the floor—it had gotten practically everywhere, apparently (how much coffee did Estonia seriously drink?) and it was very sticky. So, in short, it was not too fun to clean up. There was also the newspaper to worry about, which had its papers scattered all across the floor too.

And where was Moldova at that moment? Sitting at the dining room table, munching on a batch of cookies Ukraine had baked for him and drinking cold milk. A long milk mustache got caught on his top lip more than once, with every time Ukraine quickly dashing over to clean it up with a napkin.

Fun for him, Latvia thought sarcastically as he swept his mop through another stain. Whatever happened to partners in crime? He guessed telling the truth and mint chocolate cookies tasted more appetizing.

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- Chapter 29- An Obitine Story

Satine was shaken awake by Obi-Wan at three-thirty, he was dressed and cleaning up. The Duchess whined for him.

“I wanted to let you sleep,” the Jedi confessed, “but I’ll help you get ready.”

“Ben,” Satine whispered harshly, “I can’t get ready in half an hour!”

“Hurry then.”

The Duchess dressed as quickly as she could with her corset, trying to be patient with Obi-Wan as he fumbled.

“I swear I did it this morning.”

“I know!”

“Stop pressuring me!”

Satine sighed.

“What?”

“Remember when we were young?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“This would happen all the time.”

“Only now,” Obi-Wan tugged, “we’re grown adults with children ourselves, and no Master Qui-Gon.”

“Very true.”

Satine’s hair took longer than it should have, but fortunately, she hadn’t unpacked much. 

“Now I wish Parna had come,” the Duchess whined, “Ben, carry my bags.”

The Jedi sighed, but did as he asked. Jaym met them in the hallway.

“Everyone is worried,” he smiled, “we thought you were dead.”

“Not dead,” Satine assured, “just tired.”

Jaym took the bags from Obi-Wan and headed down the hall. Satine pressed a quick peck on Obi-Wan’s cheek.

“Love you, Darling.”

“I love you too.”

The Duchess ran to catch up with Jaym.

“So-” he began

“No comments,” Satine interrupted, “we’re late.”

They weren’t that late, maybe because Korkie, Tristan, and Mara were goofing off with Ahsoka, but Satine saw Padme’s face.

“Very fashionable entrance,” the Senator smiled as they hugged, “we should’ve known.”

“Time slips away from us.” Satine shrugged.

“Duchess,” Anakin kissed her hand, “I hope you enjoyed your visit.”

“Don’t act so smug, Anakin,” Satine scolded, “and make sure Tyra doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

“I’ll try.”

Satine approached Ahsoka.

“Momdalore!”

“Keep an eye on my twins, will you?”

“Of course.” Ahsoka nodded

Satine turned, “Children, we don’t want to be late.”

It wasn’t till they were sitting down sipping tea that Korkie asked his mother how their father was doing.

“Fine,” Satine raised an eyebrow, “he seemed in a good mood when I left.”

“Honestly, Lady Mother,” Mara sighed, “try to be more subtle.”

“I hid you all from the Jedi Council for your entire lives,” Satine countered, “I would say I’m quite subtle.”

Tristan laughed, “Maybe you’re losing your touch.”

Satine gasped, “Never.”

  There was a small group of reporters waiting for their landing, eager to see the reunion. Tristan hugged his foster parents and put on quite a good show, thanking the Jedi for their rescue. Parna received her niece, though their reception was much less ostentatious.

“And you, Duke, is it good to be home?”

Korkie smiled, “Most certainly, and I would also like to thank our saviors, we really appreciate their kindness and hospitality.”

“Thank you for all the kind wishes we’ve received as well,” the Duchess added,placing a hand on Korkie’s shoulder, “our family is reunited again.”

The press could likely spin that comment, but Satine didn’t mind. She strode past them and into the palace, her children behind her.

“Lady Mother,” Korkie whispered as they climbed the stairs, “am I really just supposed to go back to school?”

Satine frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I want to learn more about what I can do,” he confessed, “and I think I need therapy.”

“So do I,” Mara agreed, “on both counts.”

Tristan also wanted to see a professional, he claimed that the Sith did strange things to your mind, and he definitely needed a break.

“Lady Mother?” “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance,” she frowned, “I hate what they did to you.”

“The Sith Lord is in custody now,” Korkie smiled sadly, “Maul and Dooku won’t be able to do much.”

“They can still try.” Satine countered.

The Duchess didn’t know how right she was, that night, after Tristan went home to his foster family and Mara to her mentor, Satine and Korkie sat having dinner with her ladies. 

“Let me get some more tea, Your Grace,” Khaami stood, picking up a tray, “I’ll be back.”

Conversation continued until Parna noticed that it had been twenty minutes and Khaami had not returned.

“Why don’t you go check on her,” Satine suggested, “and bring the desert course.”

Parna grinned, “Gladly.”

Korkie was in the middle of complaining about how much schoolwork he’d have to catch up on when the glass doors to the balcony shattered. Both the Duchess and her son jumped up.

“What-”

“Stay where you are,” Dooku growled, “and this will go a lot easier.”

Maul held both Khaami and Parna behind a lightsaber, and Korkie raised his hands.

“Don’t try anything, boy,” the Count snarled, “we’re here for your mother.”

In spite of what Dooku had just said, Satine stepped in front of Korkie.

“We won’t hurt him, Satine, if you come with us.” the Count added, eyes blazing.

Maul growled and the Duchess squeezed her son’s hand.

“Alright,” she exhaled, “but my ladies must be freed as well.”

“No,” the Zabrak snarled, “they come with us.”

“Then why-”

Dooku picked up Satine using the force, clenching her waist with his mind.

“And for good measure,” the Count smiled, “this.”

Korkie flew back and hit his head on the wall, Satine wailed.

“Come on.”

They were prodded onto a ship, and Satine and her ladies had their wrists bound. Huddling the corner of a hull, Parna whispered that her brother could help.

“He’s dead,” Darth Maul called.

“No, Satine,” Dooku frowned, reading the Duchess' thoughts, “Mara wasn’t there.”

“Don’t you dare use her name.” Khaami spat.

“I killed Ursa Wren too,” Maul smiled, “it was great fun.”

Tears welled in Satine’s eyes, Ursa had raised her son for her, and now she was dead because of it.

“You monster!” Parna growled, voice breaking.

“Oh, right, he was your brother,” Maul laughed, “what an interesting family you made.”

Silence filled the ship.

“Where are we going, Kal?”

The Count smiled, “To your enemies.”

“I don’t have enemies.” Satine replied without thinking.

Maul snorted, “If you believe that, Duchess, you’re more naive than we thought.”

Satine retreated inwards? Who could be considered her enemy besides the Sith and the Separatists?

“Pre Vizsla.” the Duchess frowned.

Dooku and Maul didn’t acknowledge her, instead, they maneuvered the ship into the lower levels of Sundari. Satine swallowed, corruption on her planet was fueled by the Vizslas and their desire for war, them and all who followed them. No good would come of this.

“Do you have the prize?” a voice croaked over the radio.

“Yes,” Dooku smiled, “and the ladies.”

“Did you hear that, son,” the voice asked, “they even got the ladies too?”

Raucous laughter burst out from the radio and Satine shrank back. So many voices, so many people.

When they landed, Maul used the force to carry the ladies by their necks and bring them off the ship. The Duchess was greeted by Tarrei Vizsla, grinning maliciously as he shoved a gun to her back.

“Walk,” he ordered.

Satine followed Count Dooku as he made his way through a series of tunnels, bribing guards and telling passers by to spread the word. The Duchess had been caught.

“Ah, Duchess,” Pre Vizsla smiled when Satine arrived, “so good to see you’re looking well.”

The criminals around Vizsla laughed, like a pack of hyenas about to eat.

“Shame on you,” Satine growled, “all of you.”

“The poor Duchess,” Pre Vizsla gave a mock frown, “she thinks she hasn’t been ruining Mandalore.”

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves,” Khaami spat, “treating the Duchess like this, she’s saving Mandalore.”

“Ha,” Tarrei Vizsla laughed, “she degrades our very purpose.”

“And what purpose is that, Tarrei?” Satine asked.

“Restoring Mandalore to her former glory!”

The criminals cheered.

“War will get you nowhere,” Parna disagreed, “and many people will die that would’ve been saved by our Duchess.”

“Your Duchess,” Pre Vizsla growled, “is a Jedi-sympathizing b-”

“If you continue with this,” Satine warned, “know that none of you will survive.”

“On the contrary, Satine,” Count Dooku spoke up, “it is you who won’t survive.”

The Duchess had almost forgotten her ex-fiance was there, so she turned to him.

“What do you plan to do once I am rescued?”

“Bold assumption,” the Count smiled, “though I suppose you have faith in your Jedi lover.”

Satine pretended to be horrified, she had no idea if it worked.

“So it’s true?”

“Most definitely,” Count Dooku nodded, “and they most definitely have children.”

“Who do you think you are,” Parna spat, “making up these lies?”

Count Dooku ignored Satine’s lady and announced that he had a plan to set in motion. The Duchess growled at him as he left. Pre Vizsla turned to face Satine.

“First things first.”

The pain in her cheek appeared out of nowhere and throbbed. Laughter echoed in Satine’s ears.

“How dare you,” Khaami thundered, “how dare you strike the Duchess!”

“Oh no,” a criminal whined, “what are you gonna do about it?”

They were led to a cell and locked in with such flair Satine wondered if there was a camera. Suddenly, Parna burst into tears.

“He’s dead,” she wailed, “dead, dead, dead.”

Satine gripped the cell bars tight.

“I’m sorry, Parna,” Khaami whispered, “I’m so, so sorry.”

”Awful,” Satine shook her head, “these demons deserve hell.”

“Careful, Duchess,” Tarrei Vizsla appeared, “now you sound like one of us.”

Satine growled at him.

“Why are you here?” Khaami spat, holding tight to Parna.

“To guard you, torment you,” the former Count shrugged, “it’s all the same to me.”

Satine glared at the Mandalorian, how dare he identify with her people. Her good people.

“But I do have one question, Duchess,” Vizsla smiled, “are the rumors true.”

Angry, Satine stood and spat in Tarrei’s face.

“You know, I much prefer words.”

“You’re vile, Tarrei,” she barked, “you will regret working with Mandalore’s enemies.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Vizsla raised his hand, “your enemies are my friends.”

“Go away.” Parna sniffed.

The former Count laughed and Satine’s rage fueled. The bars of the cell began to shake.

Tarrei’s eyes went wide, “What-”

Satine glowered at her former ally and the bars shook harder.

“Are you doing this?”

The Duchess let go of the bars and stepped back, but they still wiggled uncomfortably. The eldar Vizsla ran in the opposite direction. The bars stopped shaking as he turned round a corner.

“Satine?” Parna questioned, eyes still red.

“That wasn’t me,” the Duchess shook her head, “honestly, it might’ve been the force.”

Parna snorted.

“You and the force,” Khaami laughed, “allies, who would’ve thought?”

They sat in silence until Tarrei Vizsla returned with his son and three other guards.

“She made the bars shake, it was like,” he gasped, “it was like-”

“Are you a Jedi?”

Satine burst into laughter, completely astonished at the unexpected comment. Parna stared dumbfounded at the criminal who asked while Khaami mocked him.

Pre Vizsla turned to the man, “A Royal Mandalorian Jedi?”

“There’s no other explanation.” Tarrei agreed.

Pre Vizsla looked back at Satine.

“Make the bars shake.”

Satine stared at the man as if he were crazy.

“Well?”

“I can’t.”

“She’s lying.” Tarrei frowned.

Satine gestured, “It wasn’t me!” 

“Son,” the former Count was firm, “it was her.”

Pre Vizsla stared at Satine for a long time.

“What possible explanation is there?” he concluded at last.

The Duchess could think of quite a few reasons, fortunately, no one in front of her was a mind reader.

“Leave them, what can they do?”

Tarrei Vizsla wouldn’t speak to the prisoners for the next three days. When Satine awoke on the fourth day, her neck stiff from sleeping awkwardly, she sat up to the opening of the cell door.

“Come on!”

The Duchess wasn’t expecting to be yanked by her hair, and gave a little yelp when her scalp was pulled.

“Hurry up!” Pre Vizsla barked.

Something must’ve been wrong, and this filled Satine with joy.

“Stop smiling,” Tarrei slapped her, “you’ll regret it.”

Angry, the Duchess growled, but no one seemed to hear her. She and her ladies were being tugged along a back hallway that seemed to have hardly been used. Trash littered the floor and more than once Satine stumbled.

“Hurry!” someone barked.

An explosion boomed in the background, and it rattled the Duchess so much that even when they were in a ship flying away, her teeth still chattered. In the pack, Khaami and Parna huddled together, shoved between boxes of illegal substances. Satine was tied in the back by the fresher, and it smelled awful.

“Oh, suck it up.” Pre Vizsla spat.

There were two other criminals besides the Vizslas, which seemed to be a small group for precious cargo.

“What happened?” Satine asked.

Tarrei Vizsla snorted.

“Like we’d tell you.” a criminal answered.

They had no problem getting off of Mandalore, the Vizslas had too many friends, what shocked Satine was when their ship was shot down while they went to refuel on a desert planet she’d never heard of. It wasn’t a bad crash, seeing as they were caught by a ray and lowered to the ground.

“What-”

The ship door burst open and Khaami screamed. Gruffy looking soldiers with giant weapons entered the ship.

“Ah,” a man, their leader smiled, “fellow criminals I see.”

“What do you want?” Pre Vizsla asked, tone sharp.

“You came to our planet,” the leader gestured wildly, “it’s us who should be asking that question, friends.”

“We’re not our friends.”

Parna gasped, “You’re Hondo Ohnaka?”

The man turned, a smile on his face.

“A prisoner with sensibilities? That’s rare.”

“I’m Parna Supreis,” Satine’s lady began, “and-”

Satine gasped as Parna was gagged.

“Are you,” Hondo grinned, “then you must be the Duchess of Mandalore, no?”

The Duchess watched as he came close, then spat in his face.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hondo snapped, “men, take them.”

”Now hold on-”

“Who’s in charge here?”

Khaami pointed at the Vizslas, “They are.”

“Then take them too,” the pirate ordered, “the government will likely want them.”

Satine watched in horror as the other two criminals were shot. Only this time, she didn’t feel quite as bad, and that scared her.

“Come on, ladies,” a pirate tugged on their new bonds, “it’s time to go.”

A couple men snickered and dread settled in Satine’s stomach, this was much worse than she had anticipated.

They were forced onto speeders and taken to the pirate hideout, which was much grander on the inside than out.

“Are those Zygerrian rugs?” Satine frowned.

Hondo laughed, “They most certainly are.”

Zygerrian rugs were made by slave labor and very expensive.

“You’re disgusting.” Khaami growled.

“Now, now, that won’t earn you any favors.”

Satine and her ladies were placed in a cell, all tied together at the hip with some glowing contraption. Fortunately, their cell was actually nice. There was nothing to aid in an escape of course, but there were pillows and couches.

“This is for our most distinguished guests.” Hondo smiled proudly.

The Vizslas were put across from them, in a sour smelling hold that reflected on their true nature.

“You’ll regret this, Satine.” Pre Vizsla growled.

“What did I do,” the Duchess asked angrily, “wasn’t this all your fault?”

Hondo laughed, “Enjoy yourselves, friends.”

Satine, Parna, and Khaami all decided that one person should keep watch. Satine had the first slot.

“Duchess.”

Satine jumped backward, “When did you get here?”

“I’ve just had a very interesting call with your sister,” Hondo smiled, “she has captured Count Dooku and is willing to trade him.”

Satine grinned, “You must enjoy having the Count in your custody.”

“Oh, I do,” Hondo nodded, “almost as much as I enjoy having you and your ladies.”

Satine frowned, “When is the trade happening?”

“First,” the pirate held up his hand, “you must choose the two prisoners the Count will replace.”

Satine fumbled for words, “May I conference with my ladies?”

“You may.”

Gently, the Duchess woke her ladies and explained the situation.

“We can’t let the Vizslas go alone,” Khaami whispered, “they could escape.”

“But you both deserve safety.” Satine stated.

“We should definitely send Pre,” Parna decided, “and one of us should accompany him.”

“Oh, Duchess!”

Satine turned.

“If you chose to go, you will be the only one released.” Hondo advised.

The Duchess frowned.

“Parna should go,” Khaami whispered, “guard Pre and give testimony.”

“But-”

“It will give you time to mourn.” Khaami added.

The Duchess announced her decision, and the next day, Parna and Pre were taken outside and Count Dooku was thrown in the cell across from Satine.

“Kal.”

“Satine.”

They did not speak for two days, a stalemate occurring when both sides of the battle were prisoners, but finally, Hondo spoke for them.

“I have to ask,” he began, “how was the engagement party?”

“We never threw one.” Count Dooku answered.

“What, but surely-”

“I throw garden parties all the time, Hondo,” Satiine smiled bitterly, “it’s a natural part of being in charge.” “That I can understand,” the pirate nodded, “I throw parties as well.”

“Do you?” the Duchess asked.

“I do, for instance,” the pirate smiled, “I’m currently throwing a party to celebrate your capture.”

Dooku snorted.

“It’s true,” Hondo opened her cell, “and you’re going to be paraded around.”

Satine ground her teeth as the count laughed.

“Her Grace is royalty,” Khaami gasped, “you will not treat her as some peasant!”

“I shall,” Hondo grinned, “and if you don’t cooperate, your lady will suffer.”

Satine growled, “She has a family.”

“Then you appreciate what you must do.”

Satine swallowed, standing on shaky legs.

“You will regret this.” the Duchess warned.

Hondo rolled his eyes and tugged Satine by her hair into a room that stank of pirates. They laughed at her.

“So this is the Duchess of Mandalore?” one asked.

Satine balled her fists and stared at the voice.

“Angry, aren’t you?”

Suddenly, tremors attacked the ground.

“I am Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore, Second of my Name, and Lady Krewella,” the ground shifted, “and you will treat me with respect.”

A pirate snorted and Satine turned her fury on him.

“What is it, peasant,” she asked, “can’t stand being reminded of your place?”

The man would’ve lunged at her had he not fallen on the uneven ground.

Hondo frowned, “Duchess, is that-”

Shaking with fury, Satine shouted, “Silence!” 

Rocks began to fall from the roof. Then it went black. 

“Satine?”

The Duchess groaned Khaami’s name.

“It’s alright, you’re back in the cell.”

It hurt to open her eyes, but Satine managed.

“They think you caused an earthquake.”

“What?”

Dooku groaned.

“Honestly, Satine, you heard what your lady said.”

Khaami helped Satine over to a lounging couch so she could lie down.

“I knew it,” Tarrei shouted, “you are a Jed!”

Satine sighed, Dooku gave the Mandalorians a strange look.

“It’s true,” Vizsla continued, talking to Dooku, “she made the prison bars shake back in Sundari.”

Dooku raised an eyebrow, “Did she?”

“She did.”

“That wasn’t her,” Khaami shook her head, “it was-”

“There’s no other explanation!” Tarrei gestured.

“It sounds like your Jedi-Spawn are helping you from miles away,” Dooku snarled, “the blood of your force-sensitive bastards is within you, and their midichlorians have fused into your body.”

Satine gaped.

“That can’t be true.” Khaami whispered.

“Either that or you’re expecting a force-sensitive child.”

Khaami turned to Satine.

“It’s too early to tell.” she mumbled back.

Vizsla’s eyes went wide, “Kenobi is the father of your children!”

“Oh, please-”

“It is true,” Dooku added, “their force signature is a mix of yours, his, and their own attitudes.”

Satine glanced at Khaami.

“You,” Tarrei pointed, “you’ve been working for the Duchess longer than the Duke of Sundari has been alive, you would know!”

Khaami held up her hands, horrified, “No, no, that’s not true.”

“Is it not?”

No one had noticed Hondo in the corner.

“Because I just did an image search of the Duke of Sundari, and he looks a lot like Kenobi.”

Satine opened her mouth and closed it.

“Why would you care?” she eventually asked, quiet.

“Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is a dear friend of mine,” Hondo bowed, “it’s an honor to meet the mother of his children.”

Satine swallowed, “Will you tell him I’m here,” Satine asked, “will you let me go?”

“Not cheaply,” Hondo answered, “but he knows you're here, he and Skywalker might come to collect Dooku.”

Khaami walked right up to the bars, “You must let her see him.”

“I’ll think about it,” Hondo hesitated, “I am very interested in this story if you must know.”

“Please,” Satine begged, “please.”

The pirate looked at her once more before leaving.

“Please,” the Duchess yelled, “please!”

It took two months for the Republic to decide what needed to happen, and by then, Satine knew she was pregnant again. Prime Minister Jaru was coming for Tarrei Vizsla, Pre had already been sentenced for life, and it was likely his father would face the same charge. Anakin and Obi-Wan were coming for Dooku, Satine knew lots of money had been exchanged. For some reason, no one had a plan for the Duchess. Korkie had been staunchly advocating for her return, being forced to take on many of her duties and claiming it wasn’t his place to do so. However, the asking price for the Duchess was so high, that Mandalore couldn’t pay it without suffering financially.

“You’re cruel.” Satine decided, speaking to Hondo.

“I might be,” the pirate shrugged, “but business is business.”

[miraizu]

Open Book - 6. Lion’s Den

Open Book Ship: Chrollo Lucilfer/Reader Part: 6/?? [PREV] | [NEXT] Word count: 3,408 Warnings: None. Synopsis:  Everybody has to make a way of living. Some are hunters, some are thieves, some are just regular civilians trying to enjoy their lives. You? You’re an informant, and in York New City, a city that never sleeps, you’re about to find out just how much of a commodity that really makes you.

       "Are you dead?"

       Peering into the dilapidated building, you didn't sound all too concerned if your new (forced) companion was dead or alive.  After Chrollo had boldly exclaimed that he had needed you, you had quickly became flustered and demanded an explanation.

       As it had turned out, he hadn't needed you, per se, so much as your abilities.  He needed information - information you weren't sure you could provide yet, considering he had remained tight-lipped about any specifics.  Instead, he had led you out of the building, only to be confronted by Zeno Zoldyck and another whom you could only assume was Silva Zoldyck.  At the sight of them approaching, you had quickly veered off, telling Chrollo you'd wait for him.  You had locked eyes with Zeno for a moment - if he recognized you, he didn't show it.

       You could hear the sounds of fighting inside, but resisted the urge to peek.  That'd be suicide, and you remained true to your word.  After a short amount of time - much shorter than you had been expecting, honestly - the door had opened, and Zeno and Silva had walked out, both completely disregarding you.  For a moment, you thought the strange feeling in your chest was relief, but wrote it off.  Not relief, but you weren't sure what else it was as you peered in.

       Unfortunately, Chrollo wasn't dead, meaning you'd still have to go with him to see the rest of the Phantom Troupe.  It wasn't ideal, but you had given your word so you wouldn't back out now.  Instead, you walked further in, taking a moment to admire what was left of the interior before your eyes stopped on Chrollo.  He looked a bit worse for wear, but all of the injuries were superficial.  You sighed.

       "And here I was hoping I'd be left off the hook."

       Chrollo's smile turned dry as he approached and walked past, only stopping to wait for you to follow him again.  "How sad," he feigned sadness, although it was easy to tell he wasn't really.  "I thought I was beginning to grow on you."

       Your gaze burned into his back as the two of you walked, eyes shrewd and thoughtful.  No way the Zoldycks would just walk off on a job, unless...  "You either hired for their employers to be killed, or you paid those two more money than their original boss.  Correct?"

       You couldn't see Chrollo's face, but could only imagine the smile on his face as he spoke.  "I hired somebody to kill the Ten Dons, yes.  With money off the table, there's no reason for them to continue."

       You almost came to a complete stop.  "The Ten Dons?  Of the mafia?"

       He looked back at you from over his shoulder, expression turning unreadable.  "Is that a problem?"

       For the first time tonight, you smiled widely, not believing the luck of it all.  "Not at all.  I hate those mafia bastards, so good riddance."

       Turning back to the front before you could see his facial expression change, Chrollo continued to walk.  You continued to follow.

       It was chaos all around, but Chrollo wasn't bothered by it, walking through it all as if this was nothing.  To him, it probably was, and you followed his lead, not paying the dead bodies of various mafioso a second thought.  You had to be careful where you stepped - without shoes, the last thing you needed was to step on broken glass or any other sharp object.  Neither of you were in a hurry, it seemed, so it was easy to watch your step.

       Looking down at the ground, though, came at a cost.  You hadn't sensed Chrollo stop right away, and unable to react in time you had bumped into his back, stumbling backwards immediately.  In your momentary clumsiness, you had stepped backwards onto a bent piece of metal, the object piercing into the heel of your foot as a slew of obscenities left your mouth in retaliation.  Chrollo had turned around, watching the scene in clear amusement.  Shooting the Troupe leader a venomous glare, you managed to stumble back onto a blood-coated bench, ignoring the liquid in favor of yanking the piece of metal out of your heel.  It wasn't super deep - certainly nothing for you to worry about too much.  It still hurt, though, and without anything to protect it from the pavement, walking was going to be terrible.

       Kneeling in front of you, Chrollo took your foot without warning to inspect the wound, and your leg shot out.  If it weren't for his quick reaction time in catching your ankle, you would have kicked his teeth in.

       "We have bandages at the hideout," he reassured you, and you suppressed the insults you wanted to fling at him.  You were in a foul mood - you were deprived of sleep, practically being held hostage to go to the Phantom Troupe's hideout, had no shoes, an injured foot, and Chrollo's constant goading to deal with.  Instead of calling him all sorts of names, you held your tongue, sticking with your glower for now.

       Sensing your malcontent, Chrollo's gaze seemed to soften up into a more unreadable expression.  "I'll carry you."

       "You'll what."

       Your voice came out flat and unamused, and Chrollo's smile came back.  "You can't walk, so I'll carry you."  Without further warning he had scooped you up.  The blood on the back of your dress didn't do much for Chrollo's already-ruined outfit as he held you bridal style.  You resisted the urge to shove yourself away from him, not wanting to collide with the pavement below.

       "Can't you carry me on your back, at least?!"  Your voice came out strained, a bit higher.  More embarrassed.  He looked down, expression amused and mischievous as his eyes swept your bunched up form.

       "In that dress?"

       Ah, right.  You'd be revealing too much skin if you were to be carried on his back, but it didn't make you any more pleased about the situation.  It was just one thing after another, it seemed.

       With you in his arms in a way that infuriated as much as it flustered you, he had been able to pick up the pace to a much faster speed.  You were tense, not wanting to relax in a murderer's arms.  Being carried was a foreign feeling, one you weren't really fond of as it was turning out.  It seemed their base was on the outskirts of the city, and the closer you got, the larger the pit in your stomach grew.

       You were walking right into the lion's den.  Well, you were being carried right into the lion's den.

       You weren't sure what was worse.

       On the outskirts of York New City was the abandoned part of town.  You knew the area well, and weren't surprised this was where Chrollo and the Troupe had decided to make their base.

       "Ah, Chrollo..."

       You weren't one to hesitate or stutter, usually.  Being an informant, and from Meteor City to boot, had made you a very blunt and sometimes rude person.  Not one to mince words, not one to sugar coat stuff.  Lately, with no thanks to Chrollo, you hadn't been adhering to your normal speech patterns.  The man seemed to know just what to say and do to completely derail you, and you hated it.  You were usually the one reading people, not the other way around!

       Humming, Chrollo didn't glance down, and you continued.  "Before we get to your base, I should probably let you know that I actually know one of the Phantom Troupe members."

       He didn't stop, and his facial expression barely changed as he spoke.  "I'm aware."

       What a nonchalant reply.  Gritting your teeth, and trying not to let the irritation show on your face, you put on a strained smile.  "Then you'd know we aren't on the best of terms right now."

       He was coming to a stop in front of a particularly run down building.  "You won't be hurt so long as you listen."

       "Yes, because that's reassuring."

       His lips finally quirked upwards, and you had to quickly avert your gaze to avoid from staring at his face.  "Put me down."

       "What if you step on something sharp again?"

       You finally brought your gaze back to him, giving him an especially nasty look.  He just raised an eyebrow, clearly not intimidated at all by your glare as he gently set you down.  The moment your heel hit the rubble beneath your feet hurt.  You wanted nothing more than to let out another stream of swear words, but instead you kept your cool, biting the inside of your cheek and keeping your face neutral.  The only telltale sign that you were in pain would be the clenched fists and the twitching of your eyebrows.  If Chrollo noticed (and you're certain he did), he didn't say anything about it.

       Without any other words exchanged, the two of you had entered the hide out.  Each step was excruciating, but you did well in hiding the pain.

       The room entered in was wide.  You were sure it had probably been multiple rooms at some point, but the walls had been torn down to make the space more open - whether it happened naturally, or a Troupe member did it, you weren't sure.  The ceiling was a lot higher than you expected, and near the opposite end of the room was a large pile of rubble, where a few of the Troupe members sat.  The rest were scattered throughout the room, each engrossed in their own activities, be it thinking or reading or messing around on their phones.

       The moment the two of you walked in, the atmosphere changed.  You were well aware that all eyes were on you, and scanning the room, you had to keep your face completely neutral as you locked eyes with an unexpected face.  Hisoka.  Of course he would be here.  Did this have to do with that nen exorcist he asked you about?  Or were the two unrelated?

       Hisoka was probably equally as surprised to see you of all people here, but the both of you were great actors.  He glanced away in feigned disinterest, and your eyes slid over him without a second thought.  Finally, you found the person you had been looking for, although it wouldn't have been hard with that kind of malicious aura directed right at you.

       It happened in a flash.

       He had leapt forward, drawing his hidden blade out as he appeared in front of you, the tip of the blade mere centimetres from your throat.  You didn't flinch, knowing he wouldn't kill you as your smile turned wry, looking down at your friend.

       "Feitan," you greeted, switching to your guys' native language.  "It's nice to see you again."

       You doubted anybody else knew your guys' native language, as everybody seemed confused save for Chrollo, and Feitan responded in kind, his words venomous.  "What are you doing here?  You're supposed to be lying low, you fucking idiot."

       "Like you?"

       After a moment, Feitan withdrew the sword and placed it back into the parasol that was on his back.  Finally, you allowed a genuine smile to light up your face, and without a moment of hesitation you drew the shorter man in for a hug.  He didn't hug back, but he didn't resist either, grumbling all the while and looking done with everything.

       "It's good to see you again, cousin."

       This garnered a reaction as a man in a traditional samurai garb stepped forward, clearly annoyed.  "What the hell is going on?  Cousin?!"

       "Too noisy.  Shut up."

       You snorted at Feitan's words, smile dying back down into your usual neutral expression.  "We're not actually related," you explained.  "But where we come from, it's just a common term to call a close friend."

       "Not friends."

       You ignored Feitan's jab as the samurai guy turned to Chrollo next to you.  "Danchou, what is the meaning of this?!"

       You eyed samurai-guy warily, taking note of the long sword.  With his easy anger, you'd guess his nen type is an emitter.  Possibly an enhancer, but you were banking on the former.

       Chrollo wasn't surprised at the information that had just been presented to him as he acknowledged the member.  "Nobunaga," he stated calmly, "This is [Y/n].  She may have information on the Chain User we need and has agreed to help."

       Chain User?  That was new, and didn't strike a bell at all.  Would they kill you if you didn't have the information?  You and Feitan were close, but you knew full well he would put the Spider before you, and would probably request to be the one to kill you himself if you were going to die.  It's just how the two of you were - you wouldn't hold a grudge if it came to that, but that didn't mean you really wanted to die, either.

       Nobunaga, the samurai, visibly tensed, eyeing you suspiciously.  This guy clearly didn't like you.  The feeling was mutual, and you knew you were going to have to be on guard around him.

       "She knows the Chain User?!"

       A different voice cut in as a guy with short blond hair stepped forward, an unnerving smile on his face.  "No," he said, his voice certain.  "She's the the best information broker in York New City.  She knows everyone and everything."

       Clearly not, although you opted to not say anything, feeling anxiety grow within your chest.  This situation was not looking too well.

       Shifting onto your non-injured leg, you pointedly glanced down at your foot.  "Is it possibly I could patch this up first?"

       Chrollo hummed, his eyes sliding over to your old friend.  "Feitan."

       He didn't need to say anything as Feitan nodded sharply once before turning around and starting to walk.  You were confused as of what to do, looking back and forth between Chrollo and Feitan before the latter turned around, back to his native language.  "Well?  Are you going to stand around all day?"

       Taking that as your cue, you followed him to a room off to the side, equally as run-down as the rest of the building.  There was a single chair and various bloodstains on the floor - you assumed Feitan used this as a torture room, knowing how sadistic your friend tended to be.  Sitting on the chair, you rested your calf on your thigh to take a better look at your heel.  It was already red and irritated, covered in blood and dirt.  It didn't help you had no footwear.

       Rustling with something in the corner, Feitan had come back with a sad-looking first-aid kit.  You raised an eyebrow in amusement.  "I thought you tortured, not healed."

       "Shut up."

       The two of you stayed quiet as he took out peroxide, not giving you warning as he poured what felt like way too much on the wound.  You hissed in pain, shooting him a sharp glare.  He didn't look up, and the bandanna covered most of his face, but judging by way his eyes crinkled slightly you could tell he was at least smirking.

       "Fucking sadist."

       He didn't dignify that with a response, pulling out gauze and ointment and handing it to you.  "Do it on own."

       You gave him an unimpressed look but put the ointment on and wrapped your foot up neatly.  With your natural aura production, it'd be healed by tomorrow morning, but you couldn't risk an infection.

       Standing up, you tried not to wince.  It still hurt, but you had much worse, and weren't going to be a baby about it.  Glancing over at Feitan, who was impatiently waiting, you rolled your eyes, grumbling out a sarcastic 'thanks'.

       "Fuck you," was his response.

       With your foot wrapped and taken care of, you were led back to the party, where Chrollo was currently handing out fortunes with an ability he supposedly stole from Neon Nostrade.  There seemed to be a few peculiar requirements, and you were curious and tempted to ask for your own fortune.  You weren't given the chance as Feitan yanked your arms around your back, tying your wrists together.

       "Seriously?  After all we've been together?"

       Feitan snorted, and pulled your arms tighter in response.  "Exactly.  I know how you are, you'll try to escape first chance.  We may know each other, but I won't hesitate to kill you."

       He wasn't wrong, and you hated it, but you had also given your word.  Chrollo knew where you worked and lived, so clearly running away wouldn't do you the best, but you opted to not argue anymore.  You had learned long ago that arguing with Feitan just made him angrier and more antagonistic, and that was exactly what you what you wanted to avoid.

       Being force to sit down, you could do nothing but watch as Chrollo continued to give out fortunes.  He had looked over briefly, nodding at Feitan once as the shorter male came over to see what was going on since he couldn't get his fortune read.  He didn't protest at all to you being tied up.  Great, nobody trusted you, although you couldn't blame them.

       With fortunes done - not everybody could get a fortune read due to now knowing the questions themselves - you listened in boredom as they flung out accusations at each other, before Hisoka handed over his own fortune.  You could feel yourself start to grow a bit antsy.  Hisoka wasn't dumb, and you knew about Texture Surprise.  Most likely, he had altered the fortune a bit - but then, what game was he playing at, here?  You refused to look at him, mulling it over in your head.  Everybody's fortunes were basically telling them to get the hell out of dodge, and yet Hisoka's was advising for the Troupe to stay...

       For some reason, your mind went back to the mysterious blond customer once again.  Realization started to dawn slowly on you.  Clearly, somebody was after the Phantom Troupe, and had the blond himself not said that he would dispose of them?  Was he working in tandem with Hisoka?  Or were they two separate cases?

       Keeping your face still so nobody could figure out your inner turmoil, you let out a small sigh as Chrollo started to question Hisoka.  Great.  Why did you have to be stuck in the middle of this mess?

       "[Y/n]."

       Hearing your name get called out, you looked up, raising an eyebrow at Chrollo and waiting for him to continue.  "Your nen ability allows you to gather somebody's information.  Can you use it on Hisoka?"  Despite the polite tone, you knew he wasn't actually asking, and you flexed your wrists from behind your back, thinking carefully.

       Really, it would be a fruitless endeavor.  You already had Hisoka's information, and while an update never hurt, it wouldn't change much.  Not that you could let the Troupe know you and Hisoka had already met.  Furthermore, you were going to have to think up a lie to cover Hisoka, and fast.  You had a feeling that Hisoka would murder you if you gave away his ruse, especially since the smile on his face was now gone as his golden eyes stared into you intently.

       You were backed into a corner.

       ". . . Can I request something in return?"

       "You insolent--!"

       Chrollo cut off Nobunaga, seeming amused.  "Do you forget that you're our hostage here?"

       You snorted.  "Oh, yes, I definitely forgot with my hands tied behind my back and all," you said sarcastically, before your face grew serious.  "I want my fortune told."

       Chrollo raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that.  "Oh?"

       "It would benefit you, too," you quickly explained.  "Seeing as how our futures are intertwined for the time being, it'd be smart to know how it pans out on my end, especially if you want information on the Chain User."  It was a risky game you were playing, you knew that any of them could kill you in an instant, but you weren't raised to cower in fear.  You'd be damned if you backed down.

       After a moment, Chrollo nodded, approaching you and squatting down.  You repeated the requested information before he started to write, and you could only watch, intrigued, as he wrote down your fortune.  After a few moments, he handed the paper to you, and you glanced over it, lips thinning into a small line.

       Well, shit.  This did not work out in your favor.

[miraculouscontent]

Someone requested my post-”The Puppeteer 2″ Lukanette piece for some reason (probably want to see me explode or something), so fINE:

(post-"The Puppeteer 2"; meant to be pre-”Silencer” but could be seen as post-”Silencer”)

The dark sky of Paris was beautiful that night; a complete betrayal of how Marinette actually felt. It was like it was taunting her, telling her what she could have if she wasn't so utterly stupid.

Marinette leaned back against the side of Anarka's ship, glancing over at Kitty Section as they packed up their things for the day.

Luka kept glancing at her, but she kept pretending not to notice. She knew that, if he so much as said "hi" to her, everything would spill out and she'd look like a fool to him too.

She thought a distraction would do best for her, hence why she'd avoided Alya and Nino as much as possible and instead went to see Kitty Section. They could tell something was off, but she insisted that she just wanted to have a fun time and not talk about it.

They were curious, she was sure, but what could she even say?

...At least, what could she say that wouldn't make her sound like a complete weirdo?

Her gaze was drawn to Kitty Section once more, and she noted that Luka wasn't looking at her this time. The ship was already docked, so really, she could leave whenever she wanted to.

She didn't want to.

Ivan and Rose waved their good-byes to them, then got off the ship to start heading home. Juleka waved as well, then set her things down before following after Rose to walk her home, which Rose happily waiting for her on.

That just left Marinette and Luka.

Her heart was pounding against her wishes.

"...Luka, how do you do it?"

Luka straightened, likely surprised to hear her speak directly to him for once that day, then turned. As soon as their eyes met, he visibly relaxed and smiled. "Do what?"

Marinette averted her gaze as he approached. "Just... being so cool like you are. You're always calm and you don't let anything bother you." She hugged her knees to her chest, blushing in embarrassment. "You never look like a clumsy oaf in front of everyone."

Luka sat down next to her, Marinette peeking up at him just slightly as he stared at the sky.

"...Meditation," he replied simply, "and music."

She snorted, a bit bitterly. "I wish it was that easy for me." She paused, adding a bit more fondly, "You're amazing, Luka."

The silence dragged on for a moment. Luka was staring at her quietly, looking as though he didn't know what to say.

Then, he leaned forward, opening his mouth to respond.

Marinette felt her body tense up. Burying her face into her knees, she muttered quickly, "I kissed Adrien."

Yep. There she went, just like she thought. Everything just pouring out without her consent.

She didn't look at Luka, too nervous to see his reaction. "I-I didn't mean to. I thought he was a statue! He was acting like one as a joke, and I just..."

"As...as a joke?" he echoed.

Marinette glanced over at him. She hadn't meant to, really, but his tone had surprised her.

He seemed confused. Thrown off.

Maybe a bit tense.

"...Yeah," she responded. "I guess I don't blame him. I'm always stammering and making a fool out of myself, so he probably doesn’t know how to deal with me, but..."

She straightened, shaking her head and roughly patting her face. "I-I'm sorry. I'm--"

"Marinette, you can talk to me," Luka reassured. He made a gesture like he was still holding his guitar. "Let the music flow."

She managed a small smile at that. "How is it that it's always you who ends up comforting me?"

He shrugged, but also seemed completely unbothered by the idea.

And it was true, really. As much as she denied it, her compass went off for both Luka and Adrien, just in completely different ways. In a way, it meant that it made sense for her to feel like Adrien was the only one that she was in love with.

But, then... what was the difference? Why did they bring her such different feelings?

She glanced at Luka, perhaps expecting to find the answer through an epiphany, but there was nothing.

Luka looked back at her. She averted her gaze, blushing, but at least his look reminded her of what she'd just been talking about.

Taking a deep breath, she sighed. "It's exhausting, y'know?" She paused, debating with herself before adding, "That wasn't even my first kiss, and that didn't happen the way I wanted either."

She rubbed her face, slightly frustrated. "I didn't want it. It was something I had to do." She knew he probably wouldn't understand, but she felt like he'd just get it.

Because Luka always got her. He always knew how she felt. He didn't ask invasive questions and he didn't pressure her, only seeking to make her feel better.

She needed more of that simplicity in her life.

"I just..." She buried her face further into her knees. "Does kissing even mean anything anymore? Because I want it to. I just want to kiss someone who loves me, and someone who I love, like--"

Without thinking, she turned to Luka, about to continue speaking before she realized exactly what she was about to say.

She froze.

Her face paled.

She recoiled, letting out a strangled squeak of embarrassment. Covering her face, she stammered, "O-oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I did it again! I'm not thinking and then I just go and..."

She shook her head, trying not to sink further into this hole she's dug for herself.

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed. Her shoulders were tense. Her face felt hot enough to cause a burn.

Was this how her life was going to be? Eternally cursed to say the dumbest things in front of the people she had a crush on?

She should run. She should just go, and never speak to either of them ever again. Maybe she could just move completely, change her name, and--

Marinette paused, realizing that Luka had said and done nothing since she'd started freaking out. Though hesitant, she peeked out at him between her fingers.

He was staring at her, looking to be in some sort of daze.

And he was blushing.

Marinette's heart skipped a beat.

Luka blinked, then finally snapped back to reality. He looked away, seeming to be deep in thought.

"...Marinette."

"Y-yes?" she asked, though part of her had a feeling that she knew what he was going to say. She was just too afraid to acknowledge it as a possibility.

He glanced back at her, then down at the ground. His eyes seemed hesitant and distant, but perhaps a little hopeful as well.

He met her gaze. "If you'd have me..."

Oh.

Marinette thought her face couldn't get any redder. "L-luka, I--" She swallowed, able to hear the sound of her own heartbeat. "I-I can't do that to you. I mean, I want to--but--I'm confused--I--"

Luka leaned closer, but didn't invade her personal space. He didn't make any move to get closer, but his eyes never left hers.

Relaxed. Calm. Reassuring.

"I-I..." Marinette placed her hands in her lap, blushing. "I...I don't want you to have regrets like I do. It's not fair. I'm already a mess, I--"

"Marinette."

She stilled, struck by the gentleness of his tone.

He smiled, his voice soft. "How could I have regrets if it's with you?"

Just that like, her heartstrings were tugged. He wanted to, accepting that she was confused and rolling with whatever crazy thing came out of her mouth.

She breathed, needing a moment to collect herself.

They shouldn't be doing this. She was an emotional wreck and, even if he'd agreed to it, was it even right?

But also, she really wanted to kiss him.

"O...okay."

Luka sat there, smiling patiently at her. Even as she slid closer to him, he made no attempts to move away.

Though shaking, Marinette eased towards him, mentally preparing herself for a kiss. He remained still, waiting for her.

He was really going to let her do it. He was really going to let her kiss him.

Marinette blushed, but closed the gap between them, finally meeting her lips with his.

Her immediate response was to squeak. With all her talk about kissing and how used to them she felt like she should be, it quickly hit her that this was her first real kiss.

She closed her eyes, unintentionally relaxing. At first, she thought that he might've been pulling away, but then she realized that it was her who was actually leaning in.

And he was swift in returning the favor, pressing back against her.

A mutual kiss.

Marinette felt a thrill shoot up her spine. Slowly, her arms went up and around Luka's neck, steadily pulling him in.

He giggled into the kiss, but it wasn't malicious or mocking. It was sweet, loving, and full of encouragement.

Likewise, his arms wrapped around her back in return. Marinette shuddered, but certainly not in protest of it.

No. She was happy.

Time passed. The ambiance of the night had become comfortably drowned out by Luka's kiss, with Marinette completely and utterly distracted by everything that was him.

Then, they slowly pulled apart, Marinette's eyes remaining closed for a moment longer before she drifted back into reality. It felt like a wave of clarity was washing over her.

Everything made sense. Adrien was a song she'd played at full blast, ignoring how it was affecting her and not noticing as it blocked out Luka's song as well.

There just came a time where she'd had the sense to turn the volume down.

Luka stared at her fondly, somehow maintaining his calm demeanor despite how red his face was. Marinette imagined that she looked the same way, though likely without the whole "calm" part.

She looked around, honestly rather surprised. She'd been expecting someone to see them, or for something to come flying in to interrupt them.

Yet, there was nothing. It was just them and their feelings.

"Marinette?" Luka called gently.

She met his gaze, noting that he seemed concerned about the daze she was in. "...Is--" She smiled sheepishly, tears forming in her eyes. "--is this what it feels like when things go smoothly?"

His eyes widened. He smiled sympathetically at her, then held his arms out to offer her a hug.

She took it, practically colliding with him as a rush of emotions hit her. Clutching his jacket, she let out a happy sob.

"I...I love you."

She wanted this. Even in her flurry of feelings, she knew she wanted to see where this went and what it meant to truly be in love. If Luka would give her that opportunity, she'd gladly take it.

Luka embraced her, one hand moving to her head to gently stroke through her hair. His reply was quiet, but impossible for her not to hear. "I love you too, Marinette."

She choked, shaking, and despite the storm of emotions inside her, she was happy.

He held her, letting her cry as much as she wanted to, and that's exactly what she did.

[cloudrecession]

My Lonely Heart Calls 

Wei Wuxian needs a distraction from everything Yanli's wedding makes him feel. Luckily, he finds a certain handsome stranger among the guests.

~3600 words | AO3 Link | modern AU

_____________________________________________________________

Wei Wuxian felt the exact moment he’d had too much to drink. He’d made it through the ceremony alright, mostly, but everyone teared up at weddings, so it was fine, and he’d made it through Yanli’s first dance with her husband, and even his own dance with her. But now, as he finished his he-forgot-to-count-th glass of wine, he felt the threat of crying in earnest building in his chest. Yanli was so happy, and so beautiful, and she was dancing with Jin Zixuan, who didn’t deserve her, but he made her happy so maybe he did, and Yanli deserved to be this happy her whole life, and--

Wei Wuxian put his glass down. No. He needed a distraction. He’d expected that he’d have MianMian to hang around with, she was always good for a laugh when Wei Wuxian had to be around Jin Zixuan, but she’d had the audacity to bring a date. Nie Huaisang hadn’t come at all, which Wei Wuxian found to be a bit of a slight even knowing that Huaisang’s brother had shipped him off to some corporate boot camp halfway across the country that he couldn’t get out of.

There was always Jiang Cheng, who stood making pleasantries with his mother’s family and barely concealing his pained expression. But Jiang Cheng would probably just yell at him for drinking.

Someone else, then. There had to be someone fun on their own in this crowd. Any of Zixuan’s family were right out. That narrowed the selection significantly, given how many half-siblings and cousins he had. It took Wei Wuxian a long moment to spot his target-- a particularly handsome man in a sharp but simple suit standing at the back of the reception hall, nursing a glass of what looked to be plain water-- perhaps he, too, had already drank too much, and the two of them could commiserate.

Wei Wuxian knew of the man vaguely. He was Zixuan’s brother’s definitely-not-boyfriend’s brother. Yanli never participated in such gossip, but MianMian did with gusto, and Jin Guangyao’s relationship status was always a topic of interest. So Wei Wuxian knew that this was Lan Wangji, the younger brother of Lan Xichen, but not much else. 

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian said. “What a party, eh?”

Lan Wangji barely glanced at him, and did not answer.

“You’ve hit your limit, too, I see.” Wei Wuxian tapped the glass of water in Lan Wangji’s hands. “Problem with an open bar, happens to everyone.”

Lan Wangji took a step back. “I do not drink.”

“Really? How uptight!” Wei Wuxian laughed. Lan Wangji did not. “Maybe that’s good. You can be my designated driver, but like, for life tonight. I already have a ride home, don’t worry. I just need someone to help me not make a fool of myself.”

Lan Wangji looked at him from the corner of his eye as though to say, not possible.

“Hey, it’s not as hard as you’d think.” Wei Wuxian put up his hands. “I just need a little company, that’s all. If I keep to myself, I’ll just keep drinking, and I don’t want to make a scene.”

“That is your problem.”

“And now it’s yours too.” Wei Wuxian nudged him. “Come on, I’m fun to be around, everyone says so. Everyone’s just occupied with…” he gestured vaguely at all the couples on the dance floor. “...their own lives.”

“Then be occupied with yours.”

Wei Wuxian could not tell if he was teasing. There was no quirk of a smile on Lan Wangji’s face, but he did not seem malicious either. Wei Wuxian chose to smile. “Maybe I’m trying. Maybe I’m hitting on you.”

That got him full eye contact. “Are you?”

He hadn’t thought about it. He wasn’t not hitting on him, but it hadn’t really been his intention either, not consciously at least. He glanced Lan Wangji over. He was indeed very handsome, with sharp cheekbones and his hair cut just so to draw attention to them. His suit was tailored perfectly to show the slender lines of his body, its deep navy color complimented by the powder blue of his tie. Wei Wuxian suddenly desperately wanted to loosen that tie, undo that top button… God, he was drunk, wasn’t he?

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that,” Lan Wangji said, misreading Wei Wuxian’s silence.

That was probably for the better. Wei Wuxian did not much feel like being rejected at the moment. He didn’t say anything more for a while, unsure he could without something stupid tumbling from his mouth. Lan Wangji at least didn’t walk away, even though he could now without being impolite. 

Wei Wuxian watched the Yanli dance with one of Jin Zixuan’s cousins, a child young enough that he could barely reach her hands without her bending down. She picked him up and spun him, laughing. Zixuan came to her side and the three of them danced together. It was easy to see the two of them forming the sort of family Yanli had always wanted. Wei Wuxian had to smile a little, wondering how soon they’d have kids of their own. Yanli would be the perfect mother. And if she got to smile like this at her own little one everyday, that was exactly the life she should have. Wei Wuxian wanted to be nothing but happy for her, but there was a melancholy he couldn’t shake. She wasn’t leaving him and Jiang Cheng, but she also was. Their lives were changing, whether they all were ready or not.

Wei Wuxian thought very seriously of going to get more wine, or something stronger.

“Your sister is very happy,” Lan Wangji said, so suddenly Wei Wuxian jumped. Lan Wangji looked directly at him for only the second time.

“Yeah. She deserves to be the happiest in the world.”

Lan Wangji watched him a long moment. “You are not happy.”

“I am,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “I’m the second happiest in the world, see?” He flashed his very best smile. “It’s you who seems to be the unhappy one. Why so grumpy, huh? It’s a wedding, not a funeral. Lighten up!”

Lan Wangji did not rise to the bait. “You are not fond of Jin Zixuan.”

Wei Wuxian was unsure whether it was something Lan Wangji had known before, or something he could tell from Wei Wuxian’s attitude about him that day alone. “Sure, but that’s got nothing to do with how I feel. If he makes Yanli happy, I’ll hold my tongue. Mostly.”

“Then…?”

“Then nothing. Don’t be nosy.”

Lan Wangji looked away, his whole body shifting slightly further from Wei Wuxian. Without thinking, Wei Wuxian grabbed his arm to make him stay, wrinkling that perfect suit.

He withdrew his hand quickly. “Sorry.” Lan Wangji was going to come away from the night with an awful impression of Yanli’s drunken belligerent brother. Wei Wuxian should have chosen anyone else to bother, but he couldn’t make himself walk away. He felt desperate to keep Lan Wangji’s attention. “You’re not being nosy. I’m just a mess.”

“Mn.”

“You’re supposed to disagree there.” But he made himself smile. “My feelings are trivial, anyway. It’s a happy day, so I’ll be happy.” He could not read the look Lan Wangji gave him. “Honestly, don’t worry. Assume I’m just afraid I’ll end up like Jiang Cheng instead of Yanli.” He leaned in very close to whisper conspiratorially, “Madam Yu is very worried this is the only wedding she’ll get to plan.”

“That’s not what’s bothering you,” Lan Wangji said slowly. “But I am sure you will find someone who makes you happy.” He spoke with such certainty, Wei Wuxian could almost believe him. He could almost feel it was romantic. But, of course, it was only their first real meeting. He was only being kind.

“I’m sure you will too.” He pushed Lan Wangji’s shoulder lightly, to show that he wasn’t reading into it too much. “Handsome guy like you can’t have much trouble, right?”

If Wei Wuxian didn’t know better, he’d swear Lan Wangji’s ears had gone pink. “Perhaps,” he said, in his particular flat tone.

Wei Wuxian looked at him, trying to puzzle him out. There was something about him Wei Wuxian quite liked, even besides the obvious good looks, even given that he seemed largely inscrutable. “Tell me something about yourself,” he said. “I feel like you know more about me than I know about you.”

“Such as?”

“What do you do?”

“I am in medical school. Entering my final year.”

Of course he was going to be a doctor. Wei Wuxian almost wanted to laugh.

“And you?”

“Ah well.” Wei Wuxian crossed his arms and took a breath. “Nothing so glorious as that. I did intend to do the grad school thing, and still do, but you know…” He waved his hand. “I needed to save up after undergrad, but something always happens, so, you know. I just do computer repair work.”

“Just?”

“Yeah, you should hear the fits Madam Yu throws, says I’ve wasted the family’s investment in my college education. Says I should work harder and get on my way to doing something respectable.” 

“It is respectable,” Lan Wangji said with the same certainty as before.

“Well, it pays the bills. Mostly.” 

“Mn.” Lan Wangji’s face barely changed, but Wei Wuxian got the impression that he was frustrated. “I understand very little about computers. As, I imagine, does Madam Yu.”

“They’re easy enough to get the hang of. It’s just—“ He paused. “Either you don’t want to hear this, or you’re trying to trick me into saying something smart so you can say I told you so.”

“Perhaps.” The corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth ticked up the slightest bit. Holly shit. If he was handsome with his neutral, slightly grumpy expression, there weren’t words for what he was when he smiled. “Please continue.”

Wei Wuxian humored him for a while, explaining what he knew had to be boring details of how computers worked, throwing in what human interest bits he could. He worked in a shop called Wen’s with his buddy Wen Ning— Wen Ning’s family ran it. Wei Wuxian hadn’t meant to stick around, he had just meant to fill in for Wen Ning when he’d been in that accident their senior year, because he was a quick learner and the Wens needed somebody, but then he was good at it and had needed the money and had stayed, and did Lan Wangji know how much of an up charge there was if you took your computer to the manufacturer’s endorsed repair company? Wei Wuxian did not mention that the reason he needed money in the first place was that he’d stretched what he’d had thin helping get Wen Ning back on his feet. He had Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu to tell him he was a fool, and he was starting to like Lan Wangji too much to set him up to ruin it. 

“This must bore you,” he said after explaining the time he’d fixed Jin Zixuan’s computer, and how Zixuan hadn’t realized he’d gone to where Wei Wuxian worked until he popped out of the back room. “Please stop me.”

“I enjoy listening.”

“But not talking, it seems. You were supposed to be telling me about yourself, and you turned it right around.”

“There is not much to say about me.”

“Sure there is. You’re in med school, there’s got to be some interesting stories. What sort of doctor are you thinking you’ll be?”

“Pediatrician.”

“Really? You seem the surgeon type.”

“I’ve been told.”

That was a sore spot, then. Wei Wuxian smiled. “That’s nice, though. You must care more about helping people than being the sort of hot shot all the TV dramas are about.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth set in a line. “That should be true for everyone.” The image of him fighting with other students on the matter flashed in Wei Wuxian’s head. He seemed so reserved, and yet Wei Wuxian would believe that he’d said these same words through gritted teeth in another circumstance.

“Well, I’m glad it’s true for you.” Wei Wuxian flashed a smile at Lan Wangji, and was amazed to see Lan Wangji’s face relax. It made him feel a whole host of things, and he was getting to the point where he couldn’t blame the wine. “We should dance,” he said before he could stop himself. Feelings were even more dangerous than alcohol.

Lan Wangji’s mouth opened slightly— he’d stopped just sort of blurting out a no, hadn’t he, and was now trying to find a polite way to say it. But Lan Wangji’s eyes focused on Wei Wuxian’s face a long moment, and then— “Okay.”

“Okay.” Wei Wuxian laughed a little, from relief, and maybe, maybe, the bit of nervousness beginning to curl around his throat. He was more Jiang Cheng than Yanli, he knew that. Worse, even— he was Wei Wuxian. He couldn’t hold romantic notions of what this meant. Even if it went perfectly, and Lan Wangji was not just pitying some sad sack who couldn’t handle his sister getting married, then what? They’d have a few dates, and then one of them would forget to call, and then it would end the way everything else did. 

Another slow song started as they made their way to the dance floor, and Wei Wuxian’s face felt warm. “We don’t have to…”

Lan Wangji put one hand on Wei Wuxian’s back, right at his shoulder blade like he was leading him in a waltz-- Wei Wuxian knew, because Yanli had practiced for her first dance with him plenty over the past several months. His touch was firm, his hand strong. Wei Wuxian put his own hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, half afraid he might swoon if he didn’t steady himself. “You know your way around this sort of thing, huh?” he said, trying to keep it light.

“I have had lessons.”

“Well, I’ve practiced quite a lot with Yanli, so I can give you a run for your money, I bet.” 

“Mn.” Lan Wangji took his free hand.

They only swayed in place like everyone else-- it wasn’t a waltz, or anything else Wei Wuxian could recognize-- but dancing with Lan Wangji felt like something with complicated steps, something Wei Wuxian had to focus immensely to do right or else he’d trip right over his own feet. Though if he did, Lan Wangji certainly felt strong enough to catch him. Mm, he needed to not think about that. Or how close they were, the stiff fabrics of their jackets pressed together, giving only the ghost of touch to the skin beneath. 

Lan Wangji’s eyes locked on Wei Wuxian. That was a dancing thing, Wei Wuxian knew. Yanli had been chastised many times by her instructor for looking down at her feet. Still, it didn’t help with anything he was feeling. He had to look back, to show he knew he was supposed to. Lan Wangji had such nice eyes. And… lips. Wei Wuxian bit down on his tongue. 

“Are you… alright?”

“Yeah. Definitely. You’re just a very good dancer.”

The slightest crease appeared between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. “If this isn’t…”

“It is.” Wei Wuxian turned his hand to lace his fingers into Lan Wangji’s. It wasn’t proper dance form, but he needed to hold on. “I’m just being weird.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers curled around the back of Wei Wuxian’s slowly, but then the tightness of his grip matched Wei Wuxian’s. His thumb stroked the side of Wei Wuxian’s hand. Wei Wuxian both relaxed and felt every nerve in his body light up. Did Lan Wangji know what that did to him? Was it maybe on purpose? His face remained unreadable. Wei Wuxian stepped in to press a little closer, just to see what he’d do. Not shamelessly close, though plenty of other pairs were toeing that line, including Jin Guangshan, who unsurprisingly was not dancing with his wife.

Lan Wangji did not pull away. If anything, he pressed a little harder on Wei Wuxian’s back. Either Wei Wuxian was completely out of touch on the dating scene— entirely possible, given the last few years, or…

MianMian caught his eye from over the shoulder of her date across the floor. She made a pointed look at Lan Wangji, and then a very unsubtle thumbs up. Wei Wuxian rose his eyebrows in response, trying to convey a confidence he certainly didn’t have.

MianMian grimaced— was he that obvious? Or... oh no. She meant—

“Wuxian, who is this?”

Wei Wuxian turned to see a very irritable Jiang Cheng. He had, it seemed, also been drinking quite a lot to deal with their family. A half empty ball glass was clenched in his fist.

“Ah, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said with his best anger-diffusing smile, pulling away from Lan Wangji. “This is Lan Wangji. His brother’s the one that Jin G—-“

“Yes, I know that,” Jiang Cheng snapped, even though he had asked. “What are you doing with him?”

“We are dancing,” Lan Wangji said, so clearly annoyed that Wei Wuxian had to wonder how he’d been inscrutable just moments before.

“It’s a party, A-Cheng, we’re supposed to have fun.” He threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “You can’t have fun without me, can you?”

Jiang Cheng grunted, but Wei Wuxian knew he needed attention. He took the drink from him and handed it to Lan Wangji. “Will you get rid of this? I'll be back, I promise. He just needs… me.”

Lan Wangji nodded, and Wei Wuxian herded Jiang Cheng to an empty table. “And here I thought you were going to yell at me for drinking.”

“I don’t like that guy.”

“Come on, they’re married now, we have to stop—“

“No, that guy.” Jiang Cheng made a flailing motion with one hand towards the dance floor. “He seems stuffy. Why would you hang out with him?”

“Well, you were busy.”

“And you didn’t think of rescuing your dear beloved brother? You left me to the wolves?” He picked up a glass from the table, realizing only just in time that it was both empty and not his. “Do you know how many times someone offered to set me up? You could have at least split their focus.”

“Please, half your mom’s family still can’t handle that I’m--”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jiang Cheng huffed. “You could have…” He shut his mouth very tight. Wei Wuxian sighed and hurried him to the bathroom, waiting outside a stall for him.

“I thought I’d be the one doing this,” he said, handing in a paper towel when Jiang Cheng had finished. Then again, Jiang Cheng always had the lower alcohol tolerance, and if he was feeling the same things Wei Wuxian felt, neither of them should really be surprised.

Jiang Cheng took the towel but didn’t rise from his spot on the bathroom floor. “I might have killed you if it was.”

“If you didn’t, your mom would have.” Wei Wuxian plopped himself on the floor next to Jiang Cheng, leaning against the stall door frame. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re not losing her.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng snapped, but he grabbed Wei Wuxian’s wrist and held it tight. “Zixuan really doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yeah, but neither do we.”

It sat in the air a long moment. Wei Wuxian wanted to say nothing would be different, they’d all been living on their own anyway, but it would be a lie. Yanli would always take care of them, but they couldn’t lean on her the same way. And if they could, it wouldn’t be right.

“Do you really like that guy?” Jiang Cheng asked, leaning his head against the toilet paper dispenser.

Wei Wuxian laughed. “I don’t think it matters. We’ve been gone a while, and I probably smell like shit now.” He put a hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “Besides, so what if I did? You think anyone would ever be dumb enough to stick with me? You’re the only one that stupid.”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “That’s for sure.” He rolled his head over to look at him. “But you’re the only one dumb enough to stay with me.”

“And I’m not getting any smarter. Just ask your mom.”

“Well. I’m not either.”

Wei Wuxian smiled, and then bit his lip. “If I ever was in a relationship, you know nothing would change, right?”

“Oh my god, you do like that guy! You’re going to abandon me for that guy, and do married brunches with Yanli while I sit at home!”

“How much did you drink?” Wei Wuxian laughed. “In what world would I suffer a meal with Zixuan without you?”

“A world where you have your own awful husband.”

“Never.” He squeezed Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. “I’ll always need you. Besides, god knows Yanli’s gonna have plenty of kids. Who’s gonna pay attention to them while we’re occupied with those awful husbands?”

Jiang Cheng’s face softened. “I’d have to be there for them.” He looked at Wei Wuxian with wet eyes. “You want to get back to your stuffy man?”

“He’s probably already gone.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. The world is full of many handsome men, but only one Jiang Cheng.”

“Mm-- hey! Do you mean I’m not handsome?”

By the time they stumbled out of the bathroom, Wei Wuxian’s arm still around Jiang Cheng to steady him, the crowd had begun to thin. There was no sign of either Lan Wangji or his brother. It was probably for the better. He’d find some way to ruin it, and besides, he and Jiang Cheng were going to need each other more than they ever had. He’d choose Jiang Cheng over a potential boyfriend any day.

But later, when MianMian slipped a napkin with a phone number scrawled onto it into his hand as she said her goodbyes, whispering, “I’ve got your back,” he felt a spark of hope that maybe he wouldn’t have to choose.

[starlightinhumanform]

The Light and the Obstacle that Casts It

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Anxceit 

Summary: Deceit and Virgil are forced to reconcile for the first time since Virgil left to join the light sides. They realize that they missed each other more than they thought. 

Warnings: Description of Panic Attack, Description of drowning used as an analogy, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Mild angst with a happy ending 

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write something for this fandom for months and I’m super happy I finally got to it! I have a lot of other fics planned, so please tell me if you want to join the taglist. Love you all 🖤✨ 

Ao3   Fic Masterpost   Fic Request Info Normally Virgil would have welcomed the clicking rhythm of the clock. At least it filled the silence. Now, however, it seemed daunting- a constant reminder of just how painfully slowly time was passing in the mindspace.

By some cruel twist of fate, he and Deceit found themselves alone together for the first time since Virgil had left the dark sides. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, both refusing to look at the other.

The emptiness of the room was oppressive. The silence settled across them like a thunderstorm rumbling along the horizon, the gentle threat of imminent ruin. It made breathing difficult and thinking clear even more of a challenge.

Virgil prayed for something to fill the space between. He would have been overjoyed to see Patton, or ask Logan what he was working on, or yell at Roman to stop singing. Hell, he could even deal with Remus popping up and screaming something about deodorant. Something, anything.

He felt desperate, mind grasping at a way out of the situation.

“You know... I don’t bite.”

Deceit’s purring voice broke through Virgil’s thoughts and startled him both physically and mentally, “Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t bite. Unlike you it seems; you haven’t ceased biting your nails for the past five minutes.”

Virgil jerked his hand away away from his mouth where he had been, admittedly, chewing on his thumbnail, “What do want?”

Deceit made a tsk-ing sound from the back of his throat, somehow still as suave as the rest of his voice, “I just went to talk. Is that a crime?”

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly. He turned so he could fully face Deceit, “You never ‘just’ want something.”

“There you go again, spitting your words out at me,” Deceit shook his head with an obviously dramatic flair. But there was something real in the way his eyes danced across Virgil, always moving but never losing their focus. It was as if he were looking for something in Virgil.

The intensity made Virgil squirm, confused and uncomfortable. It was obvious Deceit had some hidden motives. Virgil could tell even by the honeyed way Deceit’s voice dripped through the room that he was trying to get something. But what was it going to be this time? And why now? And why him? Of all the sides to pick on, why did the powers above have to chose him?

“Just skip the show, Deceit. Tell me what’s going on; I know you’re up to something,” If Deceit’s voice flowed like honey, Virgil knew his ran like venom. And he honestly didn’t care.

Deceit shrugged and glanced down at his gloved finger tips with an air of nonchalance, “Am I up to something? I had no idea. Please, do explain to me to me what it is that I’m doing.”

Virgil felt ready to scream. He had no control of the situation; he wasn’t even sure what the situation was. There was only one thing he was sure of: Deceit hated him with the passion only someone as defensive and melodramatic as Deceit could. Unfortunately,  Virgil could understand why with perfect clarity. He had abandoned Deceit, moved on without a second glance. He knew it was for the best and he didn’t regret shifting over to the light sides, but why had he been such a shitty person about it? He hadn’t even said goodbye- there one day, gone the next. It was such a cold thing to do... there was no wonder in his mind why Deceit would take every chance he got to give Virgil a taste of his own medicine.

And Deceit was clever, crafty. If you hurt him, he would get revenge in the most painful way possible; he would strike where it most mattered. Virgil knew the trigger had been pulled, now he was just waiting for the bullet to hit.

Virgil ran his hands through his hair, worrying his already messy bangs into an official birds’ nest, “Oh come on. You know you always have ‘reasons.’ The one thing you don’t have a reason for is being nice to me.”

Deceit raised his eyebrow on the unscaled side of his face, “Do you really believe I have only malicious motivation?”

Virgil sneered, “Yeah, I do. Especially since you’re using alteration.”

He scoffed, “You’ve certainly gotten touchy living with these softies.”

“You know what- I actually haven’t! Did it never occur to you that I’ve always been this sensitive?” Virgil squinted incredulously, “I was literally called Anxiety for years. I’ve just learned that it’s ok to talk about it, set my boundaries; something I was never told when I was with you.”

Deceit seemed to crumble. His face softened and the forced casualness in his body evaporated. As the tension of his facade left, his shoulders hunched and he leaned forward with his hands on his knees. The movement only brought Deceit a few inches closer, but Virgil barely resisted the urge to jump back. His flight or fight reflexes had been ringing an alarm since he had been left alone, but now the animalistic instincts were blaring in his head.

Deceit’s face distorted into a sad smile, “Do you really want to know what’s going on?”

Virgil hesitated. He knew what “truth” meant to Deceit. On the rare occasion that Deceit stooped to honesty, he did so with brutal efficiency. But this is what Virgil had wanted right- to have everything out in the open? To deal with whatever Deceit was throwing at him and just be done with this whole nightmare. But now that the option was presented to him, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to accept it.

He finally made up his mind, nodding his head silently as he glared down at his fidgeting hands in his lap. The sooner this was over, the better.

Silence had once again fallen over the room and the ticking clock regained its rule over the room. Tick tock, tick tock. The seconds seemed to be passing by even slower now. Virgil felt like he was stuck between two breaths- and his lungs were too frozen to take another. What was Deceit waiting for? Why couldn’t he just put Virgil out of his misery already?

Virgil glanced up from where he had been clenching his fists when the couch cushion next to him sunk beneath Deceit’s weight. His eyes jumped to Deceit’s face, searching for answers. But Deceit’s expression gave away nothing. He was a blank slate, vague sadness that mixed with regret and settled into the type of smile that shouldn’t even be called a smile because it’s the furthest from happy he could have possibly gotten.

“Deceit, what the hell are you-“

Virgil’s voice cut off with a sharp inhale as Deceit brought his hands up to cup his face. Deceit must have taken his gloves off before walking over because the palms that pressed gently against Virgil’s cheeks were bare. One was cooler than the other, the snake side of Deceit soothing against the blush that was burning under his hand.

Deceit ran his thumb against Virgil’s cheek bone. His eyes crinkled like he was wincing, like the hand that rested against Virgil’s face was actually pressed against a burning pan. He gave another humorless laugh, close enough this time that Virgil could feel the heat of Deceit’s breath hitting his neck.

“Virgil, I don’t hate you. I never did. I-“ He paused for a moment, taking enough time to shake his head and role his eyes, “I missed you.”

Virgil could feel the stress building up, a dark sludge that began at the pit of his stomach and rose into his lungs. His lungs crumpled under the vice grip of some invisible force. His heart began pounding, desperate to burst from the fist clenched around it. He felt trapped in Deceit’s hands. He didn’t know how to respond, he didn’t know how to feel. Because there were so many feelings welling up inside of him all at once. This wasn’t what he had expected. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t what he had wanted. Is this what he had wanted? He couldn’t remember two seconds ago but he could remember so well the years past.

It was too much pressure; an entire world’s worth of ideas in his head and the weight was crashing down on him. His breath escaped him, reverting to short, rapid gasps through his nose that barely reached his lungs. Tears were spilling down his cheeks before he even felt them reach his eyes. They were messy and ugly and spilled over onto to Deceit’s fingers and down Virgil’s chin.

Deceit brought his hands away as the tears found their way down to his wrists. He replaced his hands across Virgil’s back, pulling him closer. To Virgil’s surprise, he didn’t resist, instead swinging his legs under himself so he could better melt into Deceit’s chest.

Virgil was pretty sure it surprised Deceit as well, listening to the other man’s breath hitch as he buried his face into the dark cape directly above Deceit’s heart.

Deceit got over his original shock in a matter of seconds, relaxing and wrapping himself tighter around Virgil’s shuddering form. One of the hands on his back began rubbing in small, repetitive circles. The pressure was grounding and oh so familiar.

Deceit seemed to recognize the same familiarity, “Just like old times, huh?”

Virgil couldn’t think of a response except to cling tighter to the body around him. Because this felt exactly like old times, except everything had changed now, and maybe it still was changing, and Virgil never knew when things were going to be safe again, because everything was always changing, but he had Deceit with him now and he wasn’t going to let go because maybe he could keep Deceit here for just a little while longer. The world was an ocean of changing tides and Virgil had no power against it. The water was crashing over his head and he couldn’t even see the light filtering through the surface.

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s stay here for right now,” Deceit’s voice broke through the murk. It was low and indescribably soft, grounding. It felt real despite Virgil’s overfilled mind, the deep vibrations in Deceit’s chest creating a rumbling lifeline for Virgil to cling onto, “You are here and you are safe. I can promise that nothing will hurt you while I’m here.”

Virgil took a shuddering breath, raising his head to stare up into Deceit’s face. His eyes shone down, one rich hazel and the other a sparkling emerald. Both were soft with affection and layered with care. It was enough to make Virgil want to burry his face back into Deceit’s chest as he choked on the words attempting to rise up his throat, “But what about when you’re not here? What happens then?”

One of Deceit’s arms left Virgil’s back, the other squeezing him even closer. The missing hand brushed through Virgil’s damp bangs hanging in front of his eyes. As his fingers reached the ended of Virgil’s hair, they drifted slowly down to his face. The pads of his fingers sat softly against his skin as they fell from his brow to his jaw, but that softness was fueled with something intense, something that made Deceit’s hand shake, “Oh, Verge, I will never let you get away from me again.”

“You promise that too?”

“Yeah-“ Deceit’s voice cracked, “Yeah, that too.”

“Then prove it.”

Deceit froze, the affection in his eyes momentarily replaced by startled confusion, “What do you mean?”

Virgil felt weak and light headed and his heart was still hammering in his chest but he managed a lopsided grin, “Prove you’ll never let me get away.”

“Virgil? I will but I don’t know how. I-“ He sounded almost desperate.

Virgil cut him off, plunging upwards to press his mouth over Deceit’s still moving lips. He scrunched his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the material of Deceit’s cape, anything to bring them closer together.

At first there was no response; Deceit simply ceased to show signs of life for a moment- no movement, no breath, Virgil was pretty sure he even felt the other side’s heart stop. But then he melted forward, bringing both hands to intertwine in the back of Virgil’s hair. His lips responded too, moving to return the pressure, but softer than Virgil’s. He was gentle, mouth moving occasionally, but only when it seemed necessary to deepen the kiss.

Virgil felt his own features relax, eyebrows unraveling and forehead losing its tension as he settled into the gentle rhythm Deceit was setting. He felt warm and safe and- and he was running out of breath.

He pulled away with a quiet hum and gave the tip of Deceit’s nose a small tap.

Deceit blinked open his eyes, both somehow dazed and sparkling at the same time.

Virgil gave a small laugh and let his hands fall from Deceit’s chest to wrap around his waist and clasp behind his back, “I missed you too.”  

[mandochlorian]

MELODRAMA

CHAPTER TEN: SUPERCUT

Summary: Three lifelong friends - Poe, Finn, and Ben - encounter a new transfer to the base. You. And it isn’t long before you and Ben become closer than anyone had expected.

masterlist / melodrama masterlist

You sit quietly, letting your mind go over everything it wants to. You don’t even bother wiping the tears when they decide to come at the memories of you and Ben. Or you and your new friends. Your friends who hopefully will still be your friend... if you survive this. The memories form a supercut flashing before your eyes.

“You seem extremely promising,” Leia told you on your first day at the Base. You remember how her eyes drifted away to the boy you miss with all your heart.

“Now if you don’t mind, I have a deviant son to check up on.”

You remember the one with pale skin and long hair holding back a laugh. And your head is filled with his eyes that pierced into yours, even from the wide distance. You could get lost in them.

...

Summerfort, in all it’s green and overgrown glory, standing happily for the four of you. You remember the setting sun and the shared blanket wrapped around all four of your shoulders.  Just you and three boys you didn’t know super well. Just you with Bens arm behind your back as he leaned back. Just the four of you watching the endless stars in the summer sky.

...

“Up to trouble again, I assume?” Han speculates, his eyes narrowing at you for a split second. He eyes the way Bens arm is lightly pressing against yours as he stands beside you. “And you’ve dragged someone else into your shenanigans?”

“Her names Y/N.”

...

“This is not a once in a lifetime opportunity.” You scoffed at Ben, narrowing your eyes down at the boy as you continued cleaning, “We were at a party yesterday.”

“Fine, it’s not a party. At least just hang out with me.” Ben said.

“Why?”

Ben pauses. Why? He’s not sure why he wants you there so badly. He feels a sort of… connection. He doesn’t know what it is.

“I… don’t know why.” He frowns, his eyes darting away from you.

“Okay. Fine.” You reply, feeling it too.

...

“Ben,” you whisper with a smile, placing a hand on his freckled cheek, “Wake up.”

He hears your voice beside him and Ben forces his eyes open to the bright light. For once, he feels well-rested. Whenever he drinks himself to sleep, he never has nightmares. And last night he didn’t need anything but you.

...

A voice brings you out of your memories. You listen in, your hand pressed to the cut on your thigh. Why can you only remember the good things about Ben? Why are you forgiving actions that you shouldn’t forgive? Why are you forgetting things that you shouldn’t forget? Letting out a sigh, you think about your feelings for him; there’s not much else you can do except forgive and forget when you care so deeply for someone.

“Any word on the sky?” Han inquires, looking to his wife who shakes her head.

“It’s been quiet since the attack,” she confirms, “I think he’s gone.”

You’d say you feel relieved but you’re not so sure that you do. Though you hate to admit it... you’re worried about Ben. Beyond worried. You feel like you can barely breathe. You know the type of person he is... and it’s not this malicious hateful man who was about to strike you down. You know it isn’t. But your heart still aches when you think about it.

Watching you listening in on their conversation, Han catches your eyes and walks up to you. It’s quiet for a moment... awkward, almost. But you have no energy to care, so you initiate conversation.

“What happens now?” You wonder, looking up to the man.

Immediately, you can see a resemblance to Ben. You look away. Han takes a breath, “Get word back to the evacuation base and-”

“I mean Ben.” You interrupt, “What’s going to happen to Ben?” You ask him, examining his sad eyes, “Are you going to send him away again?”

Han says nothing, he just kind of looks at you. You care for Ben, that much is obvious. “They couldn’t send me away if they tried,” Ben admits, his voice making you stiffen as he stands behind you and his father.

Han just huffs, giving his son a knowing look. He knows Ben has to fix things between the two of you. You keep your eyes on the sky, not daring to look back at him. Ben stands beside you, his eyes darting to you for a brief second before you look at the rising sun. The brand new day. “You know that I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Do I?” You wonder, not daring to face him, “How do we know I didn’t mean what I said?”

“Because that’s not you. It’s Snoke. And that person who...” he can’t even say what was running through his head at that moment when Snoke was controlling him, “That’s not me.” Ben responds, facing you, even if you won’t look at him as well. “You used to think that I was someone who would never hurt you... That’s still true. I could never.” Ben watches you as you shut your eyes closed, turning away from him even more. You feel torn. You just want to hug him and kiss him and be with him but you know that’s not the best for the two of you. Right? Ben looks down. “Can I just... Can I sit here with you? Just for a little while?” He asks, waiting with bated breath at your response.

Without giving an answer or a glance at him, you inch closer to him. His heart beats quicker as you rest your head on his shoulder. This isn’t it for the two of you, it can’t be. Though you wish things were different, you still love him. You still want him to be part of your heart... and he wants the same. Ben’s body shakes slightly, his eyebrows are furrowed and he tries so hard not to let the tears fall onto your hair. Sniffing, you both watch the brilliant light orange line the sky, neither of you has the urge to say a word or to even turn around at the destroyed buildings.

You stay there for as long as you can, holding one another without a single word before the sounds of the evacuation ships draw you both apart. “Ben, Y/N, everyone’s heading out now,” Leia announces, gazing at the two of you as you turn to look up at her, “Poe will guide you. I’ll see you there.”

With a single look at her son, Leia heads to the Falcon, leaving Poe and Finn standing there. “Finn, how are you doing?” You stand, looking to him. He looks alright, he must’ve recuperated during the defence.

He just nods at you, “Better than before.”

Smiling at him, you place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad.” When Finn doesn’t smile back, you move away from him and change the subject, “So what’s the plan?”

They look at Ben, who stands beside you. “I think an explanation would be good first.” Finn sighs, his pointed eyes landing on his old friend, “You just left without saying goodbye... and you, Y/N, you can use the force, right?”

You look down, “Yeah. Kind of.” Ben just watches you.

“How long have you known?” Poe wonders, narrowing his eyes at you. Your heart beats quickly.

“Not long.” You admit, shaking your head before looking up at Finn and Poe, “I think just before Ben left... It was all pretty sudden. That night, when I was...” You glance at Ben, taking a breath before telling the truth, “When I was in Ben’s room, you guys heard noises and you ran in.”

“Yeah?” Finn presses, watching curiously.

“I knew then. I just... I didn’t...” You shake your head, “Honestly, I didn’t think it was important. I, um, just kind of... ignored it.”

Finn crosses his arms, “You should’ve told us.” You stay silent, knowing that he’s right. “That must’ve been terrifying... discovering you could do things you never thought possible. No less on your own.”

Ben feels his heartache a little at the thought of you being alone, being terrified, having to deal with him leaving on top of all that. Stars, he thinks, I was so stupid for leaving. “It’s okay.” You shrug, narrowing your eyes as you look down.

Poe shakes his head, “No, it’s not.” His voice is stern and forceful to the point where it makes you look up at him, “You shouldn’t have left like that.” Poe tells Ben.

“I know,” Ben mutters, his brown eyes never leaving Poe’s, “I know now that it was wrong. I’m sorry.”

"Sorry doesn’t fix it, you don’t do that to people you care about.” Finn speaks up, “And you care about her the most yet you hurt her the most.” He sighs while Ben just clenches his jaw, looking down at his feet. “And we’re your best friends, Ben. We’ve known each other our whole lives... If you needed help or... advice or, I don’t know, anything, there’s nothing we wouldn’t have done for you.”

Poe agrees, adding, “Nothing. You’re our brother.”

“Still?” Ben wonders, his black hair falling in front of his eyes as he watches the floor.

Walking up to him, Poe places a hand behind Bens' neck, making the tall boy look up at him. “Always. You’re always gonna be my brother, okay?”

With a shared look and small smiles, Poe and Ben give one another a tight hug before pulling away. Poe then looks to Finn, who uncrosses his arms and gestures for Ben to hug him. “You know I can’t stay mad at you, Benny.” Finn shakes his head, “You’re my bro.”

Hugging one another, you can’t help but smile at Ben and his brothers. You let out a sigh of relief. Look at everyone, here and alright. It’s all you could’ve asked for. “Alright, are we done making up?” You wonder, a small smirk on your face, “We have a Resistance to rebuild.”

“You’re right.” Finn nods with a smile, “Get in your shitty x-wing and follow us.”

“So,” Ben says, holding the door open for you, “This is your room. 20-KR, third floor.”

You look around the small room, seeing the empty desk and an empty bed. “Thanks.” Walking to the closet, you open it, relieved when you see extra clothes there. You pull some, throwing them on your desk before stopping as you see Ben standing in the doorway.

“Y/N,” He begins, closing the door behind him, “We should talk.” He sits on the bed, you feel his gaze on you. “I’m sorry... for everything. I should’ve listened to you but I-”

“You were just doing what you thought was best, Ben.” You tell him, walking up to him and sitting beside him.

“Yeah,” he says, “and look what happened.”

“We both have to live with what happened.” You tell him truthfully, giving him a serious look, “But we're here now. We know better now.” Pressing a hand to his cheek, you look him in the eyes, “That’s what matters, okay? Our friends are safe, you’re safe... and you’re here.”

Ben nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “If you say so.” He replies quietly, beginning to stand.

“No,” you place your hand on his, “Stay.”

The air changes. He continues, “I never meant for all this to be so... messed up.”

“Of course not.” You shake your head, “No one would have known this would happen. I think... we're too hard on ourselves.”

“Maybe.” He nods, sitting beside you. You feel the side of his leg press against yours as he turns his head to gaze at you, “I still can’t shake the feeling that... that...”

“That what, Ben?”

“That I wanted this to happen,” He admits, avoiding your gaze once more. He looks at his hands, thinking about the hold Snoke had on his weak, weak mind. “I knew Snoke was dark but, I could’ve resisted more. I could’ve been stronger... I still feel his hold on me and I don’t know how much longer until he comes searching for me again.”

Turning to him, you think about how he’s sitting down, back straight, head down, eyes sunken and tired. “You are strong.” You correct him, “Think about everything you’ve been through, Ben. And you’re still here, even after his hold on you.”

“I’m never going to forgive myself for this,” Ben looks up at you, his eyebrows lifted slightly as he holds back tears, “you know that right?” When you don’t reply, Ben continues, “There’s no point trying to make me see myself as some... hero. I’m not the hero in this story, Y/N, I’m the downfall of the Resistance... I’m the downfall of a place my mother called home... that’s not... it’s - I-” Ben pinches the bridge of his nose, not wanting to break down, not wanting to lose his mind even more than he already has these past four months.

Hushing him, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close to your body. He stiffens at first, feeling as though he doesn’t deserve to even be touched by you. But then you’re gently running your hands through his hair, feeling his breath relax as his lips graze your neck. “None of us will forget this day,” you whisper to him, closing your eyes as you feel him wrap his arms around your waist tightly, “You can’t change the past, Ben. All you can do is grow from it.”

He hums, blinking away the strands of hair from his eyes. When you go to pull away, Ben holds you in your place. “Please,” He whispers, “It’s been so long, I just... I want to hold you. Can I?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, holding back a breath, “It’s been so long.” You agree, loving the feeling of his strong arms holding you against him. Ben feels his heart race as his lips brush against your neck once more. He begins to pull away slowly, only a centimetre away from your face when he gazes at you fondly. “Ben...”

“Yeah?” He responds, his voice airy and quiet. He looks at you curiously, eyebrows furrowed slightly. When you look down at his lips then back to his eyes and lean forward ever so slightly. “I don’t know, baby,” he pulls away, “you can’t trust me, I... I almost hurt you.”

“You know that wasn’t you.” You tell him, watching him with pleading eyes, “I know that it wasn’t you, okay? You would never,” placing both your hands on his cheeks, you move closer to him. “I trust you.” You tell him, truthfully, “I trust you with my life, Ben. We’re going to be okay, all of us. We’re starting again, we’re united, we’re together. And I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too.”

“So kiss me.”

“I don’t even trust myself, Y/N.” He admits, giving you a wary expression. Sharing a look with Ben, you slowly pull away. But you don’t leave. You rest your head against his chest, feeling his unsure hands holding you closely.

“We’re going to be okay, Ben.” You sigh, content at being beside him once more, “The past is the past,” you look up to Ben, who has a small smile upon his lips.

You’re not sure what you see in his eyes when he turns to you, but you can hear the uncertainty in his voice... mixed with something else; something that makes you feel as if this fight - the battle between light and dark - isn’t over yet. “You think so?” Ben genuinely asks you, watching you closely.

“Yeah,” you smile wider, if not because you agree but because you feel the need to convince him, “I think we have a home here.”

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire Part 15

Oh this is gonna get worse. Hopefully it’ll hurt so good.

@probablyclever​ @imherefortheforthefanart​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​

Of Heaven and Fire 

Part 15

“Brock, this is your mate, Benyana,” Rhoslan introduced as she came to give you a side hug as she brought you closer to him. 

“Where did you get her from?” Brock asked as he looked you over, trying to figure out where you had come from. But you could tell he was having difficulty processing this. 

“She’s a moura, from the mountain colony of Suchi and you were the one who got her.” Drad answered as Brock scrunched up his face in disgust at the mention of Suchi. 

“So we conquered Suchi and she was my victory bride?” Brock tried asking but you could tell he didn't believe that as he started to look at you with suspicion. 

“Uh...kind of?” Rhoslan grimaced at you. 

“So where’s the rest of her people as our slaves then?” Brock asked as he noticed the other mouras on the edge of the crowd looking on curiously before everyone around you boomed a ‘No!’. 

“No, it is illegal to enslave a moura, the penalty is death on the person and death to their family.” Everyone informed him. 

“How about we go home and rest.” Rhoslan insisted as she gathered Brock and led him home as you and the shaman followed too and once in the living room Brock just kept looking at you like you were a spy. 

“Brock, what’s the last thing you remember?” Rhoslan asked. 

“We just celebrated the Lunar New Year, last night didn’t we?” Brock answered and you winced and grimaced and blew out a breath of defeat and cursed under your breath. 

“What does that mean?” Rhos asked you as even the shaman sat back and looked on curiously, because even he looked 30 years younger. But you sensed he didn't have the same memory loss Brock did. 

“It means that there is a reason why all moura’s choose to get reborn in the ashes on new years, it must be because of this,” you gestured to Brock. “It’s because it obviously resets the memory to the last new year, when moura’s do this, they lose a day, he’s lost the last 6 months. It means he won’t remember me or anything that has happened since then.” You revealed.

“Do the memories ever come back?” Rhoslan asked hopefully but you could only shake your head no as tears welled in your eyes. 

“I should go,” you stood up as you watched as he looked relieved that you said that. 

“It’s obvious that my presence is agitating him. Which makes sense, I'm a stranger to him now and I'm in his house, that would agitate anyone. Be kind and gentle with him for the next few days until he settles back into time.” You suggested before you left and went to your house where you sobbed, your brother following you and consoling you. 

It was so hard to keep your distance from him over the next week, because ever time you saw him, you just wanted him to look at you like he used toas his family took him out and showed him how the trees had not only gotten their leaves but were now producing fruit, how it was now late summer and the fields were still a month or two away from harvesting. Kari showed him how she had grown and how the changes to the clan that you and him had brought about had helped the clan. 

When Kaive and Cugas went out into the ships to gather fish and other seafood, they came back with full ships, the cargo’s still iced as the iced cargo’s were loaded onto Drauch and Drauch went with the wind to Suchi and came back with unimaginable wealth for the seafood and how half the clan was living on Drauch along with other mouras who had chosen the orcs as mates.  Funny enough, the same people that the orcs had initially caught when they had attacked back in the spring. Almost like they were fated to be together and you were happy that you weren’t the only moura in the clan and they were all too happy to keep you company while you kept your distance and let Brock get reacclimated to time and the season.

But you noticed that every time Brock saw you he suddenly seemed to frown before he would turn around and leave and he did his best to avoid you altogether. And as much as this hurt, you tried to see this from his eyes. If this had happened to you, to wake up from the ashes and suddenly find out you're mated with a stranger, you would be weary if not uncomfortable and you would want to resist it. It was only natural you supposed. Mouras liked to fly free and you probably signified a cage to him. You just needed to give him time and space. And honestly, this wasn’t unheard of. There had been a few couples who were reborn in the ashes together and once reborn, hated each other and lived a lifetime apart and the next rebirth would fall in love again. But he had already lost so much. You couldn’t bear to see him go through the ordeal again. He had won you over once, now it was your turn to win him over. But it didn't help things when your baby bump emerged and seemed to grow a little more each day and the whole clan had spun all kinds of tales of what had happened in the last six months and some of it was true and some of it was legend and while his family made sure to just tell him the facts of what had happened. Brock still had eyes and ears and who knew what he had been overhearing since his rebirth. 

One day soon after you were harvesting the produce in your garden around your house when Brock suddenly appeared before you, looking particularly agitated. 

“Is it true?” Brock growled angrily. 

“Is what true?” You repeated in confusion as you stood and faced him. 

“That you’re carrying my child.” Brock hissed, keeping his voice down and looking particularly embarrassed. 

“Yes, it is.” You affirmed as you placed your hand over your bump as your son soon began to kick you. He always did when his father was near. If Brock had his memories, he would be overjoyed and would have cuddled your belly and would have wanted to feel every kick. But, now, that was the last thing Brock would want to do. 

“Well you should know that I do not have to claim you or it.” Brock announced staunchly. 

“I know that.” You calmly returned. “You told me shortly after you impregnated me that orc warriors will often lay with many women before battle and that if he came back, he claimed who he wished to, he may even take all the children he fathered and dump them on his favorite to raise.” You recalled. 

“That’s right.” Brock nodded in agreement with a smug smirk. 

“But you should know that if you try to take our son from me, I’ll slit your throat myself.” You threatened evenly and for the first time, he cracked a grin at you. But there was a maliciousness to the curve of it. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” Brock sneered before he turned back. 

“How do you know it’s a son?” He suddenly asked as he turned back towards you. 

“Moura’s have ways of knowing what we’re carrying.” You answered simply. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” You asked as you could practically see the hateful rage roll off of him. 

“Because you don’t belong here! You shouldn’t be here. So since I’m never going to claim you or your child, you should go back home, where you’re wanted. Because I sure as hell don’t!” Brock insisted. 

“But what if I want to stay here anyway? My home is already here. Besides my son will still be half orc, he should be here, with his clan.” You calmly countered as you gestured to your home then to the other clan members who were walking by, curiously looking on. 

“I’m told it wasn’t built here but moved here on a cloud. Moura’s do shit to clouds don’t they? You can pick it up and move it, in fact you should. Sooner than later.” Brock insisted. 

“Why?” You questioned curiously. 

“Are you stupid?! I just said that you don’t belong here, you stick out like a sore thumb and an orc clan is no place for a moura!” Brock argued hotly. 

“Those moura’s seem to be doing just fine.” You nodded over to a couple of couples who were at the blacksmith’s nearby, the mouras getting their orc counterparts new armor. 

“Well….you’re...you’re different!” Brock yelled before everyone turned and stared which embarrassed both of you. 

“How am I different?” You asked, forcing yourself to remain calm in an effort to diffuse his own anger. Because that’s what he used to do with you before. 

“Because you just are!”Brock roared. 

“Go home to Suchi, where you’ll have parents and siblings and friends who can care for you and support you. Because you won’t find any help or support from anyone around here!” Brock hollered before he stomped away, leaving everyone who overheard it- staring at Brock in confusion before you gathered your produce and went back inside, tears running in streams down your cheeks. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Dastrin, Brock’s right hand man and closest friend demanded as he chased after Brock from the blacksmith. 

“None of your business!” Brock snarled. 

“Yes it is my business! She is the next warchieftess, the clan has already decided. Before your rebirth in the ashes you announced that she was carrying your one and only heir and that she would reign as warchieftess until your son was of age. She has done nothing to disqualify herself from that position. Why are you treating her like the enemy when all she has ever done since she set foot in the clan is to help us because she has been our greatest ally?” He questioned. 

“Because she is not our ally! She never was, she did all that to save her own skin and to help Suchi. That’s where her loyalties lie. She is the enemy! A spy! She never stopped being the enemy, she somehow put a spell over everyone to love her. Besides I'm sure it was just a political alliance on Suchi’s part, give us a moura bride in exchange for peace for their own precious colony so we don’t attack and raid them. Those unions are always strained. This is no different.” Brock insisted as Dastrin growled in frustration. 

“What kind of nonsense is that?! No. You have it all wrong. How is she the enemy?" Dastrin demanded. 

“She just is, I look at her and I know something isn’t right about her, I just...I hate her, I hate everything about her.” Brock pouted as he crossed his arms over his chest as Dastin raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“Maybe it’s your memories of your strong love for her that are trying to come through and you’re misunderstanding them.” Dastrin suggested. 

“No! I have no memory of that woman at all. She could have fucked any orc or hell any of her previous suitors and gotten pregnant, she’s just trying to entrap me to be warchieftess by saying it’s mine. She’s like all the other power hungry bitches here.” Brock growled. 

“Well, if that's the way you feel about her and you don’t want her, then I guess that means she’s free for the taking, I already have one moura and she’s amazing, but I’ll take two especially one that’s already pregnant with a son.” Dastrin shrugged as he went to walk to your house, passing by Brock before Brock put a blade to his throat to keep Dastrin from going any further which caused Dastrin to grin smugly. 

“You take a step in that woman’s direction and I’ll slit your throat.” Brock seethed, feeling an overwhelming sense of possessiveness. 

“So let me get this straight, you don’t want her, you want her gone, but you’ll kill any other man who expresses an interest in her?” Dastrin questioned. 

“I..it’s...I’m protecting you! She has magic, she’ll put a horrible spell on you! Like she has with everyone else!” Brock insisted as he pulled the blade back and put it away once Dastrin took a step back. 

“Well moura’s do have magic, but not the kind you’re implying.” Dastrin nodded. 

“Look either claim her, or get out of the way so others can because I can tell you  half of your unmated commanders would give everything they own and pledge their undying loyalty to her right here right now if it means that she makes them the amazing food she has made for you and heal their wounds the way she healed yours and house them in that mansion of hers and they’ll happily adopt that pup in her womb before planting many more. She’s the most brilliant and coveted woman in the clan because she’s the wealthiest woman in the clan, if not one of the prettiest. I saw the angels, the heavenly mouras, the fae, the merfolk and elves all tired to court her and she turned them all down for you. I saw as they all took her rejection with grace and still gave her more gifts so that she has more wealth than any kingdom’s treasury. Because not only is she moura, she’s also part and angel and part siren, I saw it myself when I was on the ships with you. She dove down to the depths and got those water dragons to only ice the holds to preserve the fish for Suchi and the other colonies and every merfolk and siren and selkie alike were eating out of her hands. But she didn’t take to any of them because her heart was already set on you and that was only a couple of weeks after you got her. She could have been a queen of any realm she wanted. But instead she chose to come here. She’s the closest thing to a goddess this clan has ever seen and everyone likes her because she has earned our trust and respect because she fought for us and protected us and educated us and our clan has been nothing but blessed since she came." Dastrin explained before he had Brock look back at your house. 

"Look. Look at the very ground she inhabits. Look at how the vegetation is especially lush just around her house. She is a blessing just being here. Why do you want to drive her away? Don’t you think that driving a blessing away will invite tragedy and curses to our clan?” Dastrin questioned as Brock glared at your house. If it was anyone else’s home, he would be impressed but because of yours, he could only look at it and hate it because it was yours. 

“We don’t need her blessing! We were just fine before, we’ll be fine without her.” Brock insisted. 

“No we weren’t! We weren’t fine at all! Hurricane Breaker was at our throats, our fishing nets were never full and you could gather all the gold the clan had into a single chest and it wouldn’t even be half full and you could gather all our produce into a single storehouse. We were poor and desperate.” Dastrin argued. 

“So desperate in fact that you went to the shaman the day after the Moon Festival because we could only find and kill a single bear to roast for it for the clan. And all of us went to bed hungry that night. And the next morning you got up and went to the shaman and asked him to show you how to fix all these problems and he showed you your mate, he showed you Benyana and told you that if you went to Suchi- she would fly into your arms and would fix all your problems and with her as your warchieftess Stormbreaker would enter into a golden age and become greater than Hurricane Breaker ever was and ever will be.” Dastrin explained because Brock had spent the day after the Moon Festival in the Shaman’s home and when Brock had emerged, Brock had never been so excited and determined about anything in his life.  

“And you know what? That’s exactly what happened! You went there and she flew right into your hands as a missile hawk and you took her home and even though you had to tether her to keep her from flying away at first, she did everything the shaman said she would! She fixed the problems the fleet had with the ships being iced by those water dragons since the ice would cut the nets as they tried to bring the nets up on board, she found a way to make a truce with Hurricane Breaker by suggesting that instead of looking south at us, to look east to their own mountains and to set up trade with their own moura colony and they listened to her. No fight, no war, no raid, nothing. None of us ever had to see battle. She just sat there, looking like a vision and told them to sell their own catches to the other colony and they obeyed her and now they’re making almost as much money as we are. But Suchi is a bigger colony and we have better fishing grounds and catch more fish so we sell more fish so we make more money. The clan has never been better than it is right now and it’s all because of her.” He explained. 

“Now that she’s here, look- the fields are overflowing with grains of all kinds in varieties that are better and hardier than the ones we’ve used before. The gardens are bursting with fruits and vegetation and all the food bearing trees are nearly falling over because the weight of the fruits and vegetation is nearly causing the tree branches to break off the trees. The store houses are already showing signs of needing more room if not many more storehouses which are being built as we speak because we never had this kind of abundance in so many different summer crops because we’ve never planted this kind of variety before and everything we plant grows. We can’t make enough nets because the extra large catches keep straining them now. Even now the net weavers are weaving from sunrise to sunset every single day because the demand for them is just that high.” He revealed before he walked Brock over to the closest little stream. 

 “I mean look in the estuary, it’s teaming with fish and the waters in the estuary are now clear and sparkling and clean and the water even tastes sweeter than it used to be. The estuary has never teamed with fish before. You can walk across the river on the backs of the fish if you wanted to. The land is finally producing for us to it’s full. Because before the only reason we settled here is because no other clan wanted this land. The water in the estuary was muddy, the fish weren’t that clean and the river flooded the plains all the time and the mosquitoes used to eat us alive and the flies used to swarm the few fish we managed to catch. The merchants who used to snub us now do trade with us and we get the same quality products that Suchi got instead of the leftovers or the broken and damaged.” Dastrin reminded him. 

“This spring, every rabbit and boar had full litters, every deer had twins and even every bison and elk did too along with the bears and squirrels and trash pandas, you can't throw a stick in the woods without hitting some critter now. There’s more game in the woods now than there ever was and no one has gone hungry since she came and now all our cattle and herds have doubled and then tripled and now we have more animals than we can ever eat and they’re reproducing faster than we can butcher them and our lands are expanding and the clan itself is expanding and everywhere you look, there’s construction and business starting and people who are not moura or orc are coming to settle here and we’re becoming a town and soon we’ll be a city and then a kingdom and it’s all because you were sick of the way things were and you wanted a better life and a better way of living and you suceeded in getting the initial spark but you have put so many great things in motion and you put us on a path and if we don’t keep walking on it, we’ll be lost. We even have not one but five healers and medicine flows like water through the clan and every home now has a medicine garden in addition to their own food garden and recipes for every medicine are written on hides and nailed up in the city square. There’s even talk of a school opening up that even our young ones will get the same education that any other place does, if not better.” Dastrin explained as he gestured to the school that was being built. 

“I’m just scared that if you send her away, it will all stop. We’ve all gotten used to this, going back to the way it was before will be too hard for us and those who haven’t moved to Drauch yet, will move there and Drauch will just have to be flown from the sea straight to Suchi. Because none of us will want to live here.” Dastrin warned him before he turned and returned to his mate Kallimisa who was standing at a respectful distance nearby. 

"Everything OK?" She asked as Dastrin wrapped his arm around her and led her away. 

"Brock's just being stubborn as usual." Dastrin dismissed. "What do you want for lunch?" He asked before he passed Rhoslan who was marching to Brock before she grabbed him by the ear and drug him home as he cried out and whimpered the whole way and tried to fight her but couldn’t get traction. 

“Mom! Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” Brock complained. 

"Oh I’m embarrassing you?! No. You just embarrassed yourself and your father and I. You wanna act like you're two?! I'll treat you like you're two!" Rhoslan growled and pinched even harder and dragged him more forcefully. 

"How come I just heard from half a dozen different people that you are harassing Benyana?!" Rhoslan demanded once they got in the house where Dead was glaring at Brock from his seat. 

"I was not harassing her! I never even touched her!" Brock argued as he rubbed soothingly at his ear. 

"Just because you didn't hurt her with your hands does not mean you didn't hurt her with your words. You embarrassed her in front of the whole clan! How could you do that? You brought shame to yourself and our family!" Rhoslan accused. 

"I did not!" Brock defended. "Its not my fault she's thin skinned and got her feelings hurt by my words, all I did was tell her the truth."

"Benyana was not the one who told us about it, she hasn't left her house! But word is already spreading that you rejected her and her babe. Now half the male orcs in the clan who are not in mated pairs are going to try to claim her in the old ways, she could lose the baby because they won't be gentle with her and they'll make a whore out of her. Is that what you want to see? Just because you don't remember her, you want her to be ravaged by violence? She won't be your warchieftess after that I can tell you that right now. She may be fierce and strong in her own ways but if two or five or ten orcs gang up on her, she'll be finished. And all her sacrifices for you will have been for nothing because you turned into a thankless, ungrateful, pig headed stubborn jackass since your rebirth. Why?! Why are you being so difficult?!" She demanded. 

"Because it's wrong!" Brock repeated. 

"Why is it wrong?" Drad asked. 

"I don't know! I can't explain it. Why does the wind blow? Why do the rains fall? We don't know why but we know that they do. Every time I hear someone say her name it's like driving thorns into my skin and every time I see her it's like seeing a vulture circle around me. Like she's waiting to devour me if I drop my guard." Brock tried to explain. 

"But if you had any honor at all you still would not treat her the way you did just now. Even if I was the one who got her for you, you would still treat her well because you had a duty to her and you respect me enough to show appreciation for the great gift of her as a bride. And even if she was a victory bride you would claim her and claim the seed you planted in her for the sake of the peace and alliance to preserve her honor and dignity along with yours and ours. You had no right to treat her the way you did today." Rhoslan defended. 

"That is why you will respect our decision of Kellore." Drad commanded. 

"What?! No!" Brock blanched. Kellore happened when a warchief sent an engagement offer to a fellow clan, sight unseen and it was considered an engagement and once the woman arrived at the clan, she was accepted into the household of the warchief and was a daughter of the current warchief until the mating of the pair and it would protect the woman from any other courting rituals. It was the orc’s version of an arranged marriage. 

"Yes you will or I swear to the gods I will disinherit you from being the next warchief and Cugas' line will inherit it." Drad threatened. 

"Well if you do that, Benyana will no longer want to be with me but with Cugas." Brock insisted. 

"Brock, Cugas has already paired with Benyana’s brother and Cugas and Kaive have already said that Benyana’s babe will be their heir too, so either way Benyana’s son will be the next warchief, he is destined to be so and there is nothing you can do to change that. Besides, Benyana has never wanted power or control. She grew up in circumstances more humble than ours and she didn't ask for any of this. You were the one who put all of this on her and it was because of your actions that she had to deal with the fall out and she dealt with it better than anyone else ever has. She’s proven herself to everyone else. So give her a chance to prove it to you again that you two are a good match and that she is a good fit and is capable. Both of you took leaps and both of you caught each other numerous times. Yank your head out of your own ass long enough to give her time to prove herself and be kind, be respectful, be patient and be understanding with her or I will disown you, kick you out of this house and this clan and she will take your place in this family and this clan so help me gods." Drad commanded as Brock just glared angrily at his father and just sat in a chair and pouted before you came into the house since Kari had left and got you. 

“What’s going on?” You asked before Rhoslan went to you and informed you of what happened and explained the ultimatum Drad just gave to Brock before you came in as they could all see your red puffy eyes from your crying. 

“Drad, please don’t make this harder for Brock than it has to be,” you pleaded. 

“It’s for his own good and the good of this clan.” Drad insisted. 

“Drad, like I’ve explained before, this kind of thing happens. It’s not as uncommon as you think. It’s ok. I would rather be a single parent then mated to a partner who hates me. The harder we push this, the harder he is going to push back and the harder he is going to resist this. It’s the moura in him. Moura’s hate cages and what they hate more is the thought of slavery. And he is going to feel that being mated to me is the same as being enslaved to me, right?” You asked Brock who looked relieved that you managed to put into words how he had been feeling but just couldn’t verbalize and articulate. 

“If there’s a chance for us to at least be friends and at least be on pleasant speaking terms, then let me earn his trust and respect and admiration the way he earned mine. And if our relationship can progress from enemies to friends to maybe something even more in the very distant future- then let it be his choice every step of the way and something he wants, not something that has to be forced on him and not something that has to have his existance threatened against. That’s not going to help anyone, least of all him or me or especially my son. We have time. We don’t have to rush any of this. Please.” You pleaded. 

“Very well. But, Brock will still treat you with respect and dignity at all times along with kindness, courtiousness and consideration. And you are in a delicate condition. You must be protected at all times and if any harm comes to you, or especially to my grandson. Their lives will be asked for as recompense, no matter who they are.” Drad commanded. 

“That’s fair, I agree.” You nodded before everyone looked to Brock who huffed through his nose. 

“Agreed.” Brock reluctantly agreed. 

[veliseraptor]

i was wondering if you’ve written about thor accidentally came across loki’s self-harm scares and what’d be thor’s reaction if he never knew loki hurt himself

we suffer mornings most of all, 5.6k, after I wrote over 5k of this I realized that I kind of misread your prompt so this went, like, a little off the rails but I decided to just go with it?? feels like it’s in the spirit of things. big ol content warning for self harm, obviously, and mentions of canonical suicide attempt

Once - only once, when they were young - Thor came across Loki in his room bandaging his arm. He caught a glimpse of a nasty burn, red and oozing, before it vanished under white, Loki looking up sharply and shaking his sleeve down. Based on the bandage, it must have covered most of his forearm.

“Ah,” he said. “Thor.” He didn’t look entirely pleased to see him.

“What happened?” Thor said, gesturing at his arm. “That looked terrible.”

“An accident,” Loki said smoothly.

“Some accident,” Thor said, alarmed. “You should see Eir. You know how easily burns take infection.” He reached for his brother’s arm, and Loki shied away, though his face was still almost eerily calm. Alarm bells jangled in the back of Thor’s mind, but he could not identify their source.

“I don’t need to see anyone,” Loki said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. “I can handle myself, Thor. I don’t need your minding.”

Thor stiffened. “Forgive me for caring,” he said. Loki cocked his head to the side, and abruptly his face softened.

“I will, of course, being so gracious,” he said loftily, but then smiled. “I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s simply embarrassing. A mishap with a spell. It isn’t nearly so bad as you think.”

Thor wavered. There was still that faint thrumming sense of unease, but no obvious source, and Loki seemed calm enough. Calmer than he had lately, if anything, a tension gone out of him that Thor hadn’t been consciously aware of until he saw its absence.

He didn’t want to jeopardize that by arguing.

“Very well,” he said. “As you will. Though I still think it’s stupid.”

“Duly noted,” Loki said, without concern. “Now. What did you actually come here to talk about?”

Thor let himself be redirected. He had some vague idea of telling their mother, just so she could check on him, but never did.

The next day, he discovered that Loki had locked his doors with magic. But he didn’t connect the two things until much, much later.

**

The first few days on the Statesman were easy; everyone was too shocked to do very much. Busy with grief and loss and comforting each other, and dazed amazement over the events of the past week.

The problems started after.

Thor had never expected ruling to be easy - all right, perhaps for a period in his youth, he had expected just that. But not anymore. Even so, he was caught off guard by the cascade of responsibilities and troubles and urgent questions that suddenly caught him up. In the midst of it all, Heimdall was an invaluable help.

So, to Thor’s surprise, was Loki.

He was present, active, and honestly useful, not just for being another pair of hands, but because he thought of things Thor didn’t. Thor watched him at first, closely, out of the corner of his eye, but there was nothing he could detect that gave him any reason to suspect he was planning anything malicious, or even that he was planning on leaving.

He seemed, rather, more like himself than he had been at any point since Thor’s disastrous coronation. Not the same, certainly - neither of them was the same. But not so sharp, or brittle, or - well, still tense, but not like he was going to snap.

“I’m proud of you,” Thor said one day, without preamble. Loki’s head whipped around so fast it was almost comedic.

“Beg pardon?”

“I said, I’m proud of you,” Thor said. “I wasn’t sure you would come. And then I wasn’t sure you would stay. But you have. I’m grateful, and glad to have you.”

Loki blinked at him like Thor had struck him over the head. “Norns, Thor,” he said. “Are you becoming more sentimental in your old age?”

Thor frowned at him. “Take the compliment,” he said. “You deserve it.”

Loki gave an odd twitch, though Thor couldn’t tell why. “Thank you,” he said, distinctly awkward. “I suppose.”

Thor nudged him with an elbow. “You suppose.”

“Mm,” Loki said. “That is what I said.”

Shortly thereafter, he made a weak excuse and disappeared. Thor frowned after him, but decided to let it go. Loki had always been odd; he might well worry more the day Loki started behaving normally.

**

The next day, Thor was startled out of writing a lengthy to-do list by a brisk rap on his door, followed by it simply opening despite the fact that Thor was certain he’d locked it.

“What is the point of knocking if you’re just going to let yourself in anyway,” Thor said, setting down his pen and turning toward Loki.

“It gives you a moment’s notice, doesn’t it?”

“If that.” Thor scrutinized his brother’s face, trying to read his expression without much success. “Did you want something?”

“Yes,” Loki said, and then stopped. Thor cocked his head to the side.

“Are you going to make me guess what it is?”

Loki exhaled slowly, pressing his lips together. “I need your help.”

Thor raised his eyebrows. “An unexpected sentence,” he said, but when Loki didn’t make a face he sobered. “What is it?”

Loki exhaled, chewed the inside of his cheek, and then silently held out his left hand.

Thor’s remaining eye almost bugged out of his head. All four fingers looked like they’d been struck by a hammer. More than once. Loki’s slender hand had swollen grotesquely to near twice its size, the bruising black and purple.

“I thought I could manage it on my own,” Loki said, “but when I tried resetting the bones I’m afraid I…fainted.” He sounded a bit embarrassed. Thor stared at him, incredulous.

“You thought,” he started, and then choked on the words. “What happened? We need to get you to a healer-”

“Thor,” Loki said, “there are no healers, only medicine women and hedge witches. And if there were I wouldn’t waste their time. The bones just need to be brought back into alignment, and I can fix the rest.”

“You can,” Thor started again, but he couldn’t even echo the words. “You must be joking,” he said. Loki seemed so calm, and Thor scanned his face for signs of shock, but though he was pale and sweating, tension around his eyes and mouth, his gaze was steady.

Wrong wrong wrong, said Thor’s instincts, and he had to agree.

“What happened,” he repeated, because it was occurring to him that this didn’t look like an accident, and there might be other reasons than obstinacy that Loki didn’t want to go to a healer.

Loki made a bit of a face. “I was attempting some repairs, and, well…clearly I should leave that work to handier folk. Ha. ‘Handier.’”

Thor didn’t laugh. He reached to catch Loki’s wrist, and Loki didn’t pull away quickly enough; he was careful not to jostle his hand. “An accidental injury shouldn’t look like this,” he said lowly.

Loki made an attempt to pull away. “You think I am lying? About this?”

Thor didn’t let him go. “Why would you?” he asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Loki shot back. “You tell me.” He’d stopped pulling, though. It must hurt. All of him must hurt, and yet Loki wasn’t…Thor remembered his brother moaning over bruises, over headaches and minor wounds that healed in hours. Much lesser injuries.

“Loki,” Thor said, and then paused. “If there is someone causing you…trouble, I would know about it.” Loki’s eyebrows drew together like he didn’t understand, and Thor decided to be more direct. “If anyone on this ship hurt you - you know I would not let it stand. Right?”

It occurred to him with sudden terror that maybe Loki didn’t know that. They were still brothers, so far as Thor was concerned, and now that they were united once again…but perhaps Loki didn’t realize, or believed he was on his own to deal with any threat to him that arose. He wouldn’t expect anyone to harbor Loki hatred, but that didn’t mean no one did.

Loki blinked at him. And then laughed. Really laughed, like Thor had said something funny. “Thor,” he said, “you really give your people too little credit.”

“Our people,” Thor corrected absently. He scanned Loki’s face. He looked sincere, but then he always looked sincere.

“Brother,” Loki said, his amusement falling away, “no Asgardian on this ship hurt me. Nor any from Sakaar, either. I swear it.”

Loki didn’t swear anything idly; if he said that, he meant it. Thor pressed his lips together, but something still felt wrong.

“Now,” Loki said. “Would you please help me fix my hand before I have to rebreak anything?”

Thor couldn’t have said, exactly, what it was that made him think it. Loki’s lack of concern, maybe. The fact that no one else seemed to have noticed that their prince had been injured in an accident that must have been severe to do this kind of damage. The phrase before I have to rebreak anything and Loki’s carefully chosen words. No Asgardian. Nor any from Sakaar.

He swallowed hard, twice, and told himself that he was jumping to conclusions. That there was no reason to believe…

“Yes,” Thor said faintly, because Loki was starting to frown. “Come in. Please. You should probably sit down. This is going to hurt.”

“I imagine so,” Loki said, though he looked wary now. He came in anyway and sat down on Thor’s bed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Thor was almost relieved that Loki passed out after he set the second break.

His hand was a mess. There was something savage about the damage, a vicious but targeted rage. Not random: thumb and pointer finger had both been spared.

Or maybe the assailant just hadn’t finished.

I thought I could manage it on my own, but when I tried resetting the bones I’m afraid I fainted.

How many times had Loki managed on his own?

When Thor finished, he improvised a splint, binding the three fingers carefully together to hold them while they healed. Then he sat back and looked at his brother, stomach churning. Hoping he was wrong.

But knowing he had to at least ask.

Loki, did you do this to yourself?

**

Loki came around with a groan, rubbing his good hand down his face and then dropping it to his side. “Ugh,” he said eloquently, and Thor was almost relieved to see the way his body tensed, face tightening. Like he was actually feeling it, now.

“I got you something for the pain,” Thor said, keeping his voice carefully calm and holding out the tablets he’d nicked from the stores. “Hopefully it will at least take the edge off.”

Loki took them and swallowed them dry without question. “Thank you,” he said. He raised his hand and studied his splinted fingers. “Much better. You haven’t been sitting here watching my unconscious body this entire time, have you?”

“More or less,” Thor said. Loki stilled, and then sat up, frowning. He looked shaky, and Thor bit back a command to tell him to lie down.

“I’ve missed something,” he said.

No, Thor thought. I have. He didn’t say anything immediately, considering how best to begin. Loki’s frown deepened, turning wary. “Thor,” he said lowly. “I don’t know what I might have done to provoke that look while I was unconscious, but I would very much appreciate-”

“Why did you break your own fingers,” Thor interrupted.

Loki’s face went utterly blank. “Beg pardon?” he said.

“I said-”

“I heard what you said,” Loki said. “I suppose a more accurate question would be ‘what in the Nine do you mean?’”

He hadn’t denied it, Thor noticed. “What I asked,” he said. “I meant exactly what I asked.”

Loki’s expression flickered. “What gives you the idea that I did any such thing?”

He was turning it back on Thor, Thor thought abstractly. Trying to put Thor on the defensive. Deter him from questioning, or redirect him into a different argument. He’d seen Loki do it before, only he hadn’t usually been able to push past it. “It doesn’t matter,” Thor said. “I asked you a question. You still haven’t answered it.”

Loki was beginning to have the look of a cornered animal, even if he was still clearly striving to maintain control. “No,” he said, “I haven’t. I don’t see the need to, when it’s a preposterous question to begin with.”

“Because you didn’t do it,” Thor said.

“Of course not.”

“Liar.” Thor breathed out. “Please, Loki…tell me the truth. Have we not had enough of falsehoods between us?”

Loki’s mouth tightened, then relaxed. He opened his mouth and Thor could almost see him crafting the lie - and that was a sign of how off balance his brother was, that it was so obvious. Then all the expression bled away again, and Loki turned his face to look at the wall.

“I shouldn’t have involved you,” he said, though it sounded like it was meant more for himself than anything. Thor stiffened.

“Of course you should have,” he said. “Why would you say otherwise?”

Loki’s mouth twisted. “Because now you are upset, and you needn’t be.”

Thor choked on that, and Loki ran the fingers of his good hand through his hair, the other held gingerly in his lap. “It is just a part of who I am,” he said. “An ugly part, perhaps, but nonetheless. Truthfully, it helps.”

Stomach twisting, Thor forced out, “how can breaking your own fingers possibly help.”

Loki shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try,” Thor said. “Or I will - will-” He couldn’t think of anything. There was no way he had of caging Loki that he would not, sooner or later, escape; no way of keeping Loki safe from himself.

Loki slumped back onto the bed. “You know I am mad,” he said, after a lengthy pause.

“Were,” Thor said. Loki huffed.

“Am,” he said. “It isn’t a new beast, Thor. To one degree or another…I cannot remember a time when there wasn’t something wrong with me. It is just how well I controlled it. Or disguised it.”

Thor’s sense of things lurched sideways. Loki’s strangenesses, his mercurial moods, his fickle temper and black melancholy. That had always been a part of who Loki was, not…a sickness. Not madness. He shook his head, but Loki didn’t see it.

“There are times,” he was saying, “when it is all too much. When I feel as though I will burn up, or explode, for trying to contain the beast that lives in me. You have seen what it looks like when I lose control.”

Loki’s eyes on the Bifrost, nearly feral with rage, unrecognizable. Frantic and vicious and desperate, and when it was over…

And then on Earth, the same. Or worse. The feeling like everything that he knew of his brother had been shaved away, leaving a blade of a man with his brother’s face.

“There are other means,” Loki said. “Better means. I am careful. I avoid permanent damage. And no one else has to manage the consequences of my insanity.”

Thor couldn’t speak. He felt ill, and it seemed like there were things he should say but they weren’t coming to him. Loki turned his head to look at him, and exhaled. “You don’t understand. I knew you wouldn’t.”

Finally, a little of Thor’s voice broke free. “That doesn’t look like careful.”

Loki twitched minutely. “This morning was…bad.”

Morning. It was early in the night, now, and Loki had come to him in the late afternoon. At least part of that time he’d been unconscious. All of it alone, hurt, suffering, and Thor might never have known.

He hadn’t known. The way Loki was talking, this wasn’t the first time. He spoke as though it was a long-standing habit, something ordinary or at least unremarkable. Reasonable. “Bad how,” he managed.

Loki seemed to be hesitating, and Thor fixed him with a glare. He sighed again. “Poor dreams and petty frustrations, that is all. Sometimes it just…happens.” He laughed, strangely. “I don’t even really remember doing it.”

“You don’t remember,” Thor said flatly. His stomach rolled. Loki raised one shoulder and let it fall.

“It’s like that, sometimes. Like…” the corners of his lips turned up. “Like a bolt of lightning.”

“Don’t,” Thor said. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“Who is laughing?” Loki still remained lying back, but his eyes on Thor were direct. “Truly, Thor,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ve been handling this, off and on, for centuries.”

Centuries. Centuries. He was going to be sick. A formless fear thrummed in his chest, filling his lungs, making it hard to breathe, to think. “No,” he choked. “No. This isn’t acceptable.”

“Be reasonable,” Loki started.

“Me? You are telling me to be reasonable? You are the one hurting yourself and you want me to be reasonable?” His voice rose to a shout. Thor knew he should be trying to stay calm, but he couldn’t find the means, and that Loki seemed genuinely taken aback didn’t help.

He saw, clear as day, Loki’s fingers uncurling from the shaft of Gungnir. How easily could this, this habit of Loki’s tip over the edge from self-harm to self-annihilation?

How easily could Loki slip through Thor’s fingers, again, into an oblivion where Thor couldn’t follow, and from which this time he might not return?

“Please,” he said, nearly gasping. “Don’t do this.”

“Thor,” Loki said carefully. “I need…”

“I beg you,” Thor said. “I can’t…’careful’ isn’t good enough. All it takes is - all it takes is once. And whether the damage is permanent or not - your pain is not an acceptable price.”

Loki looked frustrated. “I know what I’m doing, Thor.”

“That’s what concerns me,” Thor said. “That you think you are being reasonable. That you think this is handling anything.”

“It is,” Loki said.

“It is not,” Thor said. “Not at all.”

“What else would you have me do?” The tension was coming back. “Turn my poison on you?”

“Do you have to turn it on anyone?” Thor asked. “Might there not be another way?”

Loki stared at him so blankly it made Thor’s heart ache.

“You could,” he said, more quietly, “come to me.”

Loki’s laugh grated. “I am trying not to hurt you anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Thor said. “You could just try talking to me. Or - or if not me, someone else?” Though it occurred to him that Loki did not really have friends on the Statesman. He wasn’t sure Bruce or Valkyrie counted. “Say whatever it is that is overwhelming you, rather than marking it on your body.”

Loki was holding very still and it looked like he was breathing hard.

“And if you can’t speak,” Thor said, fumbling onwards, “at least…at least you needn’t be alone.”

Loki’s jaw tensed and then relaxed, his eyes pulling away from Thor’s to stare straight ahead. “You don’t understand,” he said.

“You’re right,” Thor said, trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice and not entirely succeeding. “I don’t. I don’t understand why this seems like a solution to you, why you don’t seem to see anything wrong with the idea of hurting yourself-”

“Why not?” Loki asked. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Loki had a gift, Thor thought, of saying things that felt like they were cutting him off at the knees, because the answers should be so obvious and yet - Loki called it madness, but to Thor it seemed more like a missing limb that Loki had grown so used to that he no longer noticed its absence.

“Why should you?” Thor asked, trying one of Loki’s own favorite tactics in answering a question with a question. Loki stared at him, but Thor pressed on. “Give me one good reason,” he said, “and I will let this go.”

“I told you,” Loki said. “It prevents - unfortunate outbursts-”

“There are other ways of managing your temper,” Thor said. “Try again.”

Loki’s nostrils flared. “I enjoy it,” he said, the words flung at Thor like a challenge. He planted his feet.

“That contradicts what you said before. And I struggle to believe that the pain of a broken hand is enjoyable.” He knew he was risking Loki’s wrath, but he refused to back down now.

“It is none of your business what I do-”

“You are my brother,” Thor said. “It is my business. Just as what I do is yours.”

Loki looked like he was about to start snarling. “Will no answer be good enough for you?”

“Are you punishing yourself?”

Again, Loki seemed knocked off balance, like he’d expected Thor to feint one way and instead he’d gone the other. “What?” He said blankly, but not like he was offended, or thought the idea was ridiculous; more like he just hadn’t expected Thor to voice it.

He probably hadn’t. It wasn’t the kind of thing that he would have, or at least that he would have bothered to ask, even a few years before.

He’d grown. If only it hadn’t cost so much.

“Are you?” Thor asked again. Loki blinked at him several times, eyes a little too wide.

“It isn’t like that,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Thor asked. There was an ache lodged in his chest. He’d thought, Thor realized, that Loki was - well, better. That the poison in him had been drawn out, at last, that his return here meant the last terrible years were behind them, that everything was going to be fine, now.

He should have known better.

Loki grimaced and pinched his nose with his good hand. “Thor, can this conversation at least wait until the drugs take effect?”

“For you to come up with better answers?” Thor asked. “No. Loki-”

“It isn’t about punishment,” Loki said, though he sounded as though the words were being dragged out of him. “It is - oh, Norns. That’s not the point.”

“But you think it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Why not?” Thor asked doggedly. “It would matter if it was me, wouldn’t it? If I were hurting myself, deliberately?”

“You are being melodramatic.”

“I’m being-” Thor cut himself off again and took a deep breath to keep his temper. It wouldn’t do any good to shout. Losing his temper now would mean losing control of the conversation, and if he did that he would never get it back. “Why. Doesn’t it matter.”

“You are a dog with a bone,” Loki said, aggrieved. Thor said nothing, just waited, his jaw set, and Loki rolled to his back and covered his eyes and said, “I am not going to play this game.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“It is,” Loki said, something dark and dangerous creeping into his voice. “For you. A game where you play the loving and attentive brother, simply trying to care for his poor, mad, sibling. Well, Thor, let me tell you-”

“Tell me what,” Thor said harshly. Loki’s hand pressed down harder over his eyes, still keeping much of his expression invisible.

“It is,” Loki said, and his voice was low and vicious, “exactly what I deserve.”

Thor’s body seemed to lurch, even though he hadn’t moved. He stood still a moment, trying to absorb that. “No,” he said finally, hoarsely. “It isn’t.”

“You ought to know better than that.”

“I do not.” Thor was faintly startled by how even his voice was. He thought he saw Loki’s shoulders shake, very slightly.

“After a few moments of clarity,” Loki said, his voice clear and exacting, “it seems you have rediscovered your large blind spot when it comes to me.”

“You said yourself,” Thor said, “you have been doing this for centuries. Why would you have deserved to suffer then?”

Thor was glad he could not see the whole of Loki’s smile. He thought it would be terrible. “Why not?”

Throat closing, an undeniable part of Thor wished that he hadn’t opened this conversation. That he hadn’t asked, that he’d let it go and pretended to have noticed nothing, or believed Loki’s first lies. But he would not be that much a coward.

“You are wrong,” he said finally, hoarsely.

“Yes,” Loki said, almost a sigh. “Exactly.”

And Thor didn’t have a single Norns-damned response to that.

**

Loki dozed off again, presumably as the drugs took effect and eased the pain. Thor paced back and forth, wishing he knew what to say. Wishing he knew what to do. He wanted to shake Loki, shout at him until he saw sense, but that was about as likely to work as would trussing him up and handcuffing him to a chair (also tempting). The harder Thor pushed, the more Loki would dig in his heels. But if Thor didn’t push…

I am careful. I avoid permanent damage.

Oh, yes. Other than the time you tried to kill yourself, that is.

Thor ground the heel of his hand into his eye. Dammit, Loki.

He dropped his hand and looked back at Loki, whose mouth was set in a tiny frown as he slept, eyebrows drawn worriedly together even in repose. Fix this, Thor’s heart kept screaming, but he didn’t know how. These days, Thor thought, it seemed like there was nothing he could fix.

A part of him wanted to go and find Valkyrie, or the Hulk, and exorcise the ache in him with violence. At the same time, he didn’t want to leave Loki here alone out of some vague fear that he would return and find him gone.

The savagery of it. The rage. Thor knew Loki’s temper, knew that it could be vicious, but seeing it directed inward that way, at himself…was different, somehow. Wrong, in a way that made him feel slightly ill.

It was perhaps an hour later that there was a knock on his door. Thor jerked out of a reverie where he was trying to imagine how it would feel, how Loki had possibly stayed conscious through doing that to himself, and stood up. “Who is it?”

“Heimdall,” said the Watchman’s familiar voice, and Thor scrubbed his fingers through his hair before going over to open the door.

“Is aught amiss?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Heimdall said. “Only that you were expected at a meeting, and weren’t there.”

Thor swore, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d entirely forgotten. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“I can only assume you were distracted,” Heimdall said, not quite a question.

“I was,” Thor said, stepping back so Heimdall could see Loki passed out on the bed. Heimdall frowned slightly.

“Is he unwell?”

Thor wavered, for a moment, on the point of telling Heimdall, maybe asking for advice. “Injured,” he said, finally. “In an accident.”

Heimdall’s eyebrows rose further. “I’d expect him to be with the healers.”

Thor shrugged. “You know how he is,” he said, and there was that very slight, brief, smile.

“Somewhat.” Heimdall regarded him. “Are you well? You look…strained.”

“It has been a straining time. I think we all are.” Thor paused, and then said, carefully, “have you ever known someone to…cause themselves harm? Deliberately?”

Heimdall’s eyes flicked toward Loki, quick and brief, and it occurred to Thor that had not been in the least subtle and he probably should not have asked. But whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say, only, “not personally. But I’ve heard of it happening.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of what is done to help.”

“I think that would depend on the why. A…redirection of the impulse, perhaps. In another direction.”

“Like at another person?” Thor said. Heimdall’s golden eyes sharpened.

“That would seem both inadvisable and ultimately unhelpful.”

Thor sighed. “I suppose it would.” He kept himself from looking toward Loki. “Thank you, Heimdall. And I am sorry, once again, for…allowing my duty to slip my mind.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Heimdall said, but not sternly. He glanced once more toward the bed where Loki lay and then added, “tell your brother to be careful. We cannot afford more losses.”

Thor smiled, though it felt strained. “I will tell him.”

He closed the door, quietly, and leaned his head against it, closing his eye and trying to think. There must be something he could do. If he could only figure out what it was.

**

Thor did not approach Loki immediately. He let him leave without further conversation, though he could feel Loki’s wary eyes waiting for him to speak, and let Loki avoid him for the next day, though he heard Val ask him what had happened to his hand.

“I broke my fingers,” Loki said, his voice tense and caustic. “Obviously.”

“I figured out that much. How?”

“Hoping to congratulate the perpetrator?”

“Why do you have to be such an ass,” Val said irritably, and retreated. Loki must have felt him looking, then, because he turned his head, saw Thor, and froze a moment before turning to walk swiftly away.

And Thor…considered.

He gave it three days before he went knocking on Loki’s door, in the evening, when he was fairly certain Loki would be there. Indeed, he was greeted by a flat, “yes, Thor,” through the door. He paused.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Because no one else drops by,” Loki said.

“Must I speak to you through steel?”

He imagined he could hear Loki’s heave of a sigh, but he opened the door.

“May I come in?”

“If you must.” Loki stepped back, and Thor entered, glancing around. There was little to mark this space as Loki’s other than the daggers on the table. Nothing out of the ordinary, though Thor wasn’t certain what he had expected.

“How is your hand?” he asked. Loki’s mouth twisted.

“Mending,” he said, his voice a little short. “I haven’t caused any fresh damage, if that is what you were trying to ask.”

He hadn’t, really, though a part of him had wondered. Thor winced. “It wasn’t,” he said. Loki eyed him, expression pinched, and eventually sighed.

“What do you want, Thor?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “I am going to ask you for a promise,” Thor said.

“No.”

“You do not know what I am going to ask.”

“I can guess.”

Thor pressed his lips together, then relaxed them. “If you will not,” he said slowly, “I will - be forced to adopt other measures.” He leveled his gaze on Loki. “I am Asgard’s king, now. That means I am responsible for the safety of her people. All of them.”

Loki’s jaw tightened. “I am not of Asgard.”

“You are her savior,” Thor said firmly. “If nothing else - and there is plenty else - that would entitle you to honorary status.” There was a slight twitch by Loki’s eye, but he didn’t argue. Good.

“What is it, then,” he asked, voice clipped and brittle, “that you want me to promise?”

“I want you to promise that when you feel what you described - what it is that drives you to injure yourself - you come to me, first. And I will keep everyone else, and you, safe until it passes.”

Loki’s nostrils flared. “How very self-sacrificial of you.”

“I am confident that it will be less dangerous than you think,” Thor said evenly. “And if not…well. We both know which of us is stronger.”

Loki’s lips compressed but he didn’t argue. That point, anyway. “I can’t promise that,” he said. “Sometimes it isn’t something that builds gradually.”

“Like a bolt of lightning,” Thor said. “I know. In that case, I only ask that you find me after.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “How is that beneficial?”

Thor kept his gaze steady. “Trust that it is, for me.”

Loki stayed quiet, his jaw clenched, breathing through his nose. Thor tried not to tense. He didn’t want to have to turn to his backup plan, but he’d meant what he said: he would.

“Why must you be like this,” Loki said after a long silence, but Thor could have cheered. Loki was wavering. Even if only barely.

“Like what?” Thor asked. “Attempting to keep my own brother from harm?”

Loki looked away from him. “You aren’t going to let this go.”

“No,” Thor said. “I am not.”

“I should never have come to you,” Loki muttered, and Thor reached out without thinking to grasp his shoulders.

“No,” he said, with feeling. “You should have come to me a long time ago.”

Loki stared at him as though Thor had said something deeply affecting but also a little mad. Or he did for a moment, only to look away again. “Fine,” he said eventually, subdued. “You leave me very little choice.”

“Promise me,” Thor said. “Swear.”

“I swear,” Loki said, after a long pause. Thor exhaled loudly and bowed his head in relief.

“Thank you.”

“As I said,” Loki said, “you didn’t give me much choice.”

“Nonetheless. Thank you.” He paused, and said, “you’re wrong. It isn’t what you deserve.”

Loki’s sidelong glance was shuttered, impossible to read. “Certain of that, are you?”

“Yes,” Thor said. “I am. And even if you did, I don’t think I’d care.”

Loki’s expression did something odd. “No,” he said, “I suppose you wouldn’t,” but it sounded more like he was talking to himself than anything.

Thor considered him, for several long moments, before saying quietly, “We’re the only ones left. I can’t lose you, too. And no matter how ‘careful’ you say you are…it frightens me.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” Loki said.

“I know,” Thor said. “I still wish you would have.” He gave Loki a pained smile. “Honesty, brother.”

“Always my strength,” Loki murmured.

“Practice is the only road to mastery,” Thor said, imitating the tones of their old weapons master, and won a very faint laugh.

They would, Thor told himself, be all right.

They had to be.

[peachyteabuck]

cold-blooded & perfect

summary: In a move less orthodox than your father, Lagertha invades a country expecting to raid it, but instead merely takes its princess – you. While you’re surprised, you’re not necessarily unhappy with her sudden change of heart.  

pairing: Lagertha x Reader

words: 2,896

trigger warnings: kidnapping, taking of virginity, vaginal fingering, poor family ties

notes/other: Breaking into the Vikings fandom hell YEAH. feels good. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The Vikings invade your homeland with fire in their eyes and bloodlust on their tongues. The small, untrained army assigned to protect your country is defeated in a matter of minutes, those left with heartbeats either taken captive for later use or killed when they drop their swords. Your father, still in his most lavish robes from the festivities the night before, is forced out to the capital’s center with his hands up and his spine perpendicular to the sharp blade of one of their savage warriors.

From your place in your unscathed room, far up in the vast castle, you anxiously watch the exchange between the leaders. It’s there, as your eyes follow your father’s footsteps, that you notice the rest of the army fathering round him like flies swarm an almost-deceased rabbit; nearly vibrating with excitement, unable to stop their twitchy movements as they circle his shaking form.

While your country is small, its position lining the ocean shore makes it a necessary siege on the pathway to the more inwards parts of the continent. You’ve known this all your life, you know your father has known this for all of his, and you know the foreigners’ leader knows this now.

You can’t quite understand how this woman, this woman decked in the same armor as her underlings, has climbed her way to the top of whatever hierarchy they’ve formed. You can tell she’s powerful though, can tell she isn’t afraid to grasp whole worlds in her hands. As she speaks to your father, the small smirk her lips have twisted themselves into manipulates your insides in a way you cannot describe, and do not try to begin to.

“So,” she asks him, words choppy and accented and curious. “You are king here?”

Like those loyal to her, she circles him. Unlike the rest of them, though, she is not waiting for the creature to give up. Oh, never would she miss the chance to take down anyone who stood in her pathway to victory, to gold, to whatever it is she craves. Her bright teeth remind you of a she-wolf, and your father’s trembling body reminds you of an injured goat.

“Yes,” he answers truthfully. His works shake worse than his limbs as she replies to his numerous questions.

“And do you value the protection of your people?”

Your father gulps but stands a little straighter. “Of course. God gave me the crown to serve Him as well as my people.”

The woman shrugs and leans on her sword, with its sharped point in the ground and the handle covered by her hands. “You know, I’ve heard a lot about your god, you single, individual god,” the women and men behind her chuckle, but she remains stoic. “Does this god accept sacrifices?”

“He sacrificed his Son for us, and in turn we sacrifice for Him, to show our love and appreciation,” your father speaks lowly, words more confident and steadier. The rehearsed string of sentences flowing easily from his lips, and you roll your eyes and pull away from the window. The king, your father, the ruler of your country, the father of your motherland, is no holy man. The mistresses he’s had out-number the maggots in a deer’s corpse, he couldn’t identify the Holy Bible from a child’s drawings made in pools of mud, the cross he supposedly wears has become tarnished from lack of human touch.

Whatever. If he gets beheaded in the town’s square the man you’ve been betrothed to since the very second the doctor turned his nose up at your absence of a penis. You know very little about the Viking culture, their religion, their gods, but you assume they’re smart enough to know killing a princess gains them nothing but a martyr for the opposite side.

The sound of your name pulls you from your disgusted internal monologue.

“And how old is this daughter?” The woman asks. Your father is now on the ground – not injured, just a coward.

“Old enough to wed,” he replies. He doesn’t seem scared anymore. You, though, tremble in fear.

“Then a truce,” the woman smiles brighter than the sun and her eyes gleam. “I will take the woman and we will leave your land. If you promise no contact, my people and I will not invade as long as I am ruler.”

“Okay,” your father agrees immediately. “I will allow my daughter to go with you for my country’s safety.”

Your eyes bulge as you realize what just happened.

What the fuck.

You have mere heartbeats to process the chaos your future has been thrown into before several men are storming into your room. To your surprise, the men don’t grab at you – they simply stand by the door to prevent you from leaving. You’re their captor, but at least they’re passive about it.

From behind them, the blonde woman from the square emerges. She smirks as her eyes trail your body from your bare feet to your sleep-mused hair.

“Congratulations, princess,” she tells you, playful tone floating through the air like fae. “You’ve saved your nation from the savage beasts that are the Vikings.”

You’re allowed to pack one trunk – the woman, who introduces herself as Lagertha as you shove your mother’s locket deep into the pocket of your favorite winter coat - already knows your name, and soon her routine questions and vies for attention turn personal, intimate.

Nevertheless, your answers remain curt through the entire time you’re with her in your chambers.

“I heard your mother died when you were young. I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” she whispers in the darkness of night as you both lay in her temporary bed, a straw thing a few feet from your own plush amenities.

You don’t say anything back, forcing through the uncomfortable silence with purse lips.

A beat. You can hear Lagertha turn to face you as she speaks. “Do you miss her?”

You sigh, then nod. “Sometimes. I don’t really remember her. She died when I was pretty young, and she had a lot of kingdom-y stuff to attend to when she was alive.”

Another beat. Your breaths come out shaky, your attempts not to shed tears

“Do you have any siblings?” she tries to change the subject as she notices the tears welling up in your eyes and reflecting the bright half-moon.

“Six older sisters,” you tell her honestly. “All married off and living in foreign lands, like I was supposed to…”

The silence between you two is heavy, blanketing you heavier than the furs keeping the cold night air from your skin. Neither of you speak for a long time, unsure of how to proceed. It’s awkward, painfully so, when you’re shoved into a small ship and told to sit with a woman who had injured her ankle hunting a few hours prior to boarding the small boat.

You and her are silent most of the journey, the conversations you manage to get yourself to engage with short, choppy, impersonal. Similar situations happen with Lagertha each time she offers food, water, an extra fur, someone else to sit next to.

The first full sentence you speak is when you’re brought to Lagertha’s bed, the trunk carried by two of the most muscular women you’ve ever seen in your life.

It’s once they exit that the words leave your lips. “Are the women here warriors as well as the men?”

Lagertha laughs a little as she drinks from a gauntlet you don’t remember seeing before now. “Of course. They’re women, not frail babies.”

You don’t respond, simply looking around the room. Lagertha leaves you alone after that, allowing you to unpack your things and learn the map of the house of which you’ll be living.

The two of you don’t speak until dinner, an affair she keeps small for, it seems, your benefit. It’s just one of her sons – Bjorn, and his wife. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen the Vikings eat, nor is it the first time you’ve heard them speak in their native tongue, a language foreign to your ears. But, it is the first time you haven’t been able to hide yourself from such savagery.

They bite into their meats like bears tasting the first taste of flesh in months and their unintelligible babble rakes in your ears like rusty knives through hardened wood.  All of their words seem angry, biting, even when they laugh or smile.

For the entirety of the meal Lagertha keeps her hand on your lower back, a gesture you believe (hope) is meant to comfort you.

The verbal exchanges between you two are scarce, especially since you’d insisted of sleeping in a different bed as your captor.

It’s about a week in this new, still-strange place when Lagertha approaches you as you hunt through your things for something, anything to do. She can tell you’re bored, mind-numbingly so as you spend your days pacing her keep. It reminds her of a dog locked in a pen without straw or bones or rocks and far enough away from society they and their masters do not breathe the same breaths.

She seems to understand what you’re looking for, sitting on the bed. You’re kneeling on the floor, and you can feel her feet bump at your hip as she speaks.

“What did you back in your home country?” Lagertha asks you.

“Not much,” you admit. “Back home for me is…it’s quite different from here…” Even as you speak your native tongue, you struggle to find the right words. “Women don’t do much. They, they all, they all think that we’re weaker somehow, that we can’t do much. As a royal all I was permitted to do was learn to sew, cook. A servant once taught me some medicinal skills – so I studied those old books sometimes.”

Lagertha sees you struggling, and as she speaks she attempts to comfort you with a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to continue those things?”

You inhale deeply, considering the question. Lagertha’s not a malicious woman – at least not to you. So far she’s been kind, welcoming; doesn’t seem like the type to deny you such basic commodities as the ones you would ask for. In hopes of not feeling the sharp pain of rejection, you respond with the polite passivity you’d had quite aggressively drilled into your vernacular. “It’d be a nice pastime, yes.”

Lagertha smiles, your eyes locking together. Hers are bright, playful, while yours remain stilled with fear. “You are quite small in your speech, princess. I hope you in time learn to be more upfront with yourself, your wants, your needs.”

You swallow at the thick knot in your throat, one that isn’t quite terrified but still shakes when she pushes a small strand of hair behind your hear. “It is improper for a lady to be so forceful.”

Lagertha simply laughs. Big, chesty, head thrown back laughs. “Is that what they taught you? To be some meek little doll?” You nod meekly with small movements. “Then I hope you learn life is much different here.”

It’s the day after that you find some crude crafting supplies laid out onto your bed – some thick, blunt needles and furs and rough fabric and thread. It’s sweet, despite not being what you’re used to, despite not being the finer things the servants taught you with. No more brightly-colored silken thread and soft, thin fabric. Nonetheless, it is still a gift – and one you treasure.

Winter in this region comes much sooner, and much harsher, than you had expected. Of course, the locals giggled each time you shivered at a mere featherlight kiss of the wind, but even the seer couldn’t predict how poorly the fragile skin wrapping your body was able to withstand such cold.

It’s a few night falls into the deep season when you find yourself on the small bed just outside the kitchen, shaking so hard your teeth clack together and your very bones feel as if they are freezing. In the dead of this night is when Lagertha appears to take pity on you, calling for you across the homestead for you to join her in her bed.

You reluctantly you do, body shivering violently at the raw exposure to air.

Under the furs Lagertha’s body is warm, almost painfully so against your frigid flesh. If the queen notices you shaking against her, she doesn’t say anything about it.

Wordlessly, she curls herself around you, pulling you two together. It’s not an action that’s unwelcome, but it’s still one that makes a specific type of shive run up your spine. This sort of intimacy, especially between two women, was forbidden back home.  To think of a maiden or one of your father’s servant bursting in to find you – little, unmarried you - in the muscular arms of some woman who fights like a man, your heart quickens at the scandal it would bring. Just imagining the villagers, the people your father rules over, having such ammunition would plunge your country, your nation, your people, into despair.

The woman wrapped around you senses your distress. “Are you okay, love?” she asks, voice low like she’s talking to your father’s dog – a small white thing that shakes every time it rains.

Your words barely reach above a whisper. “Just thinking of home.”

She mmms in a way that makes you think she knows you’re hiding something. “Good memories or bad?”

You pull away from her a little bit, trying to find purchase on the slick furs. “They’re not memories at all.”

Lagertha pulls you back to her, resting her chin on the top of your hair. “Let me help, love,” she whispers just over the shell of your ear. “Let me help you.”

Her rough fingertips, her scarred hands, they run over your skin with featherlight touches over your many skin blemishes inherited from your mother.

Still, you lay passively, not sure what to do. Your headmistresses over the years had described sex not just as an act between man and wife, but also something that will hurt, that will be quick, that will simply be to solidify an heir, then to strengthen the diplomatic capabilities of the family you’d be married off to. No matter your education, you can still feel the heat between your legs pool slightly faster than your trembling heart can convince you to stop.

Lagertha daintily pushes the two sides of the slit in your address apart, just enough to give her access to the side of your hip and upper thigh. Lightly, as if not to scare you, she places her calloused, scarred, battle-torn hand there. It’s nice, surprisingly enough, it’s nice to see her warmth there. “Have you ever been with a woman?” She asks. It’s not accusatory, rather inquisitive. A genuine question stemming from genuine interest.

You think of the time you kissed one of your lady’s maids when you were twelve and she was thirteen, of the time you snuck away under a table in the kitchen and palmed at the breasts of a kitchen maid when you were both sixteen. Each experience more intimidating than this one – most likely due to the lack of dread from the idea of your father or headmistress or anyone finding you in such a state of sin.

Lagertha’s teeth bite into the tender flesh of your neck, leaving marks there. You’re happy your thick hair covers such an intimate spot, but something inside you whispers to expose such skin to the murderous winter as to alert the fellow Kattegat residents of your newfound status as lover rather than captive.

Her fingers dip into your virgin heat with patience, the woman watching your face’s every movement as she works each digit into you. “Do you like that, princess?” she asks, voice deep and low. “Do you like the way I feel inside of you?”

You nod, unable to speak anything but high-pitched whines.

“Good,” she purrs. Soon she has three fingers working in and out of you, crooking them so that all you see is hot white with her thumb rubbing at the crest of your center so behind all that is stars. It’s not long before the hot coil in your lower intestine becomes too tight, too tight to bear and you’re screaming for her to keep going don’t stop please my queen do not stop for anything in the world and she’s smiling into the base of your neck and nipping at your collarbones and telling you she wouldn’t let go of you for promise of Valhalla and suddenly-

Suddenly you’re both gasping and unable to breath, squeezing your eyes shut and keeping them locked on Lagertha’s form now over you with her hand driving into you, body relaxed and tense.

You collapse (when did you sit up?) onto the furs with your chest expanding painfully. “Oh, God,” you moan with the world still spinning around you.

“That’s not me,” Lagertha says with a smirk. “But I’ll happily take the compliment.”

You almost, almost have the energy to laugh at her stupid joke, but instead you merely throw her a small smile and curl back into the warmth of her body. Part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe this is the start of a love you don’t have to fear.

[chibikinesis]

some surrender/redemption!ending Sean/Jacob ideas because my shit brain just can’t let that shit go, son. Body wasn’t even cold and my brain was like ‘kay now so how can your rarepair-ass ship still possibly work after all that?

Borrows from my idea that Sean’s taken to wandering/drifting for a while maybe because he’s just sort of struggling to acclimate himself back into society, let alone everyone’s lives, and he’s just sort of lost. He struggles with the needs to be self-sufficient and the need to talk about it, but feels like a bother when he tries to talk to those he’s close to. He hopes maybe something will spark along the way. (I guess Michel has confirmed that part about Sean taking to wandering again so that’s cool)

Also borrows literally everything from this list of my headcanons about Jacob and Sarah’s lives after fifteen years.

This starts out like... a super lite fic and will probably end in bullet points/drivel but it’s... what I’ve got for now. This got longer than I thought <<; ♥

It’s sometime in the winter when Sean finally stumbles upon the town they’re living in. He stops at a store there to buy a few more supplies, and he sees a young woman, around Daniel’s age, who seems vaguely familiar to him. She has long,wavy, brunette hair and a beauty mark under her left eye. She calls out to, he assumes, a friend of hers, a few displays across the way, where he sees a head poking up.

“I’ve gotta’ go, my brother’s leaving! See you tomorrow, okay?” She turns on her heel, arm extended to wave them goodbye, and calls out to, he assumes, her brother. “Jake, wait up!”

Sean looks and is taken aback by another familiar-looking face, with more tidy facial hair than he remembered, a few more creases, and a somewhat different hairstyle, and some glasses that feel new somehow, but he stands, stupefied, for too long to act. He’s not entirely sure he wanted to anyway. The girl and her brother head out the door, and Sean wonders if he made a mistake in not acting. He’s not entirely sure if it’s actually them, or if it’s just his mind is so desperate for a connection that it’s looking for things that aren’t really there. But he proceeds through the checkout and makes his way towards the door, a bit disoriented and distracted by it all.

So disoriented, in fact, that he crashes into another incoming patron as he exits - muttering a couple profanities before apologizing profusely. The customer apologizes as well, and bends down to help Sean pick up his things from the cold concrete.

“Wait a minute... Sean? Is that you?”

The voice draws him back to reality and he looks up to see the same man from before looking him square in the eye. The man has suddenly forgotten why he was coming back into the store in the first place. He looks hopeful, but he’s also second-guessing on the off-chance that he got it wrong. He hopes he hasn’t, but he backpedals a bit anyway. “S-Sean Diaz?”

Maybe he wasn’t imagining things after all. “Holy shit...Jacob?”

The man releases a pent up air in his lungs in the form of a breathy laugh and a big grin. “It is you!”

It’s only a moment before Sarah gets out of the car and comes to investigate. The two barrage him with questions, and end up inviting him back to their house. “Are you in town for a few days? Do you have anywhere to stay yet? Why don’t you come have dinner? You’re more than welcome to crash with us for a bit.”

Jake is asking half out of the urge to catch up and spend some time with and old friend (and to pay him back for helping them out all those years ago), and half out of his sense that Sean’s just... not okay. Jake also has a vague sense that he’d probably just sleep in his car otherwise - and it was too damn cold for that.

Sean reluctantly accepts.

He gets in his car and Jake leads him to their home. They’ve made a nice little life here. Their place is small, but it’s cute and cozy and very lived-in. It’s comforting to Sean.

He and Sarah cook a nice meal for the three of them. They all share some photos - Sarah pulling out her phone to flip through, and suggesting he look at Jake’s album. It helps Sean to feel less empty for a little while, but as the evening winds down, he’s left thinking of all the time he missed out on with Daniel and his family. All of the stories and moments he didn’t get to be a part of. All of those voids that’ll never be filled. It feels selfish of him, and he doesn’t like feeling this way, but he can’t really help it either. He grows quiet and pensive.

It’s starting to get late and Sarah retires to bed. Jake offers to take the couch so that Sean can have a bed to sleep in, but Sean of course denies. Jake’s not the least bit surprised, so he smiles to himself, and goes to fetch some blankets and a pillow for him.

He comes back with those, and an old-looking envelope. He lays the blankets on the couch next to Sean and looks a bit sheepish as he fidgets with the crinkled old edges. “Another reason I was glad you came back here tonight was... I had something I wanted to give you.”

Sean looks a bit dumbfounded as Jake extends it to him.

“I know you never gave this to me with any intention of me having to pay you back, but... I wanted to. There’s a bit of interest in there, too. Or maybe just call it accounting for inflation. I saved it back... damn, probably eleven years ago or so. Just on the off-chance that I... might finally see you again.” 

“You didn’t have to-”

“I-I know, Sean, I... I wanted to. Because you did so much for me and Sarah without even realizing it. And I want to be able to do more. That’s why I opened our home to you. You’re welcome here... anytime. And I mean that. You can stay here as long as you need, or even just want.” He offers a warm, sincere smile, but it falls to something that feels more bittersweet. “And... forgive me for assuming, but you seem... downtrodden-”

“- I’m a fuckin’ mess, Jacob.” Sean scoffs quietly. He’s not angry with Jake for assuming - he’s more upset that it’s so obvious.

“I want to help you with that, too. If... if you’ll let me.”

“You don’t owe me shit-”

“- I owe you my life, Sean.” There’s a new intensity in his tone as he cuts off Sean’s sentence, but it’s not malicious. Jacob’s eyes grow misty and his expression shifts between three or four different emotions. He draws a shaky breath, trying to keep his composure. “Because if you and Daniel hadn’t come into the picture... if things hadn’t happened the way they did, and if we didn’t get them out of Haven Point... if anything had happened to Sarah, I can honestly say that... we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Because I’d probably be in some makeshift grave back in Humboldt somewhere. And I still think about that so often.”

Sean’s surprised by his bluntness, and he’s not sure what to say. There’s an awkward silence on Jacob’s part as he struggles to find the words, but he continues on anyway.

"I feel like... maybe you’re having trouble readjusting, or re-acclimating since you got out, if you will, but I also feel like... you’re not really telling anyone about it, either. You don’t have to do this alone, Sean. You don’t have to be the strong one anymore.” Jacob beams warmth and sincerity. “Talk to me. Even the stuff you’re not proud of for feeling. Our minds let us think some pretty shitty things when we’re in that kinda’ mental shape, I get it. And I promise I won’t judge you for it. But you need to talk to someone about it. Even if it’s not me. And if it is me, it doesn’t have to be tonight. But please. Don’t keep harboring it.”

There’s a long silence as Sean considers it, and Jake grows anxious he said too much, or the wrong thing, or-

“Goodness, that got really heavy, really quick. I’m sorry, Sean-”

“Don’t be. I think I... needed to hear that from someone other than myself.” He concedes. “Seemed like you needed to get that off your chest, anyway.”

“I think you might be right.” Jake laughs. “I mean it, though. I know you’re the type to try to shoulder everything on your own, but... you don’t have to. Remember that. And if you need anything we’re able to provide, don’t ever hesitate to ask.”

Sean nods, and Jake can tell it’s coming from a place of appreciation and honesty. “Thank you, Jake.”

“Anytime.” He smiles. “But if I’m being honest, I don’t see myself sleeping too well after that, so, uh... you want some coffee?”

“I would love some, actually.”

They sit on the couch and chat over their hot drinks, and Sean flips through Jake’s album of photos, for about an hour before he starts to open the flood gates. They’re both surprised by it, but Jake offers his undivided attention, with only a few affirming and encouraging words as he lay everything out on the table.

His feelings of anger and bitterness over everything. That he spent almost as many years in prison as he’d gotten to live his normal life. His feelings of both jealousy and happiness that Daniel got to live the normal life Sean wished he could have. His loneliness, and how he hated being out here solo. Feeling like the lone wolf. His lamenting all those years he missed, regretting he couldn’t be there. Lamenting everything he missed out on. His feelings of being so out of touch with reality and having trouble doing anything but meandering and just sort of existing in this changed world. His immense distaste for the way his perception of time is so skewed now -

And as it all boils over and the tears start streaming down Sean’s face, Jake puts his mug aside and grabs the box of tissues from the coffee table. He scoots closer and rubs Sean’s back to ease his nerves, and continues to offer soft-spoken encouragement. They’re not sure how long they sit there and talk, but when Sean mutters a small I don’t want to be alone right now, Jake knows this is where he’s stationed for the night. 

Sarah finds them in the morning, Sean lying at one end of the couch with his head on the pillow and one of the blankets draped over him, and her brother at the opposite end, sitting upright with Sean’s legs flung carelessly over his lap, arms folded across his chest, and his head fallen back against the plush backing of the piece of furniture. Neither one had bothered to change into pajamas, and their half-empty mugs had long since grown cold. All she can do is smile and presume it had turned into another late-night therapy session. 

They wake up to the smell of breakfast being cooked, and a fresh pot of coffee, each of them with headaches, for different reasons. Jake gets them some aspirin and they all share breakfast and chat some more. He and Sarah both make sure to get Sean’s contact info, and even Daniel’s. Jake reinforces all of his points from their talk the night prior - they’re fully preparing to say their goodbyes when Sean’s car won’t start because plot reasons asdasdf

That’s right about the time he wishes hed paid more attention in Esteban’s garage. But anyway, he ends up staying with them for a few more days while he waits for a friend of theirs to come look at it for him.

"Or you can take it to the shop in town, but either way it’ll probably be a few days.” Jake explains. “But you’re welcome to -”

“Stay here!” Sarah interjects enthusiastically. 

Sean’s a bit surprised, but Jake smiles back at him and shrugs. “I’m certainly not opposed. It’d be nice to spend some more normal time with you after such a heavy night.”

~ This is where stuff lost momentum, but I have a few more ideas like:

They probably talk a bit more about Sean’s feelings now that he’s had a chance to vent them and is more able to discuss them in a stable manner, and how he can better cope with them.

Sarah borrows Jake’s car on his day off so he and Sean end up wandering the town for a bit, probably getting lunch, and maybe checking out a winter market not terribly unlike the one in Beaver Creek. 

Sean definitely having an “Oh no, he’s still cute” moment in those few days. And suddenly feeling a bit more self-conscious. At least it’s winter and he can pass the beard off as practical and warm.

Jake remembering his feelings from all those years ago back in Haven Point: wait a second, are these just misplaced feelings of affection because he’s one of the first people to show me such human decency or is this an actual crush? I don’t know. But oh shit I think it’s coming back, whatever it was. Oh shit, it is.

"You should come back in a few months when the weather’s decent and we can actually go do something. Camping would be fun.” Jake suggests.

After a few months of regular correspondence, Sean finds himself in a better headspace. He still struggles with a lot, but he’s doing considerably better. He has good days and bad ones, but he’s getting better at keeping in contact with everyone in general. But especially Daniel. And it feels good.

When he finally comes back in the spring for a visit, this much is apparent just by looking at him. Jake and Sarah are both so glad to see it.

“See, Jake? Told you there's still a face under that beard!” Sarah teases.

Her giving Sean a much-needed hair cut to match his tidier facial hair before they leave.

Daniel and Chris showing up to surprise them. Group camping trip!

Sean and Sarah and Chris all sitting and drawing at some battered old picnic table.

Jake definitely taking his camera along and taking a lot of photos. Including one very nice one of Sean that he got while they were hiking, when he was actually smiling, and the sun was streaming through the trees just-so. THIS KILLS THE MAN.

One of them getting hurt on the trail and the other patching them up.

All 3 kids definitely catching onto something there and quietly chattering amongst themselves about it. 

They go on a hike on their own and find a nice spot to chill for a bit and just shoot the shit. Sean coos about going back to Arizona, to Away for a little while.

“It sounds really nice.” Jake smiles as he tries to imagine it.

“Next time you have some time off, maybe you could... come with me, if you want. I’m sure mom would be excited to see you again, too.” Jake’s cheeks darken and Sean realizes his err, and he knows there’s been too much of a pause for an addition to seem plausible, but he tries for it anyway. “- a-and Sarah Lee, if she wants to.”

Probably accidental hand or shoulder touch or something because I’m a trope-y ass bitch.

[mithrasisgay]

The Rise of the Dread Fleet Chapter 2: A Bold Move

Thank you all for your coontinued support on this series! I means the world to me and there’s a good chance your tags on a reblog have literally made my day before. Love you!!

@tyrias-library

ON AO3

Asha can still feel Raya's cold gaze upon her as she meanders along the Lion's Arch harbors. The Siren is hiding the waters, keeping pace with her.

It had taken them three whole days to reach the mainland again, Asha on a makeshift float, Raya pushing her forward, keeping her safe from the dangers of the Sea.

As she'd explained on their journey, Raya had defended her from other Sirens, who had flocked to her bound form like moths to a flame, and injured several in the process. That had caused the swarm to cast her out. Raya's only choice was to stay with Asha, as loneliness is lethal for her kin.

Now that Asha's terror had burned away, her new focus is on her anger. Years of mistreatment at the hands of her father, and fighting back gets her executed? It's not fair, she thinks, as she continues on her path.

Revenge is on her mind, but she's just a little girl with an overly attached fish lady in tow. She needs funds. She needs a ship, she needs a crew. Now, where does a young pirate acquire funds to entice people to join her?

Asha's eyes narrow as she spots a lone Asura wandering into a alleyway. He barely comes up to her elbow. Bingo. After a quick glance over her shoulder and a nod toward Raya in the water, Asha jogs in after him, draws the crude knife she had Raya scavenge off the ocean floor. The Asura hasn't noticed her yet, so she seizes the opportunity to grab him by the shoulder and push him to the wall.

“Your money or your life.” she hisses at him and the Asura sighs deeply. “Miss, you really don't wanna do this.” he tells her, sounding more apologetic than frightened. “I'm pretty sure I do, Mate. Pay up.” Asha's been through too much to be shy here. “No, honestly, this is a bad idea.” he presses, pausing briefly when Asha lifts her knife to his throat. “Oh dear.”

Before Asha can react, she's got his fist in her stomach, a kick to the shin, and a heavy uppercut to her chin. Pain flares, and the world fades.

When Asha comes to, she is lying on a matress, covered up to her chest in a thin blanket. The scent of medicinal herbs stings in her nose and she groans, sitting up slowly. The blanket is pushed up at the foot end of her bed, and there he is, the Asura, currently in the process of bandaging up her shin.

“What the...” she mutters, still dizzy with a skull-splitting headache. “I told you, you don't wanna do this.” he says, without even looking up from his work. “But you just had to pull a knife on me. I had no choice.”

“You beat me unconscious?” she asks, still trying to piece together what had happened. “Yes. In self-defense, mind you. I bear no ill will.” the Asura clarifies. “No, I mean-... you? You're like....” “Small and weak?” he cuts her off. “Probably. Compared to a Charr. But not compared to you. When's the last time you had a warm meal?”

Asha is caught off guard by this question. “Uh.” “I don't know what led you down this dark, lawless path, kid, but I assure you, not everyone that looks like an easy target is actually an easy target.” he continues on. “Besides, you're too thin and you smell like you just came out of the ocean. Really, the odds were against you.”

“I did come out of the ocean, in a way.” Asha admits, as the Asura ties up the bandage.

“You did?” he asks, finally looking up to her. He looks... very unlike his punches may suggest. His big, beady eyes carry a permanently concerned look, and his long, white hair is tied up in a comically large antenna-like hairdo, straight up in a ninety-degree angle.

“Yeah. Say, you lookin' for employment? I'm trying to start a crew.” Asha cuts straight to the chase, leaving the Asura frozen in disbelief for a second. “I-... what? You tried to rob me, and now you want to recruit me?” “I mean, yes? You clearly know how to fight and I could use you.” Asha confirms. “Look, I was raised on a ship. If I can gather enough people to steal one, I can sail it.” “Why do you want a ship? You look like a common street rat.” the Asura inquires and Asha snorts.

“Look who's talkin'.” she jabs. “I want a ship because I was cast overboard unjustly, clawed my way back to land, and now I want revenge. But I clearly can't do much on my own, as I just proved to you. So, you had the heart to patch me up after beating the shit out of me, why not help me?”

The Asura's hands hover idly over her leg and he looks at her with a blank expression, processing what she's suggesting to him.

“Kid.” he finally speaks. “How old are you?”

“I'm fifteen.” “Oh dear.” He stops to rub his temples. “Well, I'll give you one thing, you have ambition. But you're also right about another issue – you won't last long without help. I'm already too invested in you to let you die on that ludicrous quest. I'll help.”

“Awesome. When I get a ship, I'll make you my First Mate.”

“...You don't even know my name yet, do you?”

“Right. What's your name?”

Another beat of hesitation in disbelief of the sheer nerve Asha has “It's Snezz.”

–

After Taidha's death, most of her men have dispersed and fled from the Lionguard forces swarming the fortress. Vaixx himself has taken the chance to slip away, before Sebba could change her mind about keeping her word, making his way back to Raxxi's hideout.

She's there, alright, blood streaming down her face, currently in the process of frying the last of her attackers alive. When Vaixx enters her field of vision, she looks up, almost looking feral, teeth bares and eyes wide with battle-fueled adrenaline.

“Took ya long enough!” she gasps at him. There are three deep gashes on her face, and the blood spilling from her mouth implies that she lost a few teeth.

“Apologies, overthrowing a tyrant isn't a ten-minute-errand.” Vaixx counters. “You okay?” “Been better.” Raxxi actually spits out a tooth. “Where's your Lionguard buddy?” “Probably arresting people. She kept her word.” “Surprising. Let's get the fuck out of here before she goes back on that.”

Vaixx grimaces. “Exactly my idea. C'mon.” The two quickly make their way through the same secret entrance they came from, ad have themselves helped back on board of the Rascal.

After a bath, stitches to the face, and a hot drink to the gullet, Raxxi and Vaixx are back in Rowan's old quarters, now sans his corpse.

“Right. Now what?” Raxxi opens the discussion, while Vaixx pours them both mugs of rum.

“Now we sail to LA and get support from your brother.” he responds. “With Taidha gone, there is a vaccuum in the tyrian pirate scene. He would probably see the benefit in having that filled by us, as opposed to someone else.”

“He would. Because that means he can control us.” Raxxi says, accepting the mug Vaixx is handing her. “So? He's not exactly malicious toward us and his goals align with ours.”

“Look, Mate.” Raxxi sighs. “I hate to shit on your parade, but isn't that basically what Taidha was to us? Someone we were dependant on? The only difference is that this dependancy isn't manpower, but money.”

“Yeah, but I like your brother, unlike Taidha.” “You called him a small-eared bureaucrat.” “That was in college, and I was drunk.”

“He does have small ears, though.”

Vaixx grins. “Point is, I like him. And I think he can help us.” “Might as well join is damn guild at this point.” Raxxi grumbles. “Honestly, why not? Or at least affiliate with the Grudge?  Why not get him on board with the entire project, beyond just investing?” “Because-... Okay, look, fine. But let me do the talking.”

The next morning, still slightly hungover, the two pirates stand in the lobby of a very fancy building in Lion's Arch, both holding glasses of expensive elonian wine in their hands, piping up when the large, winged door at the front side of the lobby opens. A young, human woman beckons them closer. “Mister Vermillion will see you now.” she says, and Raxxi follows her, Vaixx in tow, while sarcastically imitating her.

The room behind the door is a lavishly furnished office, and behind the mahogany desk resides an Asura, lounging in a red velvet seat. He's well dressed, a monocle framing one of his bright blue eyes as he waves offhandedly to his apparent receptionist to leave them alone. He has short hair, similar to Raxxi, but deep crimson as opposed to her blue. Quincy Vermillion, as Raxxi's twin brother Raxx calls himself in Lion's Arch sits up properly to face his visitors.

“Raxxi.” he greets her. “And your friend Vaixx. What brings me the honor?” His voice is neutral, and he gives Raxxi's injuries, as well as Vaixx's bandaged shoulder a scrutinizing glance.

“Money. We want money.” Raxxi blurts out. “We all do, sister dearest.” Quincy answers. “I assume, it is an emergency, judging by your state?”

“Sorta. We offed Taidha and Vaixx wants to start a fleet of his own.” Raxxi wastes no time with formalities. “And for that, we need your help.”

“Ah.” Quincy hums, a hint of glee in his eyes. “I heard of Rowan's death. I could have assumed that an ambitious man such as you, Vaixx, would rise to the occasion.” “Rowan's death was a tragedy.” Vaixx presses forth. “As is the death of his young daughter. I do wonder which hurts you most, the demise of your Captain, or your duty to kill a child?”

“That's not the point here.” Raxxi interjects, before that topic can be explored any further. “This is the one opportunity we have to become the new, dominant fleet in the Sea of Sorrows. You have to see that.”

“Oh, I do see that. And I know of your capabilities as a pirate.” he admits. “But the Rascal is an old ship. She will not get you very far. If you do this on my budget, you will do it properly. Gather a crew and I will give you the ships you need.” Raxxi draws breath to speak, but Quincy continues before she can do so. “In exchange,” he adds. “I want a monthy percentage of your winnings, let us say fifteen percent for now. That is only fair, considering my stake in this.” “Ten.” says Raxxi. “Thirteen.” Quincy fires back. “Twelve.” “Fine.” Quincy reaches over the table and offers them his hand to shake.

Vaixx takes it, feeling an unusual coldness from Quincy's touch.

“Very well then. I believe we all have work to do.” Quincy says upo withdrawing from the handshake.

–

“Now,” Snezz says, after swallowing his ale. “If you want to assemble a crew, you need to offer people something they need. And right now, you have little more to offer tha your company. If I hadn't been without direction and purpose in my current life stage, I wouldn't have agreed, no matter how endearing your recklessness is.”

“Desperate and lonely people, got it.” Asha says. They're in one of the cheaper taverns in the city, having dinner on Snezz' bill. He had insisted Asha get at least a full meal before agreeing to anything else. “That's not what I-...” “I know that's not what you said, but we both know it's what you meant.” Asha points at him with her fork for emphasis.

“Fair. Remember, you're a teenager covered in bruises. You have to make up for that with charisma. Try aiming low for now. Street rats, common bandits and the like. You won't have much luck with-...” “That Charr!” “What?”

Asha points at a few tables over, at a large, dissheveled looking Charr, currently brooding over a long-empty mug of ale. “That one looks miserable enough.” “Asha, you can't just go over there and-...” Snezz interrupts himself as the girl gets up and limps over to  the Charr's table, plopping herself down opposite of them. “Oh dear.”

“Hi.” Asha greets the Charr, who looks up from the empty mug. “You lost?” she asks, not really interested in a conversation. “No, I meant to approach you. You look like you could use some company.” Asha responds and snatches the empty mug from the Charr's hands. “Hey barkeep, a refill for this one!”

“I don't-...” “Yes, you do. Anyone as mopey as you needs more alcohol.” Asha insists. “What do you know about alcohol? You're, like, twelve!” “Fifteen, thank you very much. And I know enough. I was raised on a pirate ship.” She offers her hand to the Charr. “Asha Gaets. Who're you?”

“Aurelia Sharp-... Just Aurelia.” The Charr takes her hand in her much larger one, the pads of her retracted claws smooth against Asha's skin.

“Sharp? Sharp what?” Asha prods and Aurelia pulls a grimace. “Sharpwit. Used to be my warband name. But I'm... not really supposed to use it anymore.” she admits. “Kicked out?” Asha inquires. “Something like that. It's complicated.”

“So that's why you're moping around all by yourself.” Asha deduces, while a waitress hands Aurelia a fresh beer. “I'm not 'moping around':” she insists. “Whatever you wanna call it, I think you need some new friends, that won't kick you out for some reason.” Asha offers. “I'm looking for new friends too, you know. See that dweeby Asura over there? I tried to mug him, he beat me up and then treated my injuries. We're friends now.” “Your definition of friendship seems, uh...” “No, really. He's paying for my food. Oh, and your beer.” Asha says. “Point is, we're looking for people to sail out into the Sea of Sorrows with, and you don't seem to have anythig better to do, so why not come along? Got anything to lose?”

“My life?” Aurelia suggests and Asha snorts.

“Oh yeah, you've got a great one here, rotting away in smelly taverns getting wasted. C'mon, don't be grumpy and start over. I had to do that too!”

Aurelia takes a long swig of her mug, then sets it down on the table hard.

“Point taken. What's the mission?”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 14)

“You should be happy! It was progress.” Sokka smiles.

“Minimal progress might as well be no progress at all.” Azula returns his expression with a frown that is just as dreary as his smile is hopeful.

“That’s not true.” Sokka insists. “I think that all Katara and Aang needed was a little sign. They’ll go easier on you now. And Zuko seemed pretty worried when he thought that you left again.”

Azula folds her arms across her chest.

“I think Toph likes you.” He tries.

“Maybe…”

“Did you sleep better last night?” He asks.

For the first time in weeks, her sleep wasn’t plagued with nightmares. She doesn’t recall having woken up at all in the night. She isn’t sure if she should attribute this to Sokka sleeping on the floor next to her bed, or the weight it had taken from her to have finally tried to form a friendship or two. At the very least, she had the pleasure of overhearing her brother suggest that they give her a chance before sending her off to the institution again. She has time and a chance now.

“I did.” She replies.

“Do you know how hard it is to talk to you when you only reply with two words?”

Azula shrugs.

“Or none at all.”

“Difficult, I suppose.”

“Three words! You’re being generous today!”

Azula rolls her eyes. Truly, she doesn’t want to be entertained by the man’s antics, but she finds that she is, more or less anyhow. Though her generosity fades, not particularly a spiteful gesture so much as it is that her mind begins to wander away from the present again. She hasn’t dreamed of the vines nor the men, so she thinks of them in waking. The nagging desire to find out what has happened to her only grows with each rise of the sun. “Sokka?” She says quietly.

“Yeah?” “I think that I do need to go back there…”

This time it is Sokka who frowns. “You’re not crazy, Azula, you just…”

She rises her hand to silence him. “I never said that I am. But if I don’t go back there then I won’t find out what happened to me. I need to know and as far as I know, you can’t recant that story.” She tries to gauge his expression. “So I’ll have myself transferred back there and I’ll figure it out. It can’t be too hard to convince everyone that I need to go there again…”

“I don’t like it.”

“Don’t like what?”

“Your plan.”

“Then come up with a better one.”

“Maybe I can come with you?”

“The last I checked, you are perfectly stable.”

“The more time I spend with you, the less true that is.”

“You’re hilarious, Sokka.” She replies flatly.

Though all sarcasm is lost on him, or ignored, when he boldly declares, “humor is my specialty.”

“I’m not looking for humor right now. I’m looking for a plan.”

“And I gave you one. You can get yourself locked up and I can get myself a job as one of the doctors.”  He pauses. “I’d feel a lot safer if you didn’t go in alone. What if they try to wipe your memories again.”

She shrugs and it slips out before she can hold her tongue, “then I won’t have to constantly guess how much of what you say is true.” She cringes at the hurt etched onto his face. “I won’t have to think about that conversation with Toph either.” She tries, but as per usual her delivery saps the humor from her jest.

“I’m trying to help you, you know that right?” Sokka asks. “It’s awfully hard to do that when you keep…”

Azula makes an effort to ignore whatever he is about to accuse her of. “You’re the hardest person that I’ve ever tried to get along with!” He throws his hands up. “And I think that you’re trying to make it hard for people to like you!”

She is in no mood for a fight and yet she can’t bring herself to let him have the last word. “Then just leave me to my plan.”

.oOo.

He rubs his hand over his face. One of them is going to have to concede if they are going to get anywhere and he knows that Azula is too stubbornly proud to give him an inch. He lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, you win. I’m the jerkbender here.”

“Stop saying that.” She mutters.

“I just...can you just try to trust me. I helped you talk to the rest of the gang, right?”

Azula purses her lips for a moment. “You did, yes.”

“So trust me on this too.” He requests. “You can go looking for answers, but you don’t have to do it alone.”

Azula brushes her finger over the place where pinky had been, he doesn’t know what it says that she would rather look at that than him. Finally she pulls her gaze away from her hand and meets his eyes. “Fine, but we do this…”

“Your way?” I figured as much. “I’ll fill Zuko in.”

Azula nods. “If things don’t go well, you’ll send word to him that it is time for me to come home again.”

“That was part of the plan.” Sokka smiles. At least some of his fears begin to subside. Control is key, if they can keep the situation under their control then it will be well. He can take comfort in that Azula still seems rather apt at doing just that.

He makes off to leave the room, and leave Azula to change into her day clothes. But before he does he turns back. It is more of an impulse than anything, scooping her into a small hug and patting her head. “I’m glad that we didn’t fight today.”

“Yeah.” Azula mutters, her cheeks are a gentle pink.

When he returns to the room with Zuko, he has to take pause and recollect the nature of their plan. Even a full awareness of it doesn’t prepare him for how well she dresses the part. Her hair is tousled, he thinks that she simply hasn’t bothered to comb it. And she wears the outfit that she has dressed herself in, in an unsettlingly  haggard sort of manner. But it is her eyes that throw him off the furthest. She already had a weary look from her sleepless nights, but the bags beneath them were beginning to fade. Now she wears her makeup in a fashion that brings them out and seems to ever so subtly sink her cheeks.

For a startling moment, he almost thinks that she is truly gone again, he can sense Zuko going rigid next to him. His moment of fear comes to an end when she greets them, “have you already arranged a ship?” Her voice is refreshingly smooth and calm.

“Yes, we’ve called for one, they’re expecting you within the hour.” Zuko nods.

“They’re also expecting one brand new, dashingly handsome doctor, appointed by the firelord himself.” Sokka declares.

Azula quirks a brow, “dashingly handsome?”

He elects to ignore her sarcasm once more. “Glad you agree.” He slings an arm around her. Honestly, the twin expressions of entertainment truly serves to drive home that he is working with two cranky siblings. “Oh come on, you guys have to admit that I look dashing in this imperial firebender armor.”

“Dashingly ridiculous.” Azula grumbles.

“Good thing you’re into dashingly ridiculous.”

“Gross.”

.oOo.

The docks are abuzz with fishermen and tradesmen both arriving and departing. Her ship is waiting for her at the very end of the pier, nearly out of sight, just as they like to keep their mentally unsound.

But Azula is seen plain as day right now, and for it she is fixed with many a unkind glares and glowers. Looks that ranged from pity to disgust to complete revulsion. And only for the assumption that she needs help to get herself back on track. She likes to think that they simply remember her for her misdeeds, but she has an inkling that they do have a general aversion to those of questionable mental standing.

Act or not, the princess finds herself feeling somewhat uncomfortable under all of their judging glances and double takes. Apparently it is a source of entertainment to see her being paraded about in study handcuffs. Sturdy as far as they can tell; the cuffs and chains are actually relatively loose around her wrists, a consoling reminder that she isn’t truly being shipped away again.

Another reminder comes in the form of how kind and light, Zuko’s touch is on her back. She almost freats that if someone were to stare for too long, that they’d realize it is all just for show. Sokka’s arm, linked in hers, is a little rougher--carelessly so rather than maliciously.  

As they near the ship, the crowd begins to thin, until only a few stragglers pass them by and they are quick to step out of the way. She thinks that her stance might have grown taunt because, when they find themselves a safe distance from the crowd, Sokka iquires, “you doing okay?”

Azula nods, “well enough, all things considered.”

Zuko squeezes her shoulder. She peers up at him and he gives her a reassuring smile. “Your plans usually always went well for you, if that helps.”

It doesn’t really, not when her mind can’t add meaning to his reassurance. But she nods affirmatively anyhow, lest she deter him from trying to help her when she has only just begun to receive such gestures.

The ship now looms directly in front of them, casting a large shadow over them. She expects a burly, bushy-browed man to emerge from the ship. Instead a rather wirey looking girl with frizzy hair and spectacles greets them. “It is nice to see you again, Zuko. And it is good to see that you have found your sister alive and…” she gives Azula a once over and force the word, “...healthy.” She takes a brief pause before adding, “relatively speaking.”

Azula can’t help but feel faintly annoyed by the remark.

“She’ll be fine, she just needs time. Bozan is usually pretty good at keeping her calm.” Zuko gestures to Sokka. “Which is why it’s crucial to let them speak at least once in the morning and once at night.”

“Noted, your majesty.” The woman dips her head. She draws a needle.

Azula suppresses a flinch.

“Sedation isn’t necessary.” Zuko says perhaps too quickly. “She’s been cooperative, I don’t think that we should risk agitating her.”

She could applauded him for his save.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He says firmly. And to her he says, “good luck, I’ll see you at home when you recover.”

Yes, when she has recovered what she has lost, she adds silently to herself. She gives him no acknowledgement other than a forced snarl. She isn’t entirely sure that the hurt on his face is feigned. It looks rather genuine. Perhaps she is playing the part jarringly well.

The woman’s hand replaces Zuko’s and, Sokka trailing behind, she finds herself climbing the ship’s ramp. They pull it in and steal away any thoughts of back out.

[distant-rose]

Villains That Live in My Head (1/4)

Notes: I made a promise back in June to @effulgentcolors a story about dealing with intimacy and PTSD and I’m like two months late. Lyubi, I’m truthfully sorry for how late this is but admittedly, I’ve been struggling with this subject material because it’s not just PTSD, it’s violent PTSD episodes so we’re straddling a very thin line which could constitute as domestic violence, which naturally makes me  uneasy. However, I think it’s important to stress that the violence depicted in this story is not due to any sort of maliciousness but due to a violent PTSD episode and this story is about exploring how to deal with trauma and intimacy issues and get past such issues as a couple. This is some hard, heavy and upsetting stuff, but I’m trying to be as sensitive and tentative to the material as I can. I can’t stress enough that this isn’t going to be for everyone and to approach with caution because this is a story about violent PTSD and accidentally hurting your partner, and please read at your own risk. A special thank you to @initiala and @shireness-says for helping me struggle bus through this story. Summary: The wounds made when we're young tend to linger. It’s something Killian and Emma learn a little too well when a well meaning surprise goes terribly wrong.  Word Count: 3,300+ Rating: M

--

The truth is that Emma Swan has never had a real boyfriend, so to speak.

Sure, she was with Neal during her teenage years, but their relationship wasn’t necessarily conventional. Born out of loneliness and camaraderie, theirs was based mainly on survival, and survival doesn’t mean dinner dates in fancy restaurants or going to the movies. The most romantic thing he ever did for her was steal a family pack of pop tarts and some boxed wine when she turned sixteen and she thought it was the sweetest thing to ever happen. That had been the pinnacle of romance for her until “pick a partner who knows what he’s doing” and “ you traded your ship for me?”

She’s so out of her depth when it comes to being in a real relationship, but so far, it seems to be going great. Killian is attentive and generous with affection, which comes in a variety of forms from bringing her coffee every morning to playing with her hair. He listens to her when she de-stresses after work, plying her with alcohol and... not sympathy, necessarily, but empathy and an understanding that everyone else seems to lack. Everyone views her as the Savior, including her parents, but it’s nice to have someone who just sees her as Emma. 

And then there’s the sex. Which is another story altogether. 

It’s good, don’t get her wrong. He’s surprisingly sweet and very generous, with soft eyes and even softer touches. However, it’s also intimidating, because while Emma is the one-night-stand wonder, she wouldn’t call herself particularly knowledgable when it comes to sex. It’s mainly been insert Tab A into Slot B, repeat until satisfaction (and more often than not, no satisfaction - but that’s another story altogether). Such relationships didn’t necessarily lead to a lot of exploration or discovery. Quite simply, you don’t ask a complete stranger to help you discover your kinks unless you’re a serial killer or preternaturally uncomfortable in your own skin. Emma was neither of those things. So, her experience, while lengthy partner-wise, didn’t necessarily extend beyond what was considered relatively standard.

Killian, on the other hand seemed to have a fountain of knowledge and experience.

He didn’t necessarily brag about it to her per say -- aside from his rather outrageous innuendos -- but there was a certain sureness and innate knowledge that wasn’t something you could necessarily fake, and could only come from wealth of experience. While there had been some fumbling in the beginning (usually on her end), he was nowhere near as clueless as others had been on how to touch her. It had been more like watching someone relearn a path rather than discovering it for the first time. And while it’s been great to be with someone who didn’t need a road map to her clitoris, it was also a bit disconcerting to be someone who was, quite frankly, a lot more experienced than you. 

And even more mortifyingly, teaching you things about sex despite getting your v-card swiped more than a decade ago.

It makes her feel like she’s being trained a bit. And honestly, she kinda hates that.

She doesn’t like the fact that he seems to be leading her around a training ring like she’s some skittish horse and he’s some absurdly patient seasoned equestrian. It makes her feel foolish and, even worse, she can’t help but feel like she’s boring him. And the last thing she wants to bore him.

(Boring means getting left behind.)

She knows it’s irrational to think so, but there’s nothing Emma is more terrified of than being left alone again. Sure, she has her family, and her boyfriend literally gave up his home and his entire way of life to be with her, but that fear runs deep. No matter how many justifications her parents, Neal, or anyone else give her, that pain doesn’t just disappear.  

(In the spirit of Jake Peralta: cool motive, still abandonment.)

She isn’t sure that she’s in love with him. Considering the fact that her parents are the Olympic gold medalists of True Love, she’s more than a little gun shy when it comes to even broaching that subject. However, she knows she doesn’t want him to leave. She wants more than anything for him to stay.

And that’s how she reaches the decision to “spice” things up.

(And naturally, as it is with all situations where someone tries to perfect an already good thing, it blows up in her face. Spectacularly.)

She doesn’t remember how she settled on the idea of bondage, but it’s something she’s the most familiar with, and all kinky things considered, it seems pretty low level; exciting, but not as far out there as some of the other things she’s come across when perusing for ideas. She’s not looking to do anything Fifty Shades, but she thinks it might be fun to tie him up and make him the focal point for once. Killian always focuses on her, and it might benefit their relationship for things to be a little less one-sided when it comes to the bedroom.

Besides, Killian is a pretty adventurous guy, and a pirate to boot. She’s pretty certain he’s had more than a few nights of debauchery, featuring far more lewd acts than a little light bondage play. Hell, she wouldn’t be remotely surprised if he’s been involved in an orgy or two. He’ll probably find her plans as vanilla as everything else they’ve been doing.

(You know what they say when you assume. It makes an ass of you and me.) 

She doesn’t tell him her plans, mainly because she can’t imagine he would object and also because she wants to surprise him. After letting him take the lead in this aspect of their relationship, she wants to show him that what she lacks in experience, she can make up for with a willingness to explore new things. She wants to be on his level, not someone he needs to teach.

So, she doesn’t tell him. She just brings a box of condoms, a pair of cuffs and a smile.

It starts the way it always does - with a kiss that has them both swaying side-to-side until they teeter awkwardly backwards into his room. She chucks her bag on the nightstand, only to have it smack the table lamp and send both items to the floor. She can’t bring herself to care when she has Killian splayed out on the bed below her, pupils blown wide, lips bruised and noticeable tenting in his incredibly tight pants.

(Seriously, is he capable of wearing anything else? She might have to buy him a more relaxed fit, if only to help her sanity. While he doesn’t have much of an ass, they highlight the muscles in his thighs and make her eyes jump to places that aren’t necessarily appropriate for the public.)

And then there’s the hair.

She loves his hair and the way it’s starting to get a little longer and curl over his ears. She loves tugging on it and the noises he makes when she does. She leans forward, unable to resist threading her fingers through the dark strands as she tilts his head up for another kiss. He accepts it enthusiastically, a low pleased grumble emitting from the back of his throat as she gives his hair a playful tug. He pulls her into his lap, hips rolling upwards with impatience.

Clothes are shed gracelessly. It takes more than a few tries for her to unbutton his vest, cursing him for choosing such finicky clothing. It’s just so typical for him to pick style over functionality. He laughs at her impatience, eyes twinkling with amusement. She wants to rip the bloody thing off.

(Holy fuck, she’s starting to sound like him.)

“Why so impatient, love? We have all night,” he asks, chuckling as she finally manages to undo his buttons. 

She doesn’t respond immediately, more focused removing his hook from its brace and placing it on the nightstand. More articles of clothing have fallen victim to that hook than she cares to count, and she has such a limited wardrobe as is.

“Maybe I have plans,” she responds with what she hopes is a coy smile. 

Both of his eyebrows rise at this, a smirk spreading across his lips as he settles back on his elbows.  

“Plans?”

“Yes,” she says, running her fingers along the length of his collarbone. “Plans. Fun plans. And if you’re good, you might even find out what they are.” 

“I’m not sure I’m capable of being good,” he responds, leaning up and placing all too brief kisses along her jaw and neck. “But I promise you, you’ll certainly like it when I’m bad.” 

“We’ll have to see about that.”

She pulls him into another fierce kiss, using it to distract him as she reaches back to riffle through her bag for her cuffs. It gets a bit awkward, the angle not quite right, but Killian does his best to make it work. When she finally gets her prize, she makes a noise of triumph against his lips before pushing him back against the bed and reaching for his wrists. 

“Swan!” 

Killian’s eyes go wide with shock, growing even larger as he catches sight of the handcuffs. Emma expects it, but it doesn’t last long. His face contorts into a new expression, one that’s far from the enthusiasm. 

She doesn’t get much time to process it, however because the world turns suddenly on its axis. 

One minute she’s straddling his thighs, trying to handcuff him, and the next thing she knows, she’s on her back with Killian looming above her with his only hand pressed to her throat, and not in a way that’s remotely friendly. His fingers dig painfully as they press into her windpipe, cutting off her oxygen. Every muscle in his body is tensed and his chest keeps heaving as if he’s struggling to breathe. His eyes aren’t shocked; they’re panicked. 

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Emma still stunned by the turn of events while Killian looks more like a frightened animal than a person. Her lungs burn painfully and she chokes a bit as she tries to breathe. He jumps at the sound, his face changing from frightened to horrified. He pushes himself away from her forcefully, propelling his body until he’s precariously close to falling off the bed. He pulls himself into a sitting position and turns his back to her, fingers gripping the side of the bed as if holding on for dear life. Emma lays there, mind reeling, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. Her fingers move to touch where she can still feel the hard press of his palm. 

A million questions buzz in her head, each too fleeting for her to truly grasp but each more panicked and disturbed than the next. She doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but her pulse is thundering loudly in her ears and she has the same feeling of ice water in her veins that she did in the Clocktower when Gold was about to crush his heart.

Killian still has his back to her and while she can’t see his face, his shoulders are shaking, and she can still hear the harshness of his breath even over the chaotic orchestra her insides are playing.

“I…” The vowel sounds hoarse leaving his mouth. “I…I’m sorry…I…” 

He reaches for his clothes, pulling Emma away from the hornet’s nest in her head. She sits up, on instinct reaching out to him. He flinches and inches further away from her hand, which somehow hurts more than when he tried to choke her. A wounded noise emits from the back of her throat. He doesn’t acknowledge it. He picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head one-handed. It’s on backwards but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“I need to go,” he says shortly, not looking at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her words fall short. Emma doesn’t know what she wants to say. She knows she should say something, but what exactly, she doesn’t know. She still hasn’t processed what exactly happened.

Emma can still feel his hand on her throat.

(What the hell just happened?)

She’s still trying to answer that question, while Killian’s haphazardly pulling on his boots. She raises her hand again, but pulls it back. She wants to touch him, to do something, but she doesn’t know what to do and she can’t bear the sight of him pulling away from her again, like she’s something vile. 

Before she can even come to a course of action, the door slams shut. And she’s alone.

(Again.

She’s alone again.)

The thought leaves her feeling frozen, like she’s back in the ice prison again except this time she’s not surrounded by ice. It’s inside of her spreading over each and every one of her organs. She wraps her arms around herself in attempt at...warmth? Comfort? She isn’t sure anymore.

She isn’t sure of anything.

(What the hell just happened?)

One minute they were fine and about to have a good time, and the next thing he’s attacking her and then suddenly he can’t even look at her. All of it happened so fast that she’s still not quite sure what caused all of it. What the hell did she do?

She gets up, pins and needles shooting through her legs. They’re completely unhappy with her after sitting on the bed for so long. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she knows she needs to do something. Walking into the ensuite and turns on the light, she winces at the harsh intensity of the fluorescent bulb; sucking in a breath when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

There’s an angry red ring around her throat.

She touches it again, this time more tentatively. The flesh is tender and a small hiss leaves her without her permission. Killian is long gone, but the phantom pain of his hand is still there. It had only been a few seconds but the feeling and the fear refuses to leave. 

Fear.

The realization hits her like whiplash. She had been afraid of him. He could have hurt her.

He did hurt her.

(Why?)

She doesn’t have any answers. She doesn’t know what she did for Killian to act like this, but he’s left her and she’s pretty certain he isn’t coming back. 

She hates the fact that hurts her more than the potential bruises.

Angry tears form at the corner of her eyes and she splashes water on her face to keep herself from seeing them. She glances at the clock, not necessarily because she’s interested in the time so much as she doesn’t want to see herself reflected in the mirror.

2:00.

Fuck.

She should leave. She hadn’t been planning on going back to the loft, but she knows she can’t stay here even if Killian doesn’t plan on coming back. She needs to get out of here and sleep somewhere else, where the imprint of his hand can’t follow her.

She pulls her hair into a messy, half-assed ponytail, not bothering it to smooth out the awkward bumps. Her limbs feel as heavy as lead as she puts on her clothes. She wants nothing more than to sleep, but she can’t. Not here.

The streets of Storybrooke are deathly silent as she walks back to the loft. It’s a cool night and the chill highlights the unnatural warmth pulsating from her neck. She pulls her jacket tighter around her. It has always been her shield from the world, but it’s protection was futile. What she needed protecting from had already gotten past her walls.

She can’t stop thinking about it, her brain like an old scratched DVD, playing the same scene over and over again in her mind. She can’t help but relive that moment when he was above her and she couldn’t breathe. She still remembers the look on his face; eyes wide, nostrils flaring and cheeks white. It hadn’t been anger on his face.

It had been fear.

What the hell did he have to be afraid of? He wasn’t the one with the hand on his throat.

Why did he do that?

Why did he leave?

The questions swirl around in her mind as she attempts to unlock the front door of their building. It takes her an embarrassing three tries to open it, but when she finally did, a sense of relief came over her. She’s home and she can sleep.

She’s so tired.

The door to the loft groans as she opens it, sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night. The noise wakes the baby, his wails as ear-piercing as thunder. She can hear her parents waking up behind their curtain. 

She can’t face them. 

Not right now. 

Not after everything that happened with Killian.

She races across the room instead, making her way up the stairs. Her hands tremble as she clings to the bannister like it’s a life line, each ascending step feeling heavier and more precarious than the last.

It’s a relief when she finally reaches her bed and crawls underneath her covers, pulling them over her head in an attempt to cocoon herself away from the world. She wants to escape, to find some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Little Neal doesn’t seem to want adhere that desire. His screams keep getting louder and louder.

“That’s a mood if I ever heard one,” she mumbles, burying her face in her pillow.

Her mother’s soothing voice sounds throughout the apartment as she attempts to lull Neal back to sleep. Slowly, the cries quiet down and the growing silence echoes inside of her. It’s then that the anger gives away to immeasurable sadness, tears dribbling at the corners of her eyes and leaking down her cheeks.

Once again, she’s alone and no one wants her. Not her parents. Not her brother. And especially not her pirate boyfriend, if he’s even her boyfriend anymore. She’s not so sure.  

(What the hell happened?)

It’s frustrating to be in this position again, hurt and confused as to why. She should have known it wasn’t going to work. She’s never been in a healthy and real relationship before and it was silly of her to think otherwise. She should have known it would blow up in her face.

(But why?)

(Why?)

(Why?)

It’s the question on her mind keeps playing over and over in her mind as she falls into a fitful slumber, hoping against hope that sleep will bring some clarity.

It doesn’t.