#at yet here he is. forced to fight and be a child soldier because that's what he is.

[epicfirestormer]

Me: I'm fine

Also me: Six getting his memory erased in "Six Minus Six" and Rex trying to make him remember is meant to parallel just how terrifying it must've been for Six and Holiday when Rex would sometime lose his memories before canon started. We know from what Tuck told Rex that he had lost his memories so many times, he would keep a notebook on him to make sure he would remember. How many times had this happen, for it to be a habit. How many memories did Rex lose when he was in Providence. How much of his own life does Rex actually remember during those years. Did Rex and Six bonded and got close before Rex inevitably blacks out and forgets everything again. How absolutely horrifying is it for Rex, a child in everything but title, to wake up with no idea who he is at a goddamn government facility and treated nothing more than a weapon. How heartbreaking had it been for Holiday, a mother figure who treats Rex like a child- how he should be treated- to see him not recall anything about her. How absolutely soul-crushing had it be for Six, who had taught this kid to survive and how to stay strong, to see that same kid act in fear. Did Providence did something similar to what Rex did, keeping a log of everything about him so he could know right away. How awful is that. How absolutely batshit, fucking insanely immoral it is that a child have to go through. To lose memories and be conditioned about waking up a military base. But in the eyes of Providence, he isn't a child. He's a weapon, an asset at best, and a monster at worst.

[postersofleon]

Honey Has Value

In Leon's first mission, everyone warned him about the merchants that come every once in a while during dangerous situations. Nobody knows them. But everyone trusts them enough. Even Krauser, who was very sensitive in whom to trust with his weaponry. The merchants are the most chaotic neutral people who would sell to any person who had enough gold or anything in value. During one of his missions, Leon finally saw one of the merchants.

content: smut

notes: pre resident evil four; afab fem!reader; he forgot to socialize thanks to working in the military; reader is pretty femme by wearing a black dress; sexual frustrations coming from leon; small mentions of rotting flesh, leon is an awkward flirt; guys, even though i write smut, i hate booktok, does that make sense or i'm giltching in the system. smallish smut, little story.

taglist: @argreion

Leon could believe in Umbrella's cruel experiments. He had seen these monsters who are kindly called bioweapons, and even though Leon isn't forced to fight against them. He sometimes saw the creatures they turned into, and that was enough for a young rookie cop to see. He then had to mistrust his own government for wanting to harm a young child. Leon panicked and immediately a blackmail was tied around his throat.

A perfect noose around him. A traumatized man can't go back to his old life. Leon had to help a girl he barely saw in the tragedy of Raccoon City.

All because of his stupid want to help people. He was sinking in this damn hole depression, and he wasn't even allowed to go to therapy. When he was excited to talk to Claire, she wasn't there because she was still searching her missing brother.

Leon was alone. Leon didn't even have time with Sherry.

He believed in all of these faults of the world. It was a nasty cruel world that could barely be saved. Leon didn't even save Sherry. That was thanks to Claire. In that night, he didn't save anyone, and he trusted a bad person who fell to her death. Every inch of Leon's body knew guilt, the disappointment of the world, and bioweapons.

But why couldn't Leon didn't believe in this random ass Merchant? Merchants sounded like scumbags and fake to the bone yet everyone in his section of soldiers swore up and down that they are real and good enough.

They only appear in missions. The government doesn't pay for them to help. And none of them are the same person over and over. One had a handsome man with a bow tie; another had an elder woman, and lastly, Krauser even said he had dealt with a pair of twins. That's what made Leon struggle to believe this was real.

None of these people were truly scared to show their faces, but they all had the same name of merchant.

They had no true agenda. No sense of good or bad.

Leon hoped to never see them in his own missions. He didn't care if they had helped them before, Leon wasn't interested in them no matter how much.

His mission was down south. He had to learn Spanish in case the issues came to his language, but he knew the main part of the mission. A couple of normal soldiers came here, and we were murdered by a couple infected by the T. Leon was the next best option.

And Leon came ready. If a merchant was going to be there, he'll ignore them, no matter who it is.

Once he entered the place, it was a lonely village that was nearby an Umbrella lab, so he had already concluded who was going to be here. His heart beaten fast when he saw a person infected by the T. A poor woman whose skin was rotted away. Leon killed her without a second doubt. Even if Leon had the cure in his hand, he wouldn't want to use it on her, especially with the heat of the brutal summer.

Not only was her skin rotted. There was hole in skull that he didn't even make.

"How unfortunate," Leon immediately turned to whom it belonged to, "Seeing death is always unforgivable." A woman with a black dress was behind a desk of items. Due to the circumstances, she was hauntingly beautiful with the death surrounding her. It took a moment for Leon to realize it. She is a merchant.

"Hi, stranger." She smiled politely at Leon.

"Hi." Leon said firmly.

She played with string of pearls around her neck, "I'll be helping you with.... your situations." She seemed so nonchalant, her voice was relaxed as if the danger could never harm her.

"Situations..." Leon looked around her store of items. She had almost everything in this little place, a small box with a strange symbol planted on the center. "I'm sure you are betting for to get into those situations." Leon muttered. But she shook her head. It was almost automatic.

"Goodness, no!" She exclaimed loudly. "My services are here to help you. To assist you." She placed her gloved hand between him and her. "May I? Free of charge."

There was a silence between them. Begrudgingly, Leon handed his gun to her, "Careful with it." He muttered.

She grabbed the gun, "SG-09 R. Quite impressive." She clocked it and checked the modifications in the gun. "Fast, strong, and made by Kendo." She pointed the gun towards a section and shot a glass bottle. "But I can make better. Especially with the control of the government." She broke up the gun and grabbed a small bottle of oil to ease up the details of gun. "Do I permission to change the glock?"

Leon nodded his head.

The merchant got into work, she brought out the small tools to work on the gun, and changed very small details of the gun. After a couple of short minutes, she twirled the gun back into place. "Here you go, stranger." The merchant handed the gun back to its owner.

Leon lifted the gun and noticed the differences. She didn't change the drastic differences of the poor gun, but it made it functional for the monsters. He pulled on the trigger and shot the a piece of wood. The gun shot faster.

She grabbed a rag and cleaned her gloved hands. "It's easy as they come." She smiled. Her fingers returned back to her pearls, dragging the details bit by bit. "I love helping the new."

Leon wished he was normal. His dumb mind entered cave man for like three seconds. Maybe it was the small praise he got from her or how the merchant spoke to him without belittling him. He felt his cock twitch, "Yeah, thanks." He awkwardly put his gun back to its holster.

He promised himself the less impossible thing ever. Leon was spending a lot of time with the merchant, he saw her how her knife formed small knick knacks from wood. "Look." The merchang leaned to show him. It was small wooden figure of him. Leon took in a sharp exhale.

"Nice." He whispered softly.

"I give them to the other merchants so they can sell them." The merchant smiled. Her painting was very gentle, every brush was made with love. "Why sell them?" Leon asked. "It's like discount. If you have this." She lifted a small shield-like charm, "You'll have an upgrade with any merchant."

"Oh, that's great." Leon eyed her face, "So, if another merchant sees it, they'll automatic give you that help."

The merchant smiled, "Exactly." She continued the paint and Leon was just looking at her, "So, what perks will I get if I buy my small keychain?" He whispered softly. The merchant sighed softly, "Mm, well, how about 30% off when I fixed that knife of yours."

Leon nodded his head as he continued to look.

As time passed and such, Leon did his job and then immediately went to her section to 'buy' stuff. All that time of bothering the merchant, he finally got what he wanted as she pumped his cock.

She was on her knees as she pumped his cock into her mouth, Leon's hips moved up, "Fuck." The merchant rubbed the red tip and sucked it gently. He needed this after so long. Leon's hands covered his face, his cheeks were red and he was ultra sensitive over everything. The merchant rubbed Leon's tip around her lips and left his pre cum around them.

He chewed on his lips trying to keep quiet in case an infected could find them. The merchant's hand pumped his length, "I do the first time free." She teased him. Her hand slide down his cock and massaged his balls. He didn't know if she spoke the truth, but he was willing to pay for this again. The merchant's tongue dragged against his shaft and kissed the tip. "Just fuck me. Please."

The merchant shook her head, "You'll need your energy for the fights." She looked at his cock and placed his needy self inside of her mouth. She gagged weakly, his hips weakly moved against the merchant's mouth. He needed to cum and go back to work. His hands traveled around his pecs and squeezed them, he noticed the merchant noticing those details. Leon blushed but didn't stop himself as he played with nipples.

Flicking them a bit trying to help the simulation. She bobbed her head faster and he groaned. "Fuck, fuck-" His cum erupted into the merchant's mouth and it slowly fell out, she licked the mess without an issue. Leon groaned loudly feel his body relax bit by bit. His eyes completely soften and gently caressed her face, "Mm, thank you."

When Leon was back on his feet, he felt her hands smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. He felt too easy, but he liked her touch.

As the sun set above him, the merchant waved politely a goodbye to Leon; He simply nodded his head, his legs were a bit weak, but he had to go back to his job.

The next time he was with the Merchant, he was between her dress. He licked her pussy, his hands opened her thighs to shove himself deeper. Her cunt was keeping him sane after the brutal fights, her hands grabbed his hair and pulled his straight blond hair. Leon growled weakly, "Please, I just need your cum." No extra steps, he wanted it. His tongue moved around her clit and once he heard the merchant's moan he focused on it more.

His fingers shoved inside of her pussy and pumped them in and out. His tongue licked the wetness that poured into his hand. His finger curled up and fucked her up. The merchant's legs squirmed around Leon. He licked up the pretty hole and removed his fingers again, her thighs clenched around his face as he fucked her with his tongue. Flicking it over and over, he pulled it out and sucked her clit. She groaned loudly, her legs opened a bit, and Leon kissed her thighs over and over. The merchant released, Leon's fingers rubbed gently her cunt and licked the mess.

He was thankful for the merchant's services.

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness Intermission!

(Intermissions contain percentages for a certain point in the story! This Intermission is only accurate after View 10 and before View 11.)

Please keep in mind that these will change for better, or worse, as the story develops.

And remember, someone with a percentage of 50% could have the same feelings as someone with a percentage of 100%! Each character expresses, feels and thinks differently from eachother due to their different personalities.

It is important for you, the viewer, to decide whether a harbinger has turned yandere or not. I will not reveal much, for I mustn't disturb your own thoughts.

However, I can reveal that there are currently 2 Yanderes detected, and more will soon follow... In fact, I feel it might be sooner than you realise.

~ PIERRO AND PULCINELLA ARE PLATONIC ~

Pierro - 19%

He truly does see Y/N's value as a pawn to the Tsaritsa's plans back in Teyvat, but finds their behaviour appalling. Sometimes, The Jester questions whether the Tsaritsa would appreciate them dead rather than alive in her palace once they return home.

They're an eyesore. Not only that, but they constantly complain of his presence in their house. It's not his fault, the incompetent doctor didn't think of his machine only working one way. It's because of these very reasons he decided to take refuge in your father's office. Of course, you complained the following afternoon when you realised that's where he's settling. Unfortunately for you, he's indifferent to your complaining and just pushes you out the room if you distract him from his work. Don't you have better things to do? Go bother someone else, he's sure some of the other Harbinger's have been dying to ask you more questions.

'Always yapping in my ear. When are they going to repent their useless actions, be quiet, and stop resisting the fact I've taken the calmest room in the house? It's not my fault I brought my work with me unlike some of the others.'

Pierro doesn't care for this world. Although, the technology and freedom the people seem to have reminds him of Khaenri'ah, that thought alone helps him relax when he's alone in the evening. Perhaps when Dottore sorts out his defective machine, he'll return alone to reminisce of what could have been?

Capitano - 12%

He believes Y/N is weak, and unexpectedly powerless considering their intelligence within the fate of Teyvat. Before walking through Dottore's portal, The Captain was prepared for a noble battle. However, finding you shivering in fear was not what he was expecting.

They're pathetic. They make him feel useless in this world. He's a trained soldier, an army general, a legendary and respected tale among not only the Fatui but elsewhere in Teyvat. Without a battle or a conflict, there is physically nothing he can do here. Sure, he could always fight with Childe and give him the satisfaction he's been waiting for, but Capitano doesn't feel Tartaglia is worthy of such a spar yet. Not to mention the fact you've already professed your dislike of violence, Capitano believes people in this world are wimps.

'Once again I have been refused and turned away from the front door, how else should I spend my time today...? I'll ask Lohefalter for some advice.'

Capitano feels as if this world is stationary. It seems too safe for his liking, no monsters, no powers, nothing. But is it as it actually seems? Or is this world far more dangerous than he could ever imagine due to the disguise it covers itself in?

Dottore - 39%

He believes The Decider has untouched potential. Yet, The Doctor can’t help but feel as if experimenting on them would be fruitless. He feels conflicted, and often chooses to observe their behaviour from afar with a notepad he stole from their office and a pen he brought with him.

They’re quite interesting. Dottore can’t remember the last time he was forced to observe the behaviour of someone before cutting them open. This whole experience has been a massive realisation for him, and perhaps a sadistic awakening. From now on, he’s decided that when he gets a new lab rat he’ll torment them first to get inspiration for his experiments. After all, his younger clones aren’t the most… imaginative logic wise in terms of ideas. But, you refuse to answer his questions! How is he supposed to get results if you avoid him all the time? He doesn't understand, you don't seem to be avoiding anyone else, why are you excluding him solely? ...It seems as if he'll have to rely on the 'television' for now.

‘Their lips seem to be shaking at a faster pace. They must be feeling a rapidly increasing fear in our presence. How… strange. This is common behaviour among regular people, why would The Decider of all biological beings display the same patterns?’

Dottore is keen to discover more secrets about this world, and has no doubt in his mind that there is an important link between it and Teyvat. All he needs is more evidence to make his argument... that, and with the portal working in the first place of course. How is he supposed to record his results when his portal can't take him home?

Columbina - ???

She believes The Decider is special. Very, very, special. The Damselette doesn't recognise and cannot pinpoint why she feels the way she does, but what she does know is it feels exhilarating.

They're amusing, the way they struggle and how it's clear they want to protest the Harbinger's actions. Watching their realisation that fighting back is hopeless brings her great satisfaction, it feeds her sadism in a delightful way and is a good temporary source to get that kind of pleasure considering the fact that she can't tease any of her soldiers at the moment. Often, she'll find herself stood outside of your bedroom, unable to prevent her curiosity from leading her there. She hasn't decided to go in yet, respecting your privacy for the time being. But, if you keep leading her on she'll have no choice but to disrespect that privacy and do some investigating.

'Hmm, this room is awfully stuffy but it'll have to do. Does the Decider really spend their time in here? Oooh, what's that smaller television doing there? The Jester seems to have placed his papers all over this desk, how insulting for them. Pfuhuhu...~'

Columbina doesn't mind this world. In fact, she prefers it. Here, unlike in Teyvat, she has the freedom to do whatever she wants and has an interesting mortal to keep her company. What? She's not that stupid, unlike the other Harbingers she's fully aware just how powerless Y/N actually is. She wonders how long it will take for the others to notice, and looks forward to the chaos that will follow soon after.

Arlecchino - 25%

She knows her true feelings. The Knave simply doesn't care for The Decider, she's too busy fretting over the House of Hearth functioning appropriately whilst she's away in another world.

They annoy her a lot, however unlike some Harbingers, she covers it with disinterest as her annoyance could instill more fear into them. She's used to the look of fear, and has no intention of making them feel it due to her unable to control her temper. She's controlled her behaviour in front of others before, you shouldn't be any different. So why is it, whenever you look into her eyes, is it harder for her to remain uninterested with you? Before, it was noticeable and minor, therefore she could push it away. But now? It's getting harder to manage, she tries to stay away from you any time she can. She often warns you not to look into her eyes, just as she does for anyone else. And yet, you have made no effort to correct your mistakes. Arlecchino often wonders if you're just a very forgetful person, that, or you're just an idiot.

'I mustn't let the children stay in my mind for too long. For now, I have to focus on The Decider and returning them to The Tsaritsa for the mission.'

Arlecchino pays no attention to this world. She has seen The Jester feel emotional towards its progression but can not see it in the same light. All she wants is to finish the mission so she can return to the House of Hearth and focus on the Hydro Archon's Gnosis.

Pulcinella - 40%

He finds their behaviour appalling. Y/N in The Rooster's mind is incredibly childish, he finds their 'coping methods' blatantly rude and unforgiving.

They're impossible to deal with at times. Maybe, if they had a clear idea of their own predicament and the Harbingers predicament, they would understand that none of the harbingers want to be there in the first place! The very idea of you being in the same area as him riles him up... However, he has grown to appreciate your behaviour considering it reminds him of home. Yes, you can often act worse than a 7 year old, but he does understand that you're not in a good place right now. And you shouldn't be faulted for that. Would he ever explain that to you? No, definitely not. These feelings he harbours causes him to feel protective over you at times. Pulcinella can't explain it, there's something about you that makes him so angry yet so forgiving. If you ever make it out alive under the Tsaritsa's guise, he might consider making you a high ranking attendant under him. Perhaps you'll even rise to his right-hand? No, he mustn't get his hopes up. You're bound to die the second you enter Snezhnaya.

'Did they just prohibit us from entering in the garden? I have to interject, prohibiting us from entering their bedroom is completely expected, but the garden? Absolutely not.'

Pulcinella doesn't care about this world. As a mayor, he's more focused on the heap of work he'll have to do when he returns. The very thought sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine, considering the fact that he always completes his work on time in his schedule.

Scaramouche - 47%

He sees The Decider's existence as worthless. The Balladeer can't tell whether you're dim in the head or playing your cards weakly. You have clearly shown him you're powerless and unwilling to even try and escape your situation. Must he do everything for you?

They're too nice to the Harbingers in his opinion. Why, despite them murdering your family, do you show them kindness? Show him kindness? Not even a day later of being kidnapped and held hostage in your own home, you share your food with them. They didn't command you to do that - the majority of them don't even need to eat! You chose to give them your homecooked meal, and for that, you've somehow earned Scaramouche's respect. For the first time in almost 500 years, you caused him to hold his tongue and not point out the blatant truth, your cooking was disgusting. After following you to make sure you wouldn't run out of the house crying, he promised himself that you would never have to eat that food again. Why? Because he'll cook for you. It would be wise on The Decider's part not to question him about this though, he himself has no clue why he suddenly feels care for you despite only knowing you for a couple days. The thought disgusts him, has he not learnt his lesson?

'All of their struggling so far has done nothing for them, are they waiting for the right moment? Hm, maybe I should do something to... push them in the right direction.'

At first, Scaramouche despised this world. The people are useless here, the air he breathes in feels blotched, and the surplus of technology used is downright uncomfortable for him. Everywhere he goes, there's some kind of light staring back at him. Is there even a way to turn them off? How can you sleep when there's still light outside? He doesn't understand you. Now though, Scaramouche secretly can't bear the fact that he'll eventually have to leave you. Maybe this world isn't so bad after all...

Sandrone - 40%

She thinks that The Decider is lacking something important. The Marionette can't decide whether she likes them or not. On one hand, they're knowledgeable about this world and its beautiful technology, but on the other... they look so... plain.

They're too impractical, and display irrational behaviour. It seems to her you don't think before you speak, she despises that kind of person. Sandrone believes that the truest enemy of perfection is emotion, you support her beliefs by simply being yourself. Although, you have shown resilience, which did take her off guard at first. Despite throwing a tantrum and causing an emotional escapade, you seemed to shape up after. Perhaps you got everything out of your system? To her, this is marvellous progress. Now she can continue to ask you her own questions about this world and its discoveries.

'Ugh, that's not right either. I knew I should have drawn a diagram of the machine before taking each part away to inspect. What to do, The Decider seems too busy with the others to help me out here. Perhaps I should... deal with their problems so they can deal with mine.'

In the beginning, Sandrone despised this world. It felt weird, not to mention the possible danger of unexpected attacks. After awhile, she came to regret her outbursts at Dottore, and now enjoys every single day she gets to be here. Everyday, she has a new gadget to tinker with. The list never ends, it feels like being in her workshop! Despite wishing she could return to Teyvat as soon as possible, she definitely won't become bored anytime soon. From this unique experience, she's learnt to assess the situation more before giving a vocal opinion.

Signora - 20%

She knows something is wrong with The Decider, but she just can't put her finger on it. The Fair Lady doesn't really care either way, allowing her arrogance to control her interest.

Their immaturity got them in this mess; Signora really doesn't care what happens to them in the end. Sure, you gave them a roof to stay under during their stay in this world. But, she knows that if it were completely your choice, you'd kick all the Harbingers out the second you could. Other than that, she doesn't really have anything to say to you, and has no intention of choosing to talk to you. If she was ever forced to make conversation with you, she supposes she could give you some pointers for clothes.

'What are they wearing this time!? I can't do this anymore. If it weren't for me being stuck here, I could care less. But every single hour I have to see The Decider is pure torture! Seriously, what are they wearing?'

Signora doesn't really like this world, although, she's not that bothered either. All she wants is to get The Decider to the Tsaritsa and continue her mission in collecting the Gnoses. In fact, if Dottore fixed the machine, she would be in Inazuma right now with the Raiden Shogun's Gnosis in her very hands! ...Or so she estimates anyway.

Pantalone - 20%

He has nothing to say to The Decider. The Regrator honestly cannot be bothered to talk to them, considering the fact that he would have nothing to say. It could just be him, but he doesn't see anything special in you at all. Is Dottore sure he as the right person?

They truly are boring. If you were interested in banking, or had problems with money he could advise in some way. He's so bored just fiddling with his coins in the house. Give him something to do, anything. He would beg, but he feels that's beneath him. Do you seriously have nothing to do in your house? It's not too small, so he doesn't think you're poor, but the only thing he can do is watch the 'television'. Even then, he can't do that because Dottore's hogging it all day with a pen in hand! For the love of the Tsaritsa, get him out of this world before he dies of old age. That, or give him some work. He's itching to get back into his paperwork for the Northland Bank he put off before coming here.

'And that is the 20th time I've struck heads. Has Dottore left to bother The Decider yet? Ah, it seems he has not.'

Because of you, Pantalone is shivering in anticipation to leave this world and get back to Teyvat. However, from his conversations with the mad doctor, it seems like that won't be happening any time soon. He is this close to snapping, if Dottore won't find a solution to get them out of this world, Pantalone will have to turn to you instead. If you don't have the answers he wants, you'll have hell to pay.

Tartaglia - 42%

He enjoys Y/N's company. The Young Lord* likes spending time with you whenever he can, even if he can tell it annoys you sometimes... That doesn't matter though, because what's important is you haven't pushed him away yet!

They're funny, their behaviour to him is very amusing. He's spent hours by your side and somehow doesn't get bored! In the beginning, he only spent his time around you because he wanted to know about his future, to this day he curses his selfish behaviour. Now, he spends time with you because he wants to. Besides Capitano and Pulcinella, he hates all the Harbingers and physically can't be in the same room as them for more than an hour before feeling his Foul Legacy grow within him. But you? You nullify that feeling completely. In fact, Childe hasn't felt the abyss within him grow the entire time he's been in this world which is a miracle! Occasionally, he does feel bloodthirsty and asks you for a fight. But, after seeing you shrivel away in the mention of violence, he stops himself and goes to The Captain again. He'd rather be denied by the legendary captain compared to you. Childe can still feel electro jolt through his body when he sits down for a much needed rest, The Balladeer is too harsh on him sometimes.

'Where on earth are they? They're not in their bedroom, not in the garden, not in the kitchen, and not in their office! Did they... no, they can't have escaped. Perhaps they-- Oh, there they are! That's unusual, they never go to the bathroom at this time.'

Despite enjoying his time here with you, Childe knows that after awhile he'll begin to feel homesick and wish to see his family again. He also knows that when the time comes to return to Teyvat, he'll have to let you go and give you to the Tsaritsa. This is what is stopping him from getting to know you on a personal level, the thought makes his heart feel tight in worry for you.

*Note, I am using the meaning of 'Childe' as his official title because I cannot take 'Childe' seriously I'm sorry- I see it as a nickname since that is what Tartaglia seems to use himself.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @shellofthewell @ginnxy-galaxy @clara-maddenlin @bk-4-trash-fire @uniqaal @tnsophiaonly @vianitry @dottoreandcolumbinaslovechild @melou008 @lsleepysimpl @steadybreadbluebird @thebigkessydisaster @eliciana @kamit-frog @twst-kumi @idk098 @kurayamioterasu @mmeatt @the-lazy-perfectionist @florelll

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *12*

Phantom knew that all of this would end badly, really. But as soon as he heard that Skulker was trying to get the pelt of the Superman he knew that he didn't really have a choice.

So he flew to Metropolis to rescue the struggling hero. When he reached them, it was worse than he thought.

Skulker was wrecking havoc without regards for the civilians, while he tried to catch Superman. The hero on the other hand was at least still standing and evading the ghost. But he also couldn't land a single hit. If Danny would let them be, this fight would go on forever or till Superman tired out.

So while Skulker shot another Missile at the Kryptonian, Danny flew invisible behind him and shot an ectoblast in his back. After a short fight with a lot of banter, Skulker found himself in the thermos and Danny and Superman landed on a rooftop.

"Thank you for your assistance! I don't think I recognize you, but I'm glad that you came to my aid against this unknown enemy", the Man of Steel smiled at him and really, Danny should have just nodded, gone invisible and fly of. But... Superman was a real life alien! A founder of the Justice League! Someone who had been to space missions! So yeah, he was a little starstruck.

"No problem, really! It was somewhat my fault... We just talked while fighting and somehow you came up and he just flew straight here, because he wanted to add your pelt to his collection. Normally he only really hunts me...", and his brain to mouth filter didn't work again, great Fenton.

Superman looked concerned for a moment, before he hid it behind an awkward smile. "I suppose he is one of your rouges then? I'm glad to see that someone with your abilities uses them to protect humanity like he should."

And that was enough to shift his expression of Superman. Just because he had these powers, didn't obligated him to protect anyone, except his own hunt and subjects! And Skulker was more of a friend nowadays, he just had become to excited because of a super rare alien and his obsession had kicked in in full force, because they hadn't really found a healthy outlet yet. Just hunting Danny every few weeks when the young adult had time between college classes wasn't really enough.

"You should consider joining us and show us how to defend ourself against a rouge like this", the superhero said, without realizing the shift in Danny's demeanour.

"He isn't really a rouge anymore... It's just a bit of a work in progress still. I also wouldn't really qualify as a member for you little team, since in terms of my species I'm still a literal baby. And I don't think that all of you will still be around when I'm considered an adult or even a teenager. So the answer is No, I won't be a child soldier for the League, nor will I tell you how to hurt my friends", Danny huffed with crossed arms, just to turn invisible then and fly off, not caring for the fact that the other hero seemed to be blue screening.

[theloganator101]

The Great BNHA Review: We Live in a Society

The world of fiction! The place where everything in the story happens. So when you're worldbuilding there are many things to take into consideration to make the world of your story feel alive.

From the people that inhabits it, the cities, towns, villages, and locations the characters live in. And even having a set of rules to follow to avoid plot holes and help the world they live in make sense.

Much like how despite technology being more advanced compared to real life, yet still not being able to have flying cars or advanced robots. Those kind of things can sometimes break immersion in the story, and as a writer you would want to avoid that as much as possible.

HOWEVER! The world BNHA takes place in doesn't make a lick of sense when you think about it for more than thirty seconds, and the foundation of the world breaks the more you think about it.

Case in point, UA!

I think at this point we all can agree that UA wasn't an actual school and instead a glorified boot camp to train child soldiers to fight. And for a series called MY HERO ACADEMIA!! There's hardly any academia in it at all.

Apparently Hori didn't wanna bother with that part of the series and being forced to write "boring" scenes and just get back to the exciting battles. Like where're the scenes of the class studying for their latest tests? Where're the scenes of the kids doing their favorite activities? Where're the scenes of them bonding with their superiors?

WHERE'S THE FUCKING ACADEMIA PART OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN SERIES!?!?!

You can't just name it My Hero Academia and only give us 20% of what the show is called! It just feels like false advertising at this point!

Also about the whole child soldier thing? Yeah let's go deeper into that.

Why are we relying on TEENAGERS to fight in these big battles and save the world when they've only been in hero school for a single year? That's literally like forcing teenagers to discover a cure of a disease when they've only taken a year of biology class!

And yeah, I get it, it's an anime so it's expecting you to suspend your disbelief, and they already had experience with fighting villains before so it would make sense to recruit them. But again, these are fucking teenagers and we shouldn't be relying on them to fight battles the adults should be able to handle!

This is one of the biggest problems of having your story take place in a world similar to modern real life, because here adults actually gives a shit as to what children go through and knows it would be fucked up to send them to fight in war! And the excuse of it taking place in Japan and thus how they do things is different compared to most countries is NOT GOING TO CUT IT!

These grown ass adults should KNOW bringing kids to fight in a war is fucked up and should NOT be encouraged! But since they're so desperate they choose to get them involved! The only exception to this is Rock Lock since he already knows this!

Okay, let's step away from the whole child soldier thing and focus on something the story never gave us introspection of... the fact that we never got to see how quirkless people are really treated.

It's explained that 20% of the population is quirkless, so almost a quarter are born without it. And from what we saw of Izuku's life with it, discrimination must be a common thing in their society. So it would make sense to explore that since it's tied to the main character's backstory and how he's going to make things better for others like him.

... Except that's not how it goes.

We never get to see how the life of a quirkless person is like, we never get to canonically see Izuku interacting with someone like him with the only exception being Melissa. But the thing about her is that she grew up on an island and her father a respected scientist, so it's kind of difficult to tell how the quirkless life is like if this is the only example we get... and it's not a good one.

But wait! There is a canon major character that was also quirkless like Izuku! And it's Yuga Aoyama. And how did the story treated him?

Oh it was revealed real late into the story with no awareness and treated him like shit for being an unwilling traitor, then replace him with Shinsou who whined and complained his way into the Hero Course.

Uhh, what the fuck?

And the worst part about all this is that Izuku has no reaction or acknowledgement whatsoever! He doesn't sympathize or feel less alone, he doesn't comment or say anything about this! So it's like what's even the point!?

Oh don't worry, we'll come back to this whole Izuku not acknowledging his past later in the review! But there's one more thing I wanna talk about in this world.

Is how blatantly biased society is to the Heroics occupation.

From what we've seen and learned, people are not allowed to use their quirks in public. And that the only way would be able to legally use them is to have a provisional license... which is only obtained if you're training to be a hero.

Uhh, but what if you don't wanna go into heroics? What if there is a person who wants to be a comedian? A layer? A construction worker? What if they have quirks that they think would help them in their jobs? Would they get in trouble if they tried using their quirks on the job? Is the Provisional License exam the only way to be able to use your quirk freely? Is there another test people can take to get one if they don't want to go into heroics?

Yeah you see what I'm trying to say here?

Since Hori's so focused on getting to the next big battle that he barely thinks about the world BNHA takes place in and leaves holes in the process. The world of BNHA feels more like a dystopia where heroics is all that matters and that anything else is boring and not as interesting. And since the world itself is so flawed, that I don't feel immersed into it at all and all I have are these questions on how things are run.

So in the next part, we'll be taking a look into the themes and messages the story tries to tell it's readers... but oh boy, did it really fumble with it's messages.

[cryptidcr3ature]

Saw a post by @verdemoun about Kieran childhood Headcannons. (Super good post. Go check it out.) So inspired by that, here’s my own childhood Headcannons about Charles.

Charles’s parent’s relationship was secret at first. His mother didn’t know how her tribe would react to her with an outsider, and his father didn’t want to upset them because they took him in. Soon enough, they were open about their relationship before deciding to start a family together

His father’s assimilation into the tribe was rough at first, but he showed he cared about learning their culture, and the tribe elders really took him in as one of them.

His mother was more worried about the world her baby was being born into, and his father assured her he’d do anything to protect the two of them.

His mother’s tribe spoiled him rotten as much as they could. They gave him so many hand made toys and blankets and spent hours telling him stories that he would never remember but he was entertained anyway.

He was a very curious kid. As soon as he could, he was off exploring the woods and in everyone in the tribe’s business. His parents always thought it was both hilarious yet exasperating chasing him down when he was on his adventures.

Despite everything, his family was so happy. They shared so many laughs and happy memories together when Charles was young. It almost felt as if the world wasn’t against them.

When the three of them were about to live on the run, Charles’s uncle gave him his first bow and taught him how to use it just in case he needed to.

After they left, Charles asked his parents when they were going back home. That was the first time he’d ever seen his mother cry and his father angry. He was less curious after that day.

His mother taught him everything she could in the short period of time she could. He didn’t understand why, but he knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer.

He was only 8 or 9 when they were finally found by the government. He begged the soldiers to let his mother go, as his father attempted to fight the soldiers. Both of them were left disappointed.

His father took it hard. He promised the tribe and his wife that he’d protect her, but he failed.

Charles sort of forced himself to be “the strong one” after that. The curious, happy child he once was gone too soon.

Charles started hunting more to get out of the house. He was still just a kid, so he couldn’t find work so he started selling pelts to the butcher to earn money. This is where he earned his work ethic.

Charles’s sympathy for his father turned to resentment the more his father fell apart.

They’d argue so much the neighbors would intervene on occasion.

One night their fights got more intense than ever before, and Charles decided that he was gone. Charles’s last words to his father were “I wish you died instead of mom!” Even though he didn’t regret leaving, he regretted his words.

[padfootagain]

The Last Ones On Earth (IV)

Chapter 4: An Age

Hello, hello! Here is a new chapter for my Darkling series!

I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

****

Pairing: The Darkling x reader

Warnings for the series: mentions and depictions of violence and warfare, mentions of trauma

Warnings for the chapter: None

Summary: You and the Darkling are a team, even if no one knows it. Beyond being a team, you are the only one he trusts, and he's the only one you care about, and you're each other's true love. But if you've kept your secrets hidden for a long time, now that the Sun Summoner is fighting against you, it's time to reveal who you are, and what you are capable of...

Word Count: 2744

Masterlist for the series – The Darkling’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Alina stares at you as if you were a ghost. Or perhaps a dragon. Or a strange mix of both.

You give her a minute to register your words, you can almost call them a threat. You doubt that she’s weighing her options, though. You reckon she simply tries to understand what your words mean.

And then it’s back. The pride in her gaze, the rise in her chin, the tightness in her jaw.

Stupid girl who believes herself important…

“You say you want to talk, and yet you use threats already.”

“Who was put in chains to see you again?” you reply with amused sarcasm.

“And we were clearly right to mistrust you,” Zoya crosses her arms before her chest, her beautiful features slightly distorted by anger.

“Indeed!” you shoot her a smile. “It was pretty reckless to let me see all of you so easily.”

“David vouched for you,” Genya replies in a grim fashion, and David averts his eyes to stare at the carpet.

But your smile softens as you turn to him.

“Thank you, David. That was very nice of you.”

You turn towards Alina again. You notice that her hands ae touching.

Your smile grows, this time, more threatening, almost predatory.

“Child, let’s not make a mess. I simply want to talk, I haven’t come to hurt anyone.”

“Say that to the soldiers outside.”

“Collateral damage, I’m afraid,” you shrug. “I’m not going to hurt anyone in this room, I promise.”

“If you side with the Darkling, is your word worth anything?”

You raise a surprised eyebrow.

“If you truly knew him, you’d know how foolish that remark is. The Darkling is a lot of things, but he does stay true to his words.”

“And by ‘a lot of things’, you do include mass murderer, of course,” Nikolai points out.

“Coming from a man whose main occupations are pirating and inventing mass-destruction weaponry, I do find the remark particularly ironic.”

But you heave a sigh, tired of losing time you don’t have. There is too much work to do. Grisha to rescue, friends to bury, a whole nation to lead…

“Now, please, Alina. Again, I will not hurt you, so come sit down so we can talk.”

“I’ve never liked you,” the girl mumbles under her breath, her hands slowly moving, and you can see glow coming from her fingertips.

You roll your eyes.

“If I fought every person I didn’t like, only three people in this room would still be alive, including me. And you would not be breathing anymore, Starkov. But as I can’t choke you to death with my bare hands the way I truly long to, please, don’t do anything stupid and sit down.”

With a frustrated sigh, Alina closes her fists, but lets her power subside, and at long last, joins the gathering around the wooden table again.

“We will not yield when it comes to destroying the Fold,” Alina stubbornly declares.

“I am aware of repeating myself, but it will not work without the Fold,” you reply.

“You cannot destroy entire villages!”

“You cannot force people to change if you give them a chance to remain as they are.”

“People can change.”

“They can,” you nod in agreement. “But most of the time, they don’t want to. Why would they? If what you are asking for goes against their own interest, why would they change?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You snort at that.

“Please… Don’t be so naïve. Of course, some people have enough compassion to not hurt Grisha. But the majority will take centuries to reach this kind of tolerance. And in the meantime, people are dying. Our people.”

“We are all Ravkan,” Nikolai argues.

“Are we? Because when I was arrested by your men a few weeks ago and kept in a cage without water, food, or anything against the cold for three days, waiting to be executed that more Grisha were captured because, and I quote ‘it would be a waste of energy to set up the gallows just for a couple of them’… without any sort of trial or justice whatsoever, I did not feel very Ravkan… but I did feel very much Grisha.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer, instead he looks guiltily at his hands.

“I don’t care about Ravka,” you answer in honesty. “I don’t care about Shu Han, I don’t care about Fjerda, or any other nation. At the end of the day, we are all humans. And we are Grisha, and otkazat’sya. The Fold is not to be used as a threat against Ravka alone, that’s the whole point. It’s the only weapon in our possession that is powerful enough for all Grisha to be safe, no matter where they come from.”

“I do not condone what has been done to you,” Nikolai finally speaks, his voice slow and measured. “But if people are turning against Grisha, it is because of the Darkling’s actions.”

You roll your eyes at that.

“This has been going on for centuries, it is nothing new, they simply have an excuse to do as they please without any repercussion, and they enjoy their newly-found freedom to slaughter all the Grisha they want. It happens again, and again. We have tried to be useful, we have tried to prove people we are no threat, we have tried working hand in hand with kings, and it doesn’t work. The Fold is our last chance.”

“You speak as if you had done all of that, but you are barely older than us,” Zoya spits in a venomous tone. “Who do you think you are, Maeve?”

“Y/N,” you interrupt her.

The girl frowns.

“What?”

“My real name is Y/N. Maeve is only my latest identity, I’ve had many of those before.”

Suddenly, Alina’s eyes grow round, and she finally seems afraid of you.

At long last, some intelligence…

“Are you a spy?” David asks, taken aback by your statement.

But you shake your head.

“Not exactly.”

“You are like him.”

All turn to Alina as she speaks again, her voice uneasy.

“You said you are a powerful Durast.”

“Incredibly powerful,” you correct her.

“You are like the Darkling.”

“Aleksander. That’s his name.”

He’ll hate you for saying it out loud, for revealing something so personal about him.

Aleksander. His first name, his true one. The one only you and Baghra know. The one that tastes of the young man you met all these years ago, unconscious in the snow somewhere near Fjerda…

 All around the table frown. As if they never wondered what his name was. And perhaps they truly never cared to wonder. Perhaps the title was enough. It’s easier, anyway, to stare at a man you send to die on a battlefield and see only a rank, a title, and not the human wearing it. It’s easier too to kill an enemy if he is but a shadow, a symbol, and not an actual breathing man.

You lean a little over the table, your forearms resting on the hard surface, your fingers intertwining together.

“Aleksander and I are extremely powerful Grisha. Just like you, Alina. Just like Baghra. Just like Saints.”

“I don’t understand,” Mal admits.

“Grisha draw great strengths from using their powers. The more powerful you are, the better your health. Some of us are so powerful, we are virtually immortal. Or, well, if you smash my head with a sword, I will die. But I barely age at all. I can leave for thousands of years.”

“Bullshit,” Nikolai curses.

“I’m afraid not. It is a great curse, indeed. But power always has a cost.”

“Some would consider themselves lucky to never age. Especially my mother, considering all her efforts to hide her true age…”

“Well, my dear prince, your mother has not seen people dying for hundreds of years.”

Again, Nikolai looked away.

“You said that Alina was like that too…” Mal insists, and you don’t fail to notice the way Alina flees his gaze.

“Indeed. She will without a doubt outlive all of you, and your descendants on many generations.”

“If it’s so unbearable, why are you still alive? We wouldn’t be in this mess if you and the Darkling had given up,” Zoya adds bitterly.

But when you turn to her, your stare is filled with a cold fire that shushes her.

“Many powerful Grisha kill themselves, after a while, after it’s too much to see all the people you love die over and over again. Aleksander and I were lucky, we found each other. And don’t forget that without our efforts, the Little Palace would not exist and Grisha would have never known any type of safety. We were the first to manage to live for longer than a couple of years at the same place, while using our powers, and remain safe.”

“You speak as if you were there when the Little Palace was built,” David frowns.

“I was there,” you correct him. “I built the place. Literally. I am a Fabrikator, after all.”

“You do expect us to believe you?” Mal scoffs, but Alina shushes him quickly. And you can see on the faces of the others that their opinion of you changes as they realize that Alina does, indeed, believe you.

And rightly so. After all, you are telling the truth. The way you had planned to do.

You choose your next words carefully.

“I have seen the same pattern again and again. I know what will happen, because I have seen it before. I have tried every other way to help Grisha: hiding, fighting, being useful, being tamed, being strong… it doesn’t work. It never works, because otkazat’sya are afraid of our power, because they feel different and thus frightened. You ask me to wait, that we are in no rush to change the world, but I have been working towards that goal for hundreds of years. I am not in a rush, I am patient, indeed. But things must change, eventually. And we have an opportunity here that will never present itself again for things to finally go the way we want.”

You heave a sigh, and you seem tired now. Despite your face untouched by the many years you have spent on this earth, there is something new in your gaze, a sadness that doesn’t fit the youth of your features. It seems ancient, brought by a pain too great to have occurred in only a lifetime.

“If you want proof, I can tell you everything you want to know. I’ll tell you how Aleksander and I met. How we ran. How we hid. How we fought. All the things that we tried to help Grisha and how it always failed. How we were betrayed and how we survived. If it can prove my point, then so be it.”

“How old are you?” Alina asks after a short silent.

Her voice is cautious, slow. As if she’s afraid of your answer. And perhaps she is. She should be. After all, it shows how powerful you are, how much of a threat you can be. To her, who is doomed to a deathless life as well, it also means facing the truth about her lover.

Your smile is smug when your lips curl upwards and you answer.

“I’ll turn 889 in a couple of months.”

Over 400 years ago

Os Alta – over the grounds of the royal Palace

Your hands moved relentlessly in those days. There was so much work to be done. You had help, of course, from otkazat’sya workers but also from other Fabrikators. It was the name that was chosen for the Grisha sharing your powers, along with a colour: purple, like the petals of flowers, like berries, like poisons…

But on this room, your work was to be done in solitude. No one could know about the changes you were bringing to Aleksander’s War Room. It would protect you from eavesdroppers, fire, and many other threats. It would be a safe room. Even if Aleksander’s plan in the army seemed to be working for now, you reckoned you couldn’t stop being cautious. You needed safety, as always.

“You are working too late, my love.”

The warm voice filled your heart with something both peaceful and excited. You couldn’t refrain a smile as you turned to your husband, who was walking inside the room and closing the door behind him.

“You must rest,” he insisted, but you shook your head.

“I am perfectly fine. Besides, I can’t work on this room during the day, it’s too risky.”

Of course, he knew you were right. Still, he wished you could rest more, he wished you could be safe and wouldn’t have to hide…

Soon. He hoped it could be soon. With this safe haven you were building together, it could be the answer to everything. Perhaps it could even be a home…

You chuckled fondly as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

“You’re distracting me!” you complained in faked annoyance, and Aleksander knew perfectly what you were doing.

“You love it.”

“I do not! I am busy!”

“And I am tired and long for a good night of sleep in a comfortable bed with my beloved wife.”

“Is it not too risky?”

“We are safe for now, let’s enjoy it, while it lasts.”

“Do you think this could be it? That we could finally remain safe?”

“I do not know. I hope so.”

“But we’re both too old for foolish hopes, huh?”

You exchanged a sad smile.

“We should not be seen as a couple,” Aleksander went on, and he knew he was breaking your heart a little by saying that, the same way he was breaking his own. “It would be too dangerous.”

“I agree. We are both powerful, we will live long lives… It would be too frightening for the otkazat’sya.”

“Build us a room where we can be ourselves, my love. We will pretend the rest of the time.”

You turned in his arms to face him, and his hand immediately raised to rest over your cheek.

“I’ll make you pay for that,” you warned him, and he raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Really? Will you? And how could I repay this debt towards my favourite Fabrikator?”

“An awful lot of kisses will be required. And some cakes. Lots of sweets.”

You both laughed at that, despite your shared tiredness, despite all the things you had been through. A bright laugh made of bright hope, a fool’s hope perhaps, but hope all the same. The sounds filled up the empty room, and echoed in its blank space.

“So, we’ll hide that we are married?” you asked after growing quiet again, and Aleksander nodded, although you could see it pained him to do so.

“It’s safer this way. If I am to step up, I will have many enemies.”

You nodded, tugging your head on his chest, so he could rest his chin on you.

“We’ll make it work,” you reassured him, feeling the tension in his body, the fear too. “We’ll make it work, Aleks.”

“I know. I’m just… worried that you might… that I might lose you.”

“You won’t lose me. I’ll be right there. And I’ll steal an awful lot of kisses in this room.”

“Is it safe already?”

“Safe enough for us to have this conversation, yes.”

“Can you lock the door?”

“Already done it.”

He chuckled.

“You’re getting good at using your powers without moving your hands.”

“I still had to move a finger, but my hands didn’t touch.”

“That’s my wife. So powerful.”

But he felt you tensing in his gentle hold.

“It will be worth it, right? All these moments together we’ll have to sacrifice, all this fighting, all this work… tell me it will be worth it. Tell me we’ll make it.”

He took your face in both his hands to force you to look up at him.

“It will be worth it,” he assured you, and in his dark eyes, you saw no lies nor doubts. “We will make it through. You and me, the way we have planned. The way we promised each other we would.”

“Until we’re the last ones on Earth?” you still asked in a trembling voice, even if you didn’t doubt him.

He nodded, a smile on his lips as he pulled you in a tight hold again.

“Until we’re the last ones on Earth, my love.”

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

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic @budugu @sayumiht

[marvelstars]

Anakin´s tragedy

When I saw TPM for the first time I wondered why George Lucas made the choice of making Anakin/Vader a slave, instead of bassically anyone else, this was hinted but never focused on in the OT but when you add how that experience shaped his mind and pov, it makes a lot of sense and helps to integrate, Anakin the noble slave child who helped free Naboo, Anakin the angry padawan, Anakin general of the clone wars, Anakin the fallen dark lord of the sith and Anakin the risen chosen one of the force.

You can see how Anakin´s pov relates to Vader´s mental logic coming from all those experiences.

Anakin was born a slave first to Gardulla the Hutt and later Watto and while he was a child he resented watto but could not get truly angry at him because he didn´t beat him too often and he was a bussines man after all, even if his bussines was owning him and his mom using a bomb inside their bodies.

Anakin as a child is noble, self sacrificial, resourceful, with a deep wish to make the galaxy better with good actions and maybe someday, become a Jedi to be able to free his fellow slaves, because Jedi are the warriors of peace and justice right? yet he still sees himself as property to be owned simply because that´s how he was born.

But then this kid was told by a Jedi master, well we didn´t come here to rescue slaves but we may rescue you because you are the chosen one and can help the Jedi in their fight agaisnt the Sith and Anakin still helps him and Padme because it´s the right thing to do and then he has to make his first compromise, leave his mother a slave to become a Jedi.

The Jedi brought Order to the galaxy and were it´s guardians even if they mostly do missions for the Senate right? therefore he should not hold agaisnt them the fact they never helped free his mother. He sacrificed his life with his mother and later lost her to be a Jedi and he was free in exchange, more or less. He still can´t help but be angry about it.

Anakin marries the love of his life and feels guilty for his votes towards the Jedi but after losing his mother he doesn´t care much for his Jedi title but he wants to stay and help Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order during the clone wars, this leads to him becoming one of the greatest jedi war generals the Jedi Order ever saw but it distanced him further from his Jedi peers because they saw him as a war mongering unstable man, which ironically he would not be if he wasn´t send to mission after mission in service of the Jedi Order and the Republic.

Anakin swears on his mother grave to use his force powers to stop people from dying in her memory. He uses it to try to keep his fellow padawans and soldiers from death, it helps but it isn´t enough.

The very virtues that helped shape him into a great general and warrior who cared for his troops and helped the citizens of the republic to the best of his habilities, which was exactly what the Jedi Order needed in times of war, were the reason why he became even more isolated from the order, no matter how much he helped them and how much they needed him, there was just something wrong with him from the beggining from the Jedi pov and they can´t trust him.

Anakin can´t believe how they can still mistrust him so much because most of what he did in the war was to help and please the Jedi council and the Order, his mother was killed over his choice of becoming a Jedi and that isn´t enough for them? he is half fallen for his anger over losing her and his guilt keeps him from talking to anyone about this except Padme and Palpatine.

Anakin went from being a noble, sweet boy who didn´t mind making sacrifices for what was right to a person who had to accept you had to make compromises in life, after all, he made the compromise of leaving his mother as a slave to become a Jedi right? and during the war the jedi keep making more compromises, like accepting a slave army with a chip on their head to keep them obedient right?

It isn´t hard to see Anakin going from this, believing it will matter at the end, to making the compromise of well, for Padme and for peace, the only other thing he asked Palpatine "Will we have peace?" before going to attack the Jedi temple, he will have to sacrifice the Jedi Order after they almost did a coup by trying to kill the Chancellor of the Republic.

The Empire brings order to the galaxy even if it goes overboard sometimes.He can work with that, just like he did when he was a slave or a jedi. Vader wants to bring order to the galaxy. Vader belives in bringing that Order by any means neccesary, another compromise he made but one that makes sense for him, after losing everything, his old childhood dream of making the galaxy better can be made with the Empire if he only tackles enough of whats wrong with it, with Luke´s help.

Palpatine may punish and torture him sometimes but it´s alright, he rescued him from mustafar and he is his master, the closest person he has to a father and he loves him, he has the authority to do so even if by all purposes he is also his slave.

Vader only truly starts to strike back at Palpatine´s authority and ownership over him until he wanted to own Luke or kill him and forced him to accept that decision as his only two options, only then the Anakin as he used to be starts to come back and he does it fully when he realizes he can free all the slaves(subjects of the Empire) from his master and that he doesn´t completely own him body and soul, he just has to die with him, his mission was to stop the sith and he is a sith so he must die as well but it will be worth it, to keep Luke alive and maybe paid his debts.

It´s quite hard to see Anakin going this same path if he wasn´t born a slave and joined the Jedi Order in the circunstances he did but Lucas wrote the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker and that´s how things happened.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Lack of Conviction

Episode five of Ahsoka really hammered home how goddamn ridiculous the entire Clone War situation truly was. Watching Ahsoka on the front lines of that Geonosis battle, a fight where she was canonically fourteen or fifteen, was ludicrous back in the original show, but seeing the character in that situation portrayed by the age appropriate Ariana Greenblatt was f*cking jarring. Greenblatt is sixteen years old, splitting the difference of Aksoka’s age range throughout the Clone Wars. She’s as close to a real, teenage, Tano, that we’re going to get and it is wildly apparent that she is a CHILD. The goddamn Jedi Order, was sending child soldiers to fight in a trade war against an analogous Sith overlord and his army of drones. I don’t care how good at space wizarding your teenager is, they are still just a goddamn teenager! And Ahsoka wasn’t the only one. Barris Offee immediately comes to mind! The age you become a Padawan Learner to a Master Jedi is around twelve. That means there were children as young as twelve taking laser shots to the face, not to mention the wholesale slaughter of these cats during Order Sixty-Six, because of a goddamn trade dispute. How f*cking ridiculous is that? Anakin even said the quiet part out loud when addressing Ahsoka’s hesitation. He told her that Obi-Wan trained him to be a peacekeeper, but Anakin was training Ahsoka to be a soldier. That sh*t was the intent. That was the plan. That was the whole dynamic; Train an army of child astro-sorcerers in the ways of war, by throwing them headlong into one. From anyone’s point of view, that’s f*cked up and lends credence to everything Poppa Paps was talking about. Imagine trying to convince the ludicrously powerful Chosen One you’re in the right, when the only other person outside of his mom and wife whom he genuinely loved, was put in his charge to turn her into a weapon. And then when she turned out to be a fantastic one, they cast her aside the second someone gets murdered in those hallowed Council halls. Cats give Anakin sh*t for slaying them Younglings but how are the Jedi any goddamn different? They literally use children until they are used up. I can only imagine the trauma the kids who survived will have to endure. Hell, we’ve seen a few of them already. Ahsoka, Cade from those absolutely dope games, Hera's dead baby daddy, and that one chick from Kenobi; None of who are healthy, well adjusted, stand-up adults! Absolutely emotional train wrecks, the lot of them!

More than that, this episode proved to me just how much of Anakin is in Ahsoka. They mirror each other as much as Ahsoka and Sabine. It's wild to see in live action, especially getting that from Hayden who finally got to play a complex version of Anakin. Clone Wars went a long way to redeeming that character but seeing him actually force a catharsis in Ahsoka was rough. I've seen them cross lightsabers before and it broke my f*cking heart. I've spoken at length about that, but seeing it here? Knowing this is training from a fully fledged Jedi Master Anakin? I cannot articulate how amazing that is. He pushed Ahsoka to her limits. Forced her to confront the grief and guilt she had for being a weapon, for abandoning Anakin. Hayden gave this role so much depth, so much emotion, it was just breathtaking to witness. Seeing him flit between Vader and Sky Guy was almost too much but it very necessary. It was necessary for Ahsoka. She had to see that, to come to terms with that, in order to move forward. She is everything Anakin is, even Vader, as demonstrated by those Sith eyes when she contemplated the unthinkable. Interestingly enough, even channeling the Dark Side like a champ, you can tell Anakin was concerned for his Padawan. Not that he would be killed, Anakin is beyond even that at this point, but that his Padawan, would fall like he did. Ahsoka did not. She chose life and Sky Guy gave her that smirk, telling Snips there was hope for her yet. F*cking everything. That last exchange was f*cking everything. Especially when you take into account that Anakin pulled her into the World Between Worlds to save her life. As a goddamn Force Ghost. What the f*ck does THAT even mean??

[highfantasy-soul]

maybe I'm just projecting my own stuff onto The Acolyte, but it's kinda frustrating seeing people take Qimir's "I don't wanna follow the jedi's rules" and see that his interpretation is "I can do whatever I want even if it hurts people" and stop there. Safe and comfortable in their bubble of "so that means anyone against the jedi are like him and the jedi, once again, are prefect and above reproach!"

Qimir is the person who chafes against the Jedi's rules that we see - because those without power or strength have already been crushed underfoot.

It's similar to the whole idea of "Why are all the gays so angry and mean? Because you killed all the nice ones, so us angry mean ones are all that's left"

Just because what Qimir is doing is wrong, doesn't make what the Jedi do right. There's nuance here. There's ethnic cleansing here. There's re-education and generational trauma here.

We NEVER see the witches do anything remotely evil. Yet the Jedi chased them out of the galaxy and forbade them from teaching their culture to children. Do you know what that's called? Ethnic cleansing. It happened to indigenous children all over the world, and you can see it specifically in boarding schools for native american children. Tribal cultures were squashed - their children stolen and re-educated to fit the white standard and forbidden from speaking their native language, wearing their hair in their indigenous ways, and worshiping they way they had for generations. (Notable here is the fact that due to WHITE people's over-hunting of bison and whales, indigenous people were legally barred from hunting them as well - something that was very integral to their practices. White people caused the problem and indigenous people's cultures suffered all the while white people get to act all holy and 'eco-friendly' about it)

To place your culture above that of others and force everyone else to either adhere to your ways or do their thing quietly in the dark where no one can see them - and no children can exist - is BAD. The point is to remove a culture from existence as no new members can be taught traditional ways. That is a part of ethnic cleansing. (Stealing indigenous babies from their families and placing them with white, christian families where they'll never see people from their birth culture again is a whole ass thing)

This also causes a lot of generational harm where those who have been 're-educated' from a culture sometimes look down on their native family and see them as 'less civilized, savage, backward, and less-than' the white culture they were indoctrinated in as children. That's the point of getting children so young - they're malleable and raise them with enough propaganda, and you can get them to look their own family in the face and denounce them.

Many will not have the power to fight back, so they'll have to abide by the new rules and everyone will say "see? they're still alive! That means we're not oppressive!" But others will speak truth to power and try to stand in defiance of those rules - many peacefully, just by embracing their native traditions. Did the witches attack the Jedi? No. They removed themselves from the Republic sphere of influence and bore children. Yet the Jedi still came and told them they weren't allowed and forced them to 'present' their children for Jedi judgment.

Does that mean every aspect of a culture that's not the majority is automatically going to be good? No. But NO culture is 100% good. Why do the Jedi get to work towards being better while no one else gets that opportunity? Why are minority cultures held to an impossible standard of perfection while the majority gets to skate by training child soldiers, stealing toddlers, and enforcing their religion on the whole galaxy?

When you push other cultures down, the ones who rise up in violent opposition aren't going to be nice about it. But note how even though Qimir's actions are awful, he only ever has killed enemy combatants. The Jedi are soldiers, cops, invaders. They are able to perform state-sanctioned violence against anyone they choose (not sure if it was intentional, but look how they treated those arrested for crimes in episode 1 - none of those people had gotten trials yet, none had been proven guilty, but they were treated as guilty without a second thought).

We understand Frank Castle's motivations even if we don't condone them - because he's fighting back against incredible systems of power that hurt people and he doesn't see another way to hold them accountable. To me, Qimir (and Mae and the witches) fall closer to that category than Vader or Palpatine.

Look at how quick people were to scream that the witches were brainwashing Osha, yet ignore how the Jedi do practically the same. Now imagine if the witches went around to children only 4 years old throughout the galaxy and tried to get them to come join the coven - never to see their families again. It'd be horrifying. Yet the Jedi do the same, but because it's the 'majority', it's 'the norm', we assume it must be right because "Hey, the Jedi are the good guys!"

Idk, I think the Acolyte is doing a wonderful job of 'not taking sides' and just presenting each side's arguments without judgment rather than saying 'so they're right and you should side with them'. To me, NO side is 'right', they're all just people and the situations are messy. Qimir might be wrong, but so are the jedi - just because Qimir is wrong, doesn't mean that the jedi are automatically right and above reproach.

There are others suffering under jedi rule that have long been snuffed out or subjugated so fully that it will take the rise of the empire in order for them to have the space to stand up again. And I think dismissing those people because 'Qimir is worse' is a disservice to the message and discussions the acolyte is trying to promote.

[barbarianbookhoe]

Hi!! ♥️🌻

I saw your requests are open and I just read the one you just posted from Aleksander.

I wanted to see if you wanted to write a story that came to mind when I read your story (it's okay if you don't feel like writing it because it seems repetitive to you)

What if it goes back to the time when the Darkling created the fold.

Aleksander is married to an inferni and they both have a small child, so when the king's men find him in the cabin by accident they end up hurting his son and he dies.

The reader and he are devastated and the Darkling, seeing his wife on the verge of collapse, decides to corrupt himself and create the fold against Ravka.

And that is the villain origin of The Darkling and his wife

(Maybe you could put in a bit of Baghra talking to Aleksander or the reader about her grandson)

Hope you have a nice day and I'm excited to read the stories you post ♥️🤗

Christ on a stick, you thought about that a lot at night? It's an insanely good request (and I might just believe it that if he had a wife, this might've been one reason for him to become a villain)

A/N: Again, thank you for your patience love!

The end feels kinda rushed and cringe-y, but meh, I tried my best

What you made me

TW: character going slowly mad with grief, child death (2), assault, angst

(Some of the things in the story are really not for the weak!)

They came without warning.

It was a peaceful night, nothing out of the ordinary, the fresh midnight air easing his exhaustion that seemed to follow him for the past weeks.

His wife wasn't that energetic either, but at least they knew her reasons for being tired all the time. Growing another life inside their body tends to do that to women.

Aleksander couldn't wait to finally get home to his family. His wife, one of the most cunning Infernis he's ever met, their three year old son, who seemed to look like his exact replica, and their unborn daughter, who they were excited to meet in just a few short months.

As soon as he opened the front door to their home, Aleksander heard the quiet footsteps hurrying to him in the candlelight. His wife hugged him with such force, he had to take a step back to fully balance both of them.

When he slightly let go of his wife, she didn't hesitate to give a weak slap to his face. Aleksander looked bewildered. "What was that for?"

"For not informing me about you coming home later than usual. I've been worried sick for the last four hours, wondering where the fuck you are!"

Y/N whisper shouted at him, so as not to wake their son. Her gaze could've melted stone right in that moment. Aleksander didn't like to be on the receiving end of her furious glare.

Then she pulled him by his neck and kissed him as if he had been away for not four hours, but four years. Her kiss was tender, yet commanding. Aleksander didn't stop until she pulled away first.

"And this, is for coming home to us." Y/N pressed her forehead against his, as he put a hand over her bump. It wasn't that big yet, but it was enough for anyone to know she wasn't alone in her body.

"She's been kicking a lot today. Drives me mad," Y/N said and her husband laughed. "I bet she's just excited to meet you."

"Just four more months and she'll be here." She smiled a little at the thought. Aleksander kissed her again, and she melted into his hug.

There was an urgent knock on the door, which made the couple turn towards the door. Aleksander gave Y/N a look, and she immediately went into her son's room, out of sight.

They came without warning.

Aleksander just put his hand on the doorhandle, when suddenly it busted open and soldiers of the Army dragged him out of the house and kicked him onto the ground.

Aleksander could hear muffled sounds from his home, then his son was shouting and sounds of a fight could be heard. Then he saw the soldiers dragging his pregnant wife out the door, with their son crying into her neck as she held him, a gun pointed at her head.

Y/N was an Inferni. One of the best. Actually, if Aleksander was honest with himself, she was the best of the best. More trained and in control of her powers than anyone he's ever seen. Before he could ask himself why didn't she use her powers, he quickly reminded himself that if she did, it would cause more trouble than what they were in right now.

Y/N slowly walked with the soldier beside her, the gun still at her temple, and got stopped in front of Aleksander. She didn't let her fear show, but her husband knew that she was terrified. Their son was in lethal danger, and they both knew that if the situation got out of hand, they could lose their unborn child too.

Aleksander tried to remain calm, all the while counting the guns pointed at him and his family. The soldiers began arguing with him, listing crimes he did never commit, connecting every single one of them to the fact he was born a Grisha. Not just an ordinary one, but a Shadow Summoner at that.

The shot came without warning.

He could see the war behind their hateful gaze, they admired him just as much as they feared him. And nothing is more powerful than fear. Even the slightest second, the tiniest bit of dread can make you lose everything you hold dear.

Aleksander tried to reason with them, calmly at first. Doing everything they said, trying to make them see he is not the monster the rumors make him appear to be.

Then he tried playing mind games on them, manipulating them, pointing their fear towards something else, convincing them with everything he could.

He saw the soldiers leave her wife and son alone, now focusing more on him. He swallowed down the relieved sigh that was about to escape him.

But it only lasted a few seconds, before their leader began yelling, figuring out he was using them to leave them alone. It soon turned into an argument where Aleksander still tried to hold back himself from killing every one of them for putting a hand on his family.

It turned into a fight. Aleksander still refused to use his powers, no matter the urge he felt to do the exact opposite.

One second the soldiers were crowding in on Aleksander. One of them tripped with their gun still in hand.

The shot came without warning.

The next second all he could hear was the painful shriek of his wife. He turned his only a second but it was enough to make him lose control.

Their son's blood all over Y/N's face and hands as her whole body seemed to tremble, her eyes looking at the ground. Her face was full of shock and nothing else, as if her thoughts ceased to exist.

Another scream left her, more painful than the first as she slowly collapsed on her knees and cried for their son.

Aleksander couldn't look at the scene anymore. His focus was on the soldiers now. The urge he felt before, the urge to destroy, it came back with full force. And he let it out.

The shadows consumed everything and for a split second there was nothing except darkness. The sound of a blade whoosing through the air could be heard and all of the soldiers were dead.

Aleksander quickly dropped down in front of his weeping wife. He tried to get her up, to escape somewhere they won't find them, but she was still in too much shock to focus on anything else than her son.

"Please, my love, I beg of you, we need to get out of here." Aleksander begged with tears in his eyes, not wanting to lose her too. Y/N looked up at him with eyes full of pain, the blood a horrifying reminder on her face.

"This-this is, it's just, it's just paint," Y/N stuttered, trying to make a coherent sentence, then she nodded, as if confirming something. "It's just paint." She nodded again, and Aleksander watched her with a sad face.

Eventually he was able to help her up from the ground and he quickly gathered some of their stuff from the house, most of them being clothes and their son's blanket. He gave the blanket to Y/N, who immediately wrapped their dead son in it, as if it could warm him up. Aleksander didn't have the heart to explain to his grieving wife their son was dead, when she was in such a shock. It would do more damage than good.

They made their way through the forest, only stopping to drink or for Y/N to rest a little. They finally arrived to a small cottage on the edge of the forest, and the sun was just about to come up. Baghra rushed them inside, her face full of worry.

They sat down at the small table in the kitchen, Aleksander and Baghra constantly talking about what happened, when Y/N spoke up.

"We need warm water," she whispered and Aleksander turned to her. "Of course," he said and grabbed a bowl to get some water for them. Baghra looked at the blood on her face and her grandson in Y/N's arms, wrapped in a blanket that had bloodstains on it.

"I need to wash it off. It's just paint." She said and Baghra looked at her with concern. Aleksander was about to tell her to leave his wife alone, but Baghra gently lifted the blanket from her grandson's face. Seeing his lifeless eyes, his pale skin and the dried blood on the back of his head, Baghra had to muffle a cry.

"It's just paint." Y/N whispered again, and began to rock her son gently, as if he was upset.

As if he was still alive.

That's what Y/N's been saying ever since that night. Whenever Aleksander or Baghra tried to take her son out of her arms, to check up on her properly, or to get her to sleep at least a few hours, she would say it.

He was just sleeping.

Her grip would tighten around the boy, out of protection, as she'd say he's just tired and he just needs to sleep. Sometimes she would rock him gently, or humm a lullaby to him, or even tuck him to bed, as if he was still alive.

Y/N was more like a ghost, never seeming to eat, never seeming to sleep, to talk, to move, or do anything beside taking of her son's corpse.

Aleksander was begging her to eat, day and night, never getting more than a few bites down her throat. He tried to reason with her, if not for herself than do it for their unborn daughter, who quite literally won't survive without her mother.

That made some life return to Y/N, and she began to eat a little more every day. Eventually she didn't even notice when she started to eat four or five times a day, always too caught up in her thoughts that never seemed to stop.

There was a small part of her, a voice in her head trying to get her back to reality. Make her see that if she tries to bury her pain it will slowly destroy her. Make her see that she needs to take care of her well-being.

It was as if her brain was trying to keep her awake, so as not to relieve her pain in her nightmares. As if she was trying to block out reality and slowly create her own world, where her son was still alive and smiling and running around.

He was just sleeping.

But it was grotesque just looking at herself: she was getting bigger and bigger as she came closer to giving birth, meanwhile her son remained still and pale as a ghost, never growing anymore.

She tried to bury her pain, alter her grief in a way it would hurt least, create a aworld inside her where none of it happened, where her sweet boy was smiling at her.

One day she was tucking her son to sleep in the late afternoon, the sun not setting yet, when she touched her son's face and noticed the dried blood. She's been touching her dead son for months, but today was the day when it felt real.

When she finally realized that this was not her son anymore, this was not the little boy she loved, this was no more than a cold body, a corpse, waiting to be buried.

Aleksander practically burst through the door when he heard his wife's painful scream. He quickly held her close to his chest as she cried over her son's corpse. These past few months he'd been on edge, waiting for Y/N to finally snap out of her head.

It hurt him to see her in so much pain the first time. He did not imagine it would be just as painful the second time.

Y/N wailed, screamed, sobbed, eventually she even began to burn the coat off Aleksander's arms, but he didn't care. He soothed the flames a little with his shadows, but let his wife let it all out. He wasn't going to stop her from grieving.

Aleksander didn't imagine it to be just as painful as the first time. He had soon realized it can be even worse.

Blood was dripping on Y/N's legs as she cried. Her head was throbbing from all the screaming and crying, her chest was getting tighter and tighter from the pain, and she felt like she was burning.

She felt the blood slowly dripping from between her legs while Aleksander was shouting something to Baghra. In her painful cries she realized what was happening.

She began sobbing even more.

Baghra had to deliver the baby, even though she was coming nearly two months earlier. Y/N had to push the baby out, even though she wasn't in active labour yet. If she waited too long, the baby would get stuck, and both of them would die.

The girl was born still.

Y/N was still holding her dead newborn weeks later. She was rocking her, humming lullabies for her, changing her, even smiling down at her and holding her little hand, talking to her.

She began to alternate her pain again. This time it became a lot worse a lot more sooner. It wasn't just the baby anymore, she brought her dead son into her made up world too. She would act as if both children were alive and happy, one time even sitting with them in the garden and talking with them.

Her son was sleeping, because he was running around all day.

Aleksander and Baghra could only watch her descend into madness. Whenever they tried to get her back to reality, to let her grieve her children properly, as soon as she realized she would have to leave the imaginary world behind, she acted like nothing was wrong.

After another month of his failed attempts, Aleksander had enough. One day he stood in front of his wife, who was about to get their son from the bed, and he stopped her.

Her daughter was sleeping, because babies sleep a lot during the first months.

"This has to stop." He commanded, and Y/N looked at him playfully. "I know I shouldn't smolder him this much, but he's just-"

"He's dead!" Aleksander told her. "He's-," His voice cracked and he had to swallow down the lump in his throat.

"Our son is dead, Y/N. Our daughter too. Both of our children are dead." He whispered, not hiding the pain in his voice while grabbing Y/N's face between his hands, trying to make her understand.

"That's not funny. They're just sleeping, you know how kids are-" Y/N reasoned with him, but it made him snap at her.

"Our children are dead for fuck's sake!" Aleksander shouted, the tears evident in his red, sleepless eyes. "Our son was shot right outside our home, and our daughter was born dead." He said as if stating facts. They were facts, but he had to tell them to her face to get her to realize.

"I beg of you Y/N, please, don't bury your pain any deeper. I cannot see you drive yourself into madness." He shook his head, not caring how desperate he sounded. He was willing to do anything at this point to get a reaction out of her.

Y/N looked at him worriedly, but it soon turned into a knowing look, a look that screamed of pain, grief and fear.

"They're just sleeping." She whispered and tears streamed down her face. She remained neutral, though her voice was filled with agony. "They're just sleeping."

She kept saying those words as recognition filled both of their eyes.

Aleksander realized she's been aware of her loss, but she refused to believe it, hoping it would take away her pain if she tried to erase the facts from her mind.

Y/N realized her children were gone, dead. Her husband has been trying to keep the last piece of her sanity still in tact, hoping she wouldn't succumb to madness, or depression, or worse, suicide.

Baghra helped them make a grave and thombstone for both their son and daughter. Y/N and Aleksander stayed at their graves long after Baghra went inside to give them privacy. They just stared at the graves in silence, the tears dried on their faces, with sore eyes and probably empty gazes.

Y/N grabbed Aleksander's hand and gave him a tight squeeze, as she spoke up.

"I want to kill them." Her voice was no louder than a whisper, filled with agony. Aleksander looked at her as she turned to look at him.

"I want all of them to feel the pain that I have to feel." Her voice wavered as her gaze lit up in anger. "I want the world to burn."

Aleksander looked at his wife without surprise, without guilt, without any kind of remorse about what he was going to do.

"Then we destroy them."

Y/N and Aleksander stood side by side in their beautiful keftas, the black and red colors foreshadowing the soldiers' fate.

Aleksander let go of the reign holding his powers, therefore he began creating something that would change their lives forever.

Y/N was true to her words: she burned everything that came across her way. They didn't call her the best of the best just because of the title. Her power had the ability to improve itself, to evolve into something far bigger than she ever would've imagined.

She only needed the least bit of heat, wether from nature or from the human body itself, for her to conjure her fire.

She burned them. All of them.

Her hunger to avenge everything she had to lost, became far greater than she thought at first. She told herself she wasn't a killer, she wasn't a monster.

But what is a monster, if not the one who enjoys inflicting pain without remorse? And enjoying it, Y/N did. She smiled as she watch the last of the soldiers scream for mercy, the mercy she was not allowed to have.

Baghra tried to reason with the both of them as she watched the Fold slowly divide Ravka. She argued with them what the consequences of their actions are, that power like this has a price they might not be willing to give.

Y/N stepped closer to the woman, the emotions gone from her eyes.

"Do you know ehat it feels like to watch your own children die?" She asked and Baghra didn't know how to answer. She looked at the girl with grief, opening her mouth to convince her of stopping, but Y/N grabbed the collar of her dresd and yanked her closer.

"Watching your children, your own flesh and blood, their lives slowly slipping away in your own fucking hands, all the while knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it." Y/n said, her voice a mix of anger and sadness, with a hint of madness creeping in.

Aleksander put a hand on her shoulder, silently telling her to stop and just go, but she didn't stop.

"You think I wouldn't avenge their death? Did you seriously believe that I wouldn't bring justice in their name?" Y/N chuckled silently, but it sounded like a madman's laugh, slowly slipping into insanity.

"Every single one of them, every single person who believes, or even thinks about Grisha as the enemy, as the monster, will pay the price for my children's death. Was it not for them, they would still be alive. And I will not stop, not until the last person against Grisha is dead, burning under my fingertips." She threatened and stepped away from Baghra, who now had a very concerned look on her face.

"And I will look them in the eye and laugh, and laugh, as they die." Y/N told her at last, and turned to walk away from her. Aleksander had a firm hand on her back, his belief in her not wavering for one second.

Together, they will create a new order, a better Ravka, where Grisha will no longer be the subject of the world.

Where Grisha are no longer a threat.

Where Grisha can live like Kings and Queens.

[written-in-flowers]

Disillusionment: Hongjoong x Reader

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 16k

AU: futuristic!au, rebellion!au, lovers to enemies, enemies to lovers again.

Genre: Angst (lots of it), tiny microscopic bits of Fluff

Summary: During her career as a Lieutenant of The People's Republic, Hwang YN has witnessed things she'd rather forget and learned things about those she served. On the day of her ex-boyfriend's execution, she must decide if she really is fighting for the right side.

Warnings: disabled!reader (she is missing her left ear and eye, and has a bionic leg), PTSD, graphic depictions of violence, guns, war, descriptions of poverty, mentions of child trafficking, general injustice, corrupt people being corrupt, assassination attempt, and conspiracy.

A/N: This is my EXTREMELY LATE entry into the Outlaw: The Project collab I did with @ssaboala and several other lovely people. My entry is for our beloved leader, Kim Hongjoong. I hope you guys really enjoy this <3

***

You sat in the meadow alone. A sea of grass dotted with purple flowers should be a sight of wonder and awe, yet you found it hard to enjoy. A sight juxtaposed to the bustling, noisy city a few miles beyond, you used to find tranquility and quietness in the meadow. It’d once been a place of safety and gentleness; you could gather your thoughts here, basking in the sun and silence. But, not anymore. Silence only pushes forward things you’d rather forget. Yet, you could not think of anywhere to be but here right now. 

They’re executing him today. In a few hours, Kim Hongjoong will be led onto the scaffold in the city center, have a noose put around his neck, and a door will open from under him. You squeezed your eyes shut at the image in your head. Hongjoong, with his determined, defiant eyes glaring at the painted faces of the city people, standing proudly on the scaffold. He won’t cry. He won’t give President Yoon the satisfaction. It’d been the same back in The Academy. Whenever an instructor or commanding officer gave him a near impossible task, hoping to break him, he never let them see the strain. It was why they liked him so much; why they spoke so highly of the soldier who never backed down, who did not accept failure as a result. Hongjoong had once been Prestige Academy’s brightest star, with a shining military future ahead of him. But, one terrible act changed all of that. 

‘No, YN. I’m not going back.’

‘Hongjoong…’

‘This ‘Republic’ has gone too far. Look around you, YN. These people have done nothing to us. They’re innocent.’

‘They are aiding the rebel forces. They’re not innocent.’

‘Yes, they are! They’re hospital patients. They’re human beings. YN, I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. It’s not right.’ 

‘Hongjoong, no! Please, come back! Come back!’

You fought back the visions in your head. The thick lump in your throat slowly built up remembering that night. You remembered how the heat of the flames mingled with the crisp winter chill; the smell of burning wood and bodies still clung to your nose all these years later. No amount of lifeless corpses, exploding bombs, or screaming women could drown out the one image stuck in your head. He’d removed his helmet, so you saw his cobalt blue hair, his light skin and his eyes. His beautiful brown puppy eyes that melted your heart every time you saw them. They’d looked at you with disgust and shock. They’d torn away from yours with pain and that same determination. The last haunting image was his white uniform gradually fading into the dark night; you recall running after it before being attacked by a rebel fighter. By the time you’d put a bullet in him, Hongjoong was gone. He’d abandoned you in the midst of a raid; he’d turned his back on everything he knew and joined the rebel forces beyond the barriers. He soon enough became their leader, leading a squad dubbed ‘The Pirates’. They gained the name because of their hovercraft bombings on Republic outposts, where they’d then touch down and scavenge whatever they could from wreckage. 

He became the ‘Pirate King’, and with one single act imprinted himself in Republic history. 

The ping from your wrist broke you from the cruel memory, and you looked at the small watch face to see an incoming call. When pressing the answer button, you prepared yourself for actual conversation today. 

“Yes?”

“Lieutenant,'' said Captain Shin, “The execution will be happening in approximately six hours. Preparations for the Victory Parade are starting, and we need you to come down here.”

“What for?”

“You’re in one of the last floats, sir.” 

You exhaled deeply. The “Victory” Parade is being called ‘the beginning of the end’ by news outlets. It’ll not only make a spectacle of Hongjoong’s execution, but give the people false hope. What you hated most is that you and what’s left of your team will be “stars” of the show. You preferred to forget your “greatest triumph” and move on with your life, but it seems you won’t get that. 

Your mission to capture and subdue Captain Kim Hongjoong cost you lives. Task Force 66 had eight members. After storming the “Valiant'', Hongjoong’s base of operations, only four of you remained. Sitting in the grass, you thought of the admirable, courageous people you’d become so close to be snuffed out in President Yoon’s war against the rebels. Jax, a springy girl who loved explosives and fire power; Jisung, a sharpshooter eager to prove himself; Miyoung, an older woman whose age didn’t stop her from taking down foes twice her size, and brilliant Ryu, a guy you swore had a computer for a brain. They’d died helping you capture Hongjoong. They’d given their lives in service to The Republic. 

A Republic that did not care about them. 

“Right. Be there soon, Captain,” you replied somberly. “Over and out,” you said. 

“Over and out,” said Shin, and you both hung up. 

Gingerly, you unfolded yourself from your sitting position and stood up. You gave a small stretch as you gave the meadow one more look. You should put the whole place to the torch. Briefly, you thought of scorching this sacred place to remove all the beauty and memories it held. Memories of you and Hongjoong frolicking in the grass as children; playing and laughing until the sun went down. Memories of days spent under the trees that outlined the meadow, reading or listening to music. Everything reminded you of him. It was as if its taken pieces of him for itself. Every single blade of grass and blossom reminded you of the boy who made you feel happy when you felt like dying. You wanted to burn it all away. If the meadow didn’t exist, then neither would your memories. 

You turned away from the meadow and headed back into the small forest at the edge. Moving through thickets of bushes and trees, you let the fresh air and damp earth fill your lungs. You pushed out that night from your mind. Which night? You don’t even know anymore. The night you both met. The night he left you. The night you both met again. All the nights sharing kisses in each other’s arms, whispering words of love and promises of forever. You flushed them from your mind as you found your car waiting on the side of the road. One of the government hovercrafts painted in black with The Republic eagle and olive branches on the hood, you knew you’d be back in the city in less than an hour. The faster you could leave the meadow, the faster you’d leave those memories behind. 

Soaring high above the main road, you saw yourself in your windshield reflection. Where you once had a full, unblemished face, you now had a cybernetic eye and ear piece attached. The steel implant started at the crown of your skull and remained fitted to the left side of your face. Pieces of shrapnel and ear splitting blasts caused you to lose sight and hearing; the doctors said you were lucky. The shrapnel from the bomb could’ve lodged into your skull and you’d be dead. Instead, you suffered a ruptured eardrum and your entire left eye. Scarring from the fire stretched like rivers on a map from your eye socket and across your forehead, cheek and jawline. Not the prettiest face, but the new eye came with lots of perks. Infrared vision, night vision, and scope abilities gave you more advantages than the average soldier; you heard pins drop from several feet away with your new eardrum. If one pulled off your denim jeans, they’d find the bionic right leg. One of the few times you ran into Hongjoong after his defection left you with a grievous leg injury that not even the Republic’s medical technology could heal. 

‘Yield. Yield now and tell your men to retreat, and I’ll spare you.’

‘I’d rather die!’

‘You can’t win this, YN. We have the upperhand. We have the trains and the sectors. Please, my love, yield and surrender. Please, I beg you.’ 

‘If you have the upperhand, Pirate King…then I’ll chop it off!’

And so you did. On a field of damaged earth and bloody corpses, you’d pulled out a hatchet from a dead soldier’s head and swung it at Hongjoong. He tried blocking it with a knife, but instead your blade went deep into his wrist. It didn’t completely sever the hand; you remember his screams of pain and wish you could take them all back. You sometimes thought of what it might’ve been like if you had surrendered. Would he have accepted you back? Would you two have grown to love one another again? You don’t know. You hoped he would. He promised forever, hadn’t he? 

You snorted as you reached the city gates. Ahead of you, you saw the long line of citizen vehicles below slowly making their way in and out of the silver city beyond the tall gates. In your government issued hover car, you flew to the tops of the walls where official vehicles came and went. Flying between the two sky-high towers, you lowered your window. A guard in black and white stood in the toll booth window, holding out a gloved hand. You handed him an identification card, which he scanned on his computer. 

“Welcome back, Lieutenant,” the man said in a gruff voice, giving a stiff bow. 

“Thank you, soldier.” 

You’d cried that night. Everyone thought it was the morphine high the doctors kept you on, but it wasn’t. Not entirely. You hadn’t meant to hurt him so brutally, but your own pain overwhelmed you. He’d told you that he’d be at your side forever. You were supposed to move through the ranks together, go into military training together, and maybe settle down to have a family. You’re meant to grow old side by side. He’d said as much the first time you kissed him, sixteen and the world at your fingertips. You couldn’t see yourself being with anyone else; you never loved anyone the way you loved Hongjoong. It was supposed to be forever. 

Then, the night the Republic bombed that hospital changed everything. You regretted that particular incident; you’d been a soldier of the Republic, who followed orders regardless of the severity. The people of Sector 5 were housing and aiding groups of people charged with crimes against The Republic. You and Hongjoong were part of Squad 245, a group assigned to put down any signs of dissent in the different sectors. Like every attack, you started with a blanket of bombs that created craters in the ground, blowing up people and crumbling buildings. When the initial attack ended, you touched ground to take down the rebels hiding out there. Hongjoong saw the hospital before you did. He’d seen the fires blazing within, the stone walls collapsing to the side, and people stumbling and crawling from the ruins. Most of those in the hospital were innocent women, men, and children who’d happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. You aren’t proud of the harm done that day. 45 people died in that bombing, and more became permanently injured. Everyone around you said they deserved it; they helped rebels escape “Republic justice”. What even is the Republic’s justice? Killing innocent people with nothing to lose? Oppressing those they have deemed beneath him? People they claim need them, when really it is the other way around.

The you back then would hate the person you’ve become now. She’d call you a traitor for thinking such thoughts. But, that little girl in her white Republic uniform doesn’t know about the things she’d end up witnessing. She won’t know about the time she witnessed Republic soldiers kidnapping sector children to sell on the black market to city elites. She hadn’t witnessed the terror and fear those children showed when she stepped into a Republic truck; some of them as young as eleven-years-old. That stupid, blind fool would damn you for shooting each of those soldiers in the head, and releasing those children into the forests beyond. She’d try finding excuses; she’d try to rationalize and justify such horrors because to accept that her precious government is evil destroys everything about herself. 

She’d have to admit that Hongjoong was right, and that she should’ve followed him into the cold night. 

You flew on the sky lane, and saw the tall triangular building of the military headquarters, nicknamed ‘The Pyramid’, in the distance. You also spotted the long lines of traffic backed bumper-to-bumper. Preparations for the parade meant to precede Hongjoong’s appearance were already underway, with workers setting up streamers, lamp posts decorations, flags, and barricades up and down the street. An irritable sigh escapes your lips when you realize you’ll be in traffic forever. You had places to be. Swerving out of the line and merging into a lower lane, you parked your car in an empty spot by the sidewalk. You’d come back for it later. 

The Republic City used to be a place called ‘Seoul’, until the new regime took over decades ago. Towering buildings going high into the sky were decorated with neon lights and advertisements. People crowded the trash-riddled streets, and made it through the general smog created by the hover cars flying high between the buildings. You can’t imagine your city being anything other than what it is now. The people in the sectors beyond the wall think Republic City is a mecca of opulence and beauty; where food is plentiful and everyone is rich. It could not be farther from the truth. Ever since the war began nine years ago, the luxury of Republic City plummeted. Walking through the concrete sidewalk, hands in your jacket pockets, you saw a young man slouched against a brick wall. Seeing his ragged clothing, full shopping cart, and paper cup sitting at his feet, you wished you could show the rebels that they’re not the only ones suffering. 

You saw a street food boat sailing a foot above the street. A portly man sat at the side, turning meat skewers over on a blazing fire. Quickly, you caught up to it. 

“Hey,” you greeted him, “Can I get two of those?” 

The man’s eyes lit up when he saw you. “Hey, you’re that Lieutenant from the TV.”

“Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Wow, you’re a real hero, ma’am,” he said. “I heard about those kids you saved. I can’t believe our government was letting soldiers sell little kids like that. I was really shocked, but they were lucky you came along.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It was to them and their parents. Here,” he picked up two fresh meat skewers, and put them on a paper plate. “Free of charge.”

“Sir, I couldn’t do that to you-”

“-I insist,” he said, pushing the plate closer to you on the counter. “You've done more for us than our own president. Don't worry about it. Besides, it’s Victory Day.”

‘Victory Day’, is what they called it. What victory? You stuck a bill into the tip jar on the counter, bought a drink, and thanked him. You walked up to the young man by the wall, and handed him the two skewers. 

“Here,” you said. 

His eyes widened at the sight of the two long meat and vegetable sticks. “Wha-Really?”

“Yeah,” you told him, “I’m not really hungry.” You gave him the food, and watched him greedily begin eating them. You noticed what he wore: threadbare clothes that might’ve been flashy and fancy at one point, and leather shoes that were worn out and fading. “What happened?”

He paused, reluctant to answer as he wiped grease from his mouth. “I used to work in the steel industry,” he said finally. “I ran the distribution before those bastard outlaws ruined supply lines and Sector 2 joined the rebellion. I…I lost everything. I can wait for this fucking war to be over,” he washed down the food with the orange drink, then said, “Maybe things will get better, right?”

“Yeah…maybe.” You fished in your pocket for a few bills, and stuck them in his cup. “For some shoes,” you said, “Winter’s gonna be coming soon.”

“Thank you,” he beamed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“Hey, you’re Hwang YN!” a high-pitched voice said behind you. 

You turned to see three young boys standing on the other side of the sidewalk. Each of them wore the soldier play sets the toy stores sold: black “bulletproof” vests with black gloves and helmets. The one who spoke smiled excitedly at you, holding a toy machine rifle across his back. 

“You’re the one who captured the Pirate King!” he said, pushing black strands from his eyes. 

“I am.” 

“That’s so cool!” his friend, red-haired and freckled, said with a smile. “I saw the little movies they played in the theater before the real movie started. They showed you going into that big ship with your gun like this!” he pulled up his own toy gun and made shooting sounds as he waved it around, “And the rebels running away!”

“You really showed them!” the third boy, blond and blue-eyed, said. “They were really scared of you!”

“I guess they were,” you shrugged. “You kids going to the parade?”

“Heck yeah!” said the first boy. “We’re going to watch the soldiers’ march and see the tanks! I want to be a soldier like you one day!”

“Me too!”

“And me!”

You couldn’t help remembering a young Hongjoong saying the same. When you’d both see the soldiers marching on Founder’s Day, he’d excitedly tell you how he’d be one of them someday. You both would be. 

“You’ll make great soldiers,” you said, trying to keep the sadness from your voice. “Once you’re trained up at the academy.”

This made all three boys jump excitedly. You high-fived each of them as they ran along the street, pretending to shoot invisible foes down the sidewalk. Moving further down, you watched the city continue to thrive around you. You made a turn down a familiar road towards The Pyramid, trying not to recall walks to headquarters with Hongjoong. You’d both wave down one of the floating street vendors to grab snacks before going to work. Hongjoong always bought the barbeque skewers, which you’d both eat as you walked. You stopped at a crosswalk when a delivery boy waited for the green light. On the side of his trunk, you saw the local news lines running through a screen. 

‘Pirate King Captured! War’s Ending in Sight!’ 

You remembered that today is meant to be a celebration. People filled the streets below, dressed in their best and preparing for the parties they’ll be having tonight. President Yoon planned to make Hongjoong’s execution a spectacle; it’s meant to symbolize the beginning of the ending. Members of your team still searched for Hongjoong’s crew, who’ve gone underground since his capture. They will be found soon enough, and they’ll also be executed. Once the Pirates are defeated, the rest of the rebellion forces will kneel. Then the Republic could begin to thrive again. 

A ringing sound from your ear piece interrupted your thoughts once more. Answering the call, you spoke first:

“YN here.”

“Lieutenant,” it was Shin again, “Are you on the way?”

“Yeah. My ETA is ten minutes. Why?” you passed the delivery boy, feeling his eyes on you but tried not to think about it. 

“Because, well…I wanted you to know that the Containment Center contacted me a few minutes ago.”

You froze. “And?”

“It appears The Pirate King has requested to speak with you.”

Every nerve in your body froze. Suddenly, your chest tightened and you stuffed a hand in your pocket. You looked at yourself in the reflection once more, seeing the damage on your face, and asked, “Why?”

“He didn’t give a reason,” he said. “All people headed to the noose are allowed a last request, and his request is to speak with you.” Shin paused, then continued, “It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out. He might even beg you for his life like the coward he is.”

“He’s not a coward,” you heard yourself snap at him. “He might be a pathetic rebel scumbag, but he is also a great soldier.”

“Forgive me, sir, but I…” you heard his hesitation, and suddenly the formal voice broke, “He killed Jax. He shot her in the back like a coward. He wouldn’t even give her the respect of killing her face to face.”

Jax. Your heart weighed heavier thinking of the wiry, stringy girl with neon green hair who loved explosives. She joined your team when you needed a demolitions expert, and she came highly recommended. Always smiling and laughing, you’d grown to enjoy her company and Shin had taken to her immediately. They’d been an odd but cute couple, with tiny Jax pushing the tall stern Shin from his comfort zone. Then the Pirates captured a group of Republic troops, and Jax happened to be among them. You’d done everything you could to get her back, but by the time you raided the rebel hideout, Jax and the other soldiers were dead. Shot in the back of the head like livestock. You couldn’t prove Hongjoong did it, but he’d given the order. His men do nothing without his say-so. Much like your own. 

Sometimes you forgot not everyone loved Hongjoong like you. 

“I understand, Shin,” you replied. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I loved Jax too, but she didn’t die in vain. Because of her explosive lines we uncovered the rebel hideout and discovered their plans to break into The Pyramid through the underground tunnels. She…She was a good soul.” 

“She was, sir.” You heard him pause again, then he said, “I take it that you’ll oblige his request?”

You shouldn’t. You should decline it and leave Hongjoong to die without ever seeing your face. After everything that has happened between you both, you shouldn't give him the satisfaction. He left you, so why shouldn't you leave him? You knew if you met him, you'd only end up crying and you cannot be seen leaving his containment cell in tears. 

“Yeah," you finally said, “I’ll see him.” 

You didn’t know what you’d say to him, exactly, but…You wanted to see him one last time, you guessed. 

“Very well, sir. Over and out.”

“Over and out.” 

You hung up the call and finally reached headquarters. The high wired fence kept a wall between the headquarters to the citizens of the city. Having left your car behind, you walked through the citizen entrance. The guard here wore a black and white uniform, and he nodded when you gave your identification card. You noticed his short, stocky stature, and saw he wore his visor low on his face. You couldn’t recall ever seeing this guard before. 

“Where’s Private Lee?” you asked impulsively when he handed you back your card. “He normally does the morning shift.”

“He was ill, sir,” the guard answered back. You’d heard that voice before, you knew you had. “I’m filling his spot until he gets better.”

You saw his name badge, seeing the words 'Kung Shinjin’ with the ‘private’ rank insignia on it. “Private Kung, is it?”

“Yes, sir. At your service.”

“I’ve never seen you before,” you said, “When did you enlist?”

“Two months ago, sir. They transferred me from Sector 2 after training.” 

You found that odd, but you didn’t put it at the top of your list. Hongjoong took up too much space in your head. 

“Hm, alright,” you said finally. “Welcome to the Pyramid, Private Kung.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

You walked up into the white building, and noticed the lack of people inside the main lobby. You guessed everyone’s at the capitol building downtown preparing for the parade and execution. You need to pick up the pace. Shin will no doubt want to talk before the parade begins, most likely to go over itinerary and the parade routes. You told him to keep an eye on them, since Hongjoong’s crew are bound to make an appearance. They'll want to retrieve their captain, and won't hesitate to kill to do it. 

Walking into the white and beige main lobby, you noticed two workers near the elevator doors. On a trolley, they rolled tall stacks of boxes towards the steel doors. On one of the boxes you read the name “Sal’s Bakery”. You guessed it was the President’s special celebration treat. He often did this to show appreciation to the military leaders. You expect you’ll have a box waiting on your desk in your office. Walking by them to the opposite elevator, you peeked inside to see dozens of thin white boxes with the bakery logo on them. You saw one worker, a young man with black hair hanging in his face, press the elevator button. The other man with him had short dark hair; both of them wore face masks as required by the Pyramid. A small tinkling caught your enhanced ear, and you saw the second worker drop a ring of keys. 

“Oh, hey,” you picked them up, “You dropped this.”

The worker turned to you, but his face mask hid half his face. “Thanks,” he said, taking the keys. 

“No problem,” a thought then occurred to you, “Hey, how much to take one of those off your hands? I have a friend in Containment who could use some decent food.” 

The two workers shared a look, then the short-haired one said, “Fifty.”

You scoffed at the price, but you supposed that’s what breaking the rules costs. You dug into your pocket for your wallet. You tried not looking at the box or the van for too long. More memories came flooding back to you. Hongjoong chewing on another hot, fresh donut from the box, smiling at a joke you told while you walked to class; him washing it down with a coffee and telling you that you were as sweet as the donuts. He’d always leave you the chocolate frosted ones because he knew how much you liked them. It became a special place for you both before classes. It’s another thing you’d burn down to kill your memories. 

You handed the worker the money, and he handed you a box. Opening it, you saw six glazed jelly donuts, still hot and fresh. “Thanks,” you said with a nod and left the workers to their deliveries. 

Entering the elevator, you pressed the level 8 button and let the doors close. The Pyramid is twelve stories tall, with General Bok’s office at the very top. The Pyramid was the epicenter of the military base, with housing and training grounds being right behind it nearby. You’re so accustomed to seeing more soldiers here, since the Pyramid is where mostly everyone worked. But, with preparations and security details in place, nearly everyone is at the city center. You honestly preferred it this way. Less people to congratulate you, or tell you how much they admire and support you. What you did wasn’t easy and you never wanted to go through it again. Your eyes landed on the -10 button on the panel. 

The Containment Center remained underneath The Pyramid floors starting on ground level and going down ten more floors. The most dangerous or high-profile prisoners remained on levels -9 and -10, so that’s where Hongjoong is kept. You felt the steel box gradually descending, getting further and further from the low levels, and you thought of the time you and Hongjoong had an assignment in Containment.

Your instructor, Major Yoo, sent you to the jails to interrogate a Republic traitor and learn why he’d been caught sifting through a commander’s desk. After intimidating and questioning him, you learned he’d been threatened into the search by a high-ranking officer. When you both passed this information to Yoo, he asked you both what should be done next. You’d suggested arresting the officer immediately, but Hongjoong advised patience. He said they might learn who the officer is working for if they kept surveillance on him. He’d been right. He’d gotten high marks and an award for capturing the traitor, his rebel contact, and the information he’d been passing them. 

You were so proud to call him yours. 

Your watch pinged again, and you pressed your ear piece. 

“Hey Lt,” a smooth voice said over the phone. 

“Hey Boggs,” you said. “What’s up?” 

“Shin wanted me to tell you that the parade is gonna start soon,” he said, “And to hurry up. You know, because you’re the star of the show.”

You scoffed, “As if. I’m not the one getting executed today. Tell Shin I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“YN…” you heard the seriousness in his voice. Boggs rarely ever used your real name. It was always ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘LT’ or ‘Hwang’. “I know this isn’t the best time, but when this is over and done with, I…I think I’m dropping out of Task Force 66.”

You didn’t ask why or protest. “Because of Sticky?” 

“No, because of Jisung…”

Jisung. Another soul lost to Task Force 66’s hunt. The youngest of the whole squadron, he’d become everyone’s little brother. Fresh from the Academy, he had the sharpshooter skills you were looking for; a marksman to rival Jung Wooyoung, best sharpshooter in the entire force. You’d see Jisung make near impossible shots, shoot at multiple moving targets, and never miss once. Sadly, even the far distance couldn’t keep him safe. He’d wanted to impress you, you supposed. He always sought your approval and praise, which you found endearing. “How did I do, Lieutenant?” “Lieutenant, did you see that?! I got him right in the eye through his own scope!” 

‘Lieu-Li-Lieutenant, I want to g-g-go ho-home…’

Private Do Jisung died in a battle fighting rebel forces in Sector 8, an industrial area of factories and refineries supplying the capital. You’d learned Hongjoong and his crew would be there, hiding out underneath an abandoned chemical factory, and you couldn’t miss the opportunity. You couldn’t stop yourself from picturing you and Jisung moving side-by-side in the large factory.  The grenade came through one of the broken windows, rolling and stopping by a few boxes labeled ‘chemical hazard’ on them. You didn’t have a chance to see who’d thrown it, but you did see Jisung dive right in front of you. The small grenade set off a chain reaction, causing barrels and boxes of flammable chemicals to explode all around you. His legs blown off in the blast, the medic couldn’t get to you because of the raging fires. You remember dragging him through the building, heat and smoke filling your lungs, until you brought him outside. You’ll never forget his ashen face going into shock. He died right there in your arms. The medic wasn’t needed. Jisung was only twenty. 

“What about Jisung?” you asked, watching the elevator numbers slowly go down. It’s slower underground. You hated it. 

“It’s the officials,” he said. “They told Jisung’s parents he died in an accident, but that couldn’t be right. The factory turned out to be a dead end, remember? Kim and his crew weren’t there, and the place was empty. I only saw one person there, and they got away before I could catch them. Why would they say it was an accident when it wasn’t?”

“They don’t really have proof that the guy you saw was there,” you explained, though something about it sat wrong with you. 

“But you saw that grenade go through the window.”

No explanation for that. You vividly recall the small black ball going through a lit up window and smacking onto the floor. You’d heard it seconds before Jisung, who then pushed you out of the way. 

"Maybe they don't want to admit we were caught off guard," you finally said. 

But you knew the opposite. Something about the entire situation bothered you, and Boggs knew it too. You wondered if Shin suspected the same thing. 

"So, you're leaving us then?" You asked, trying not to seem disappointed. "Where are you gonna go?"

"I don't know. Maybe get a security post like my dad did. We can talk about that later," he said. 

"How's Sticky?" 

Pak Sunmi. Quick thinking and tough, she joined your team with four years of service under her belt. Slight and long, Sunmi had many specialties but the biggest was getting into places others can’t. Not only with her good looks and non-threatening appearance, but with the parkour skills she picked up at a young age. You swore she flew through the sky when she ran, jumping and flipping and sliding like the wind carried here. You once joked she must have sticky hands to be able to hold onto surfaces so easily, and the nickname stuck. 

During your capture-and-detain mission on The Valiant, Sunmi crossed paths with Jeong Yunho. Him being several inches taller did not stop Sunmi from taking him one on one. You didn’t see the fight yourself, but Boggs had found her lying unconscious in the ship’s upper deck. The hospital medics told you she suffered severe cranial damage, and would need to be kept in the hospital until her surgery wounds healed. 

“She’s holding up,” he answered. “Her head hurts like a bitch, and she’s trying to get used to the metal plates in her skull, but she’s good. She convinced the doctors to let her see the parade."

"Is that safe?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not a doctor." He then added, "She said she wanted to talk to you too. Something wasn't right about what happened to Jisung, and she mentioned what happened to her too."

"What do you mean-

‘-Level -7: Containment Center Administration Offices and Directory.’

“I gotta go,” you told him, “I’ll see you later.”

“Alright, Lt. Over and out.”

“Over and out.”

You stepped out of the elevator and walked over to a receptionist desk where a young woman with orange corkscrew curls sat typing. 

“Excuse me,” you said, “I’m-”

“-Lieutenant Hwang,” she smiled, “Yes, I was told you’d be on your way here. He’s in cell 03 on level 10.” She punched in a few numbers, and a label popped out of a printer on the desk. “Here, scan that in the elevator and it’ll take you further down.”

“Thanks.” 

You turned to leave when her voice stopped you. "Um, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah."

She nervously rolled her pencil between her fingers and said, "I just wanted to say…I think you're a real hero."

Her words didn't shock you like they should. "For capturing a well known rebel outlaw, yeah-"

"-No, for what you did for those people in the lower sectors," she corrected. "I had no idea people outside the city suffered so much until I saw them on television. Those poor children…they must've been so scared, and those women…It makes me sick thinking about it. You were so brave to go into that town and do what you did. I don't think I could've done that."

The border town. That's what she's talking about, you realize. You and your squad rode out to a town on a border to refuel and stock up supplies. When you arrived, it was chaos. Women were rounded up like livestock in a pig pen; dead men hung from posts and roof tops, naked and burned. You first thought it'd been outlaws who raided the village, but to your horror, you learned it was a Republic squadron. You confronted their commander, who you discovered initiated the attack. He claimed they'd been harboring rebel soldiers. You saw right through his lie. 

And shot him point blank. Just like the other three. 

A young journalist hiding in a crate captured the "heroic moment" on camera and survivors of the raid told him their stories. Their suffering at the hands of the Republic opened up the eyes of city citizens, who'd been kept ignorant to the plight of those outside. The news started a string of charity events and fundraisers for the poor, homeless people in the sectors. Being charitable became trendy, and you kept being invited to gala after gala as a speaker. You hated it. You've never been good at speeches. But, the money went to the people who needed it the most. Seeing the sunken faces of starving children curl into smiles as they carried home sacks of oil, grain, and water made the "trend" worth it. 

You thought you and the crew would be imprisoned for killing the commander and his men but it never came. In fact, they awarded your squad medals of honor and heroism. General Bok declared the offending squadron as war criminals and deserters of the Republic; a bullet is what they deserved. He proclaimed your squadron personified everything the Republic stood for. 

You knew that wasn’t true. 

"It was the right thing to do," you shrugged. "Those people weren't the enemy. They were innocent." Much like the people in that hospital. You felt sick all over again. 

"I'm glad that at least there are some good soldiers still out there," she said. "Hopefully with The Pirate King dead, the war will end and everything will be alright."

You didn't have the heart to tell her how the war ending meant nothing. 

"Hopefully. Have a good day."

"You too."

You went back to the elevator down to the tenth level, pressing your label against the scanner until the doors closed. The government did a good job convincing people that the world will be as it was when the war ends. All their problems will be solved and things will return to normal. You didn’t see how that could be possible. Both sides have gone too far to ever be what they once were.  

When the doors opened again, the chill of the underground levels pinched your cheeks. White walls, linoleum floors and fluorescent lighting gave the holding cells a sterilized look. Walking down them, your footsteps made almost no sound, as if the walls absorbed the soft taps instead of bouncing them back. No wonder people went insane down there. You walked past several guards posted at doors or coming around corners, all of them nodding at you when you passed.

High-profile prisoners of the state had large cells locked behind two sets of doors. The first room you entered had a guard sitting behind a desk and another standing ready by the door. With a show of your label, the desk guard let you through. The door guard opened the main door into another small room with a thick, steel door on the other side. He opened this for you, then let you walk into the antechamber. 

“Fifteen minutes, Lieutenant,” the guard said, voice muffled by his mask. 

“Don't worry. It won't be long. Thank you, soldier.” 

He popped open the steel door, and you walked inside. In a room of white, he stood out like a sore thumb. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, The Pirate King looked vastly different from the boy in your memories. Hongjoong’s cyan hair hung over his eyes and undercut on the sides

 He had more ear piercings, indicated by the small holes your bionic eye picked up instantly. He wasn't taller, but he'd gotten buff for sure. Years of being on the run and fighting Republic soldiers certainly took their abuse on his body. However, what caught your attention instantly was his left hand. Made of steel plates, you saw the thin wiring between them every time he moved his hand. Since he kept his sleeves rolled up, you saw it went well past where your hatchet cut him. When he turned at your footsteps, he paused. He kept his eyes on your face, stunned and unable to look away. He'd once looked at you that way. At the Prestige Academy Winter Ball, where he told you that you outshone every girl there. 

"I know," you said. "Not as pretty as I was at the winter dance."

"You'll always be beautiful to me," he replied, and you didn't see a trace of a lie. Not even when your sensors checked his vitals and pupils. "I didn't do that to you, did I?"

"No. One of Song’s bombs did," you replied. You then lifted your pant leg to show him your metal leg, "You did this." You then looked at his hand again. His screams from that fight echoed in your ears; the blood that spewed and gushed from the wound and his pained cries churned your stomach. "They couldn't fix it?"

"No. Yeosang said you'd cut it almost in two," he said. "Thankfully, he and Mingi made this for me. It's not a shiny Republic model, but it works." He stared at your leg, "You didn't upgrade?"

"I didn't want to."

"Long pants at training?"

"Shorts still. I wanted to inspire my men."

"Like a true Republic Lieutenant." You hated hearing that. Hongjoong noticed this change in you, and said, “Are you not a Lieutenant?”

“I am,” you straightened up. 

He eyed you closely, not speaking. You hated it when he did that. It was the look he gave when he interrogated a prisoner, and wanted to read them. You squirm underneath his stare. He didn’t say anything at first, but you knew he would soon. He walked forward and sat a foot away from the glass. You did the same, pushing the plastic chair aside. Leaning forward, you pressed your label to a scanner, and a flap opened. 

"I got donuts," you said, pushing the box through the hole to him. 

Hongjoong hesitated. He looked between you and the donut box, and you saw his jaw clench. “I thought you might be hungry,” you instantly explained. “If you don’t want them, you don’t have to eat them.”

“No, it’s good,” his expression instantly changed back to a casual one, which threw you off, “Thanks.” 

Gingerly, he opened the box and stared inside before picking out a donut. You watched him eat the first once, shutting his eyes and taking in the sweet treat. Your hands curled up into fists as you bit back the lump in your throat again. A vision of a blue-haired boy eating a donut, wearing his white academy uniform, and smiling at you crossed your mind. It plunged a knife into your chest, and you regretted coming here. 

“Why did you ask for me?" You asked him, not masking your discomfort at all. 

"I wanted to see you."

"Why?" 

"Because I'm going to be dead in a few hours, and I wanted to see your face," he admitted openly. 

"Why?"

"Because I still care about you."

"I was sent to capture you," you said. "I was assigned an entire task force to hunt you down, subdue you and bring you here to your death. I haven’t seen you in three years. The last time I did see you, I nearly chopped off your hand and you severed my leg." Anger festered in your stomach and couldn’t stop it from surging hotly. You leaned in closer to the glass, glaring at him. Why did he do this to you? Why does he still have this effect? You hated the uncertainty. You hated the ‘not-knowing’. "Why did you ask me to come?"

Hongjoong hesitated over his donut, then said, "I wanted to know exactly when a loyalist, a servant of the Republic, lost her faith."

You knew what he meant, but didn't respond. 

"The YN I remember would blindly follow any order her superiors gave her," he said. "She did whatever they asked, no matter how morally wrong it was. You…you're not her anymore. I’ve heard about the things you’ve done out there in the field. People I’ve met always mention a Republic woman with one eye saved them, or came to their side when they needed it. A true Republic soldier would sooner shoot a person than offer her hand. So, when did it happen?"

You'd avoided talking too much about it. If you went too deeply, it'd open up things you wanted locked away. You stared at him, arms crossed, and couldn't stop thinking of the little boy who you met at a fancy dinner party years and years ago. 

"The kids," you heard yourself say. "I was on patrol with my crew when we came across a supply outpost. We'd finished sweeping out rebel hideouts along sectors 4 and 5, and decided to regroup with others in the area there. The plan was to refuel, restock our supplies, then head back to the camp. I'm there giving cover as my team started refueling when I noticed a black truck near one of the fuel spouts. It had the Republic seal on the side, but it didn't look like any truck I recognized. It reminded me of those supply trucks that come in and out of bases." You took a second, picturing the large truck sitting at the edge of the small camp site. There'd only been one other group there at the time, so it could only have been theirs. "I was walking by it when I…" you gulped thickly, "Heard someone inside." You held yourself tightly. It'd been sweltering hot that day. The humid heat stuck your clothes to your skin, and you thought you might die from the heat. "I saw some soldiers not paying attention, so I used my baton to open the back. They…I saw…I…they looked so small, and so scared."

"The kids?"

"It was boiling in that truck, and the air smelled horrible," you said, gulping the lump in your throat. "They had these water jugs attached to their cages and I saw candy wrappers and chip bags on the floor. They were dirty, tired and hot. One boy looked like he might pass out. I gave him my water, and asked who they were and why they were there. A girl told me soldiers went into their town and killed everyone…and took the kids…I…I couldn't believe they were Republic. I thought the soldiers might be outlaws pretending to be soldiers to get through barricades easier." You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the tears back. Too many things threatened to make you cry, and you wouldn't leave here crying. "I confronted the driver. He didn't even seem scared or bothered. He said that a commander ordered them to round up some kids for an indoctrination process. I had no idea what that meant, and he said I didn't need to know…"

"Indoctrination?"

"It was a lie," you waved it away. "One of his comrades came up to us next, recognized me from the Academy, and told me the truth. He said some big commanding officer gave him and his squad money to smuggle kids into the city. I was…it was sick. I couldn't believe him. I thought he was making it up. I," you squeezed your eye shut as you remembered what you did next. "I shot him. No questions. No comments or concerns. I pulled my side arm out and shot him point blank. I did the same to the driver and the third person on their team."

"Then you freed the kids."

"Then I let them out, yeah. I want to say that this was a one time thing and I didn't dig into it deeper, but I did. I contacted Internal Affairs and they did an investigation. Do you want to know what they found?" 

"What?"

"That there was an entire child ring going through our government," you spat in disgust. "Elite officials would contact someone within the patrol squads to go into active rebel areas, kill everyone, and take the children. Then they'd…it was horrible. I thought those responsible would see justice and be imprisoned, but nobody was. The lower level guys were jailed, but not the ones above them. Those people received no consequence at all. Not even after the news came out about it. Nobody was punished. They were let go."

"Republic Justice only applies to the poor," Hongjoong said, "Not the ones meant to uphold it." 

"I was disgusted. I'd sworn an oath to uphold and defend the laws put in place by the Republic," you replied. "I swore to protect and serve the people of this country. I bled, I fought, and I killed for this nation, and then to turn around and see the people who made those same oaths breaking them. It made me question myself, and I hate that." 

"I know what you mean," he said. "That's how I felt when I saw Republic soldiers shooting wounded people coming out of a burning hospital.”

Your eyes glanced at the clock in the room. It’d been ten minutes already. 

“You’re not a bad person, YN,” he said. “Even I know what you did in that little border town. You saved those people-”

“-I didn’t,” you cut him off. “I came way too late to do anything meaningful-”

“-Your little heroic act opened up people’s eyes to what’s going on outside the walls,” he said. 

“People only know about it because a journalist happened to capture it live.” 

“The things you’ve done since then prove you’re not a bad person,” he said. “The people of the Republic respect and admire you because you genuinely care about them. You see injustice being done and stop it, rather than leave it be. How many of your comrades will say they would’ve done what you did? Not many.” He let your words hang between you, and he finished his donut. “Did they punish you for shooting the guy?”

“No,” you said. “They gave me a medal.”

He snorted, “For killing one of your own?”

“They deemed the squad who did it as war criminals, and said that’s the Republic’s justice at work,” you sighed, shaking your head. “The Republic’s Justice…What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means killing people who don’t comply with their rules or make them look bad,” he said. "It means covering up their tracks, inventing stories and intimidating people into silence."

“I should’ve gon-” 

You stopped yourself before the words fully came out. Hongjoong and you both stared at one another. You wouldn’t tell him about all the nights you envisioned having followed him, and being together. “I wish you had too,” he said softly, “But then we’d both be dying and I don’t want that.”

“Even after everything?”

“I never wanted you dead, YN. I still don’t, even if you want me dead-”

“-I was only following orders-”

“Then why didn’t you kill me?”

You hesitated. 

“When you found me in the lower deck of my ship-”

“-Is it really a ‘ship’ if it’s on land?-

“-You could’ve shot me on sight,” he pressed on. “You could’ve put a rain of bullets through me, and made up a story afterwards. I wasn’t armed. I wasn’t threatening you. I didn’t put up a fight. Killing me right then would’ve been the easiest part of your day, but when you burst into that room with your rifle trained on me, you didn’t pull the trigger.”

“They ordered me to bring you in alive, and despite my own morals, I follow instructions,” you excused, though this wasn’t true and he knew it. 

“It’s pointless to lie to a dead man,” he told you. “If you were only following orders, why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance? Hm? You know that there's the high possibility I'll escape or that my public execution could stir up more trouble outside. You can tell anyone who would listen that you’re just doing your job, and you can pretend you’re a loyalist all you want, but you and I both know the real reason you didn’t shoot me.” He pushed the donut box aside and came right up to the glass. The hostility and animosity of the previous minutes softened, making you fall into his big brown eyes like you used to. “And they know it too,” he whispered. “Don’t go to the parade.” 

His sudden warning threw you off. “What?” 

“Don’t go," he pleaded. "Please. Promi-”

“-Time’s up, Lieutenant.” 

“I love y-”

A large hand gripped your arm to pull you up. Your eyes remained focused on Hongjoong. What did he mean? Sudden dread and fear filled your bones. Hongjoong didn’t say anything else, but you saw the tears pooling in his eyes as the soldier pulled you through the chamber door. What was going to happen at the parade? A possible jailbreak could be the only explanation. Perhaps Hongjoong coordinated his capture so that he’d be in the Pyramid, where his forces could strike an assault on the city. He doesn’t want you to be there when the fighting starts, but if he thinks you’ll sit by while it happens, he’s clearly forgotten a lot about you. The soldier roughly pushed you from the main room and back out into the hallway. You gave him one last glare before heading back to the elevator. If Hongjoong’s crew intended to sabotage the parade in any way, people needed to be warned. You tapped the ‘call’ button on your watch, which linked to your ear implant right away. 

“Lieutenant,” Shin’s voice came over the line, “The parade is gonna start soon, and I'd like to go over routes before-"

"-How many men do we have on the street?"

"Pardon?"

"How many men are currently on patrol?"

"A hundred or so," he said. "Why?"

"The Pirates are going to be there," you said, punching the ground level button with your fist. Anxiousness sparked the nerves already wiring your body. You watched the numbers begin to climb slowly. "Kim just as good as told me himself. I don't know where they're going to be or what their plan is, but I want those men armed and ready."

"Hold on," it was Boggs, "We're fighting?"

"-Boggs!-"

"-I'm not sure," you continued, impatiently watching the elevator rise from the ground. “I don’t know anything for certain, but I want firepower on the ground.”

“The General said he didn’t want any guns,” Shin managed to gain control of the communicator again. You heard Bogg’s deep voice somewhere in the background, “We’d be defying direct orders.”

“He’ll understand once I explain it,” you said.

Your mind began moving a million miles a minute. You addressed your wrist band and scanned around for the map application. A map of the city projected from the small screen. You saw red lines going through the parade route, lines you yourself drew up. “Captain,” you called Shin, “I want squads one through five scanning the rooftops, and squads six through nine sweeping the buildings. Ten, eleven, and twelve can stick to the city center, and thirteen can surround The President’s car.” 

“I’ll get right on it, sir,” Shin replied. 

You heard a bit of commotion and grunting before Bogg’s voice came through. “Lieutenant, what do you need from me?”

“Contact the armory and get on the radio channel,” you said, “Tell everyone the news and start getting them geared up.” 

“-Damnit, Boggs! Give me my communicator!-

“-And then I want you and Shin to meet me here at the Pyramid,” you told him. “If The Pirates are in the city,” the elevator finally reached the ground floor, “One or two of them are likely to be on the route from here to the city center.” 

“You got it, sir,” Boggs confirmed. “Want me to alert Sunmi?” 

“She's not in fighting condition. Get moving.”

“Yes, sir.” 

You both hung up and pressed the top floor button. Dialing another number in your wristband, you waited until the person answered. 

“General Bok Kyungmin’s office, Jalissa speaking,” said a melodic woman’s voice. 

“Jalissa, this is Lieutenant Hwang YN,” you told her, “Is General Bok still there?”

“He is, Lieutenant. Would you like me to patch you through to him?”

“As soon as you can, please.”

“One minute, please.” 

You curled your hand into a fist to stop it from shaking. Hongjoong's warning rang in your head. If it was an attack, his warning sounded odd. The pitch. The inflection. The way his eyes watered when he whispered it to you. It didn't sound like a threat or an amused warning. He didn't want you to go there. Hongjoong protected you, of course, but he never tried stopping you. He'd go with you. He’d strap on his own weapon to give you cover. Hongjoong, this time, did not want you in the way. 

"Lieutenant Hwang," General Bok's raspy voice sounded in your ear, "I just heard your man Boggs over the radio. Is this threat legitimate?"

"I'm afraid it is, sir."

You explained to him that you'd obliged Hongjoong’s last request for a meeting and what he'd told you. Bok listened without interrupting, but you sensed the apprehension on the other end. You told him the plans you put into motion, and your suspicions. 

"I figure it is better to be safe than sorry, sir," you finished, standing outside and scanning the area for Boggs and Shin. "If The Pirates are here, whatever plans they have could impact hundreds. I say we issue an evacuation plan."

"No," he said abruptly. "To evacuate at this stage will let them know we're onto them. This might be our best chance at capturing the rest of them."

"Sir, there will be civilians on the street," you said, stunned by his words. "I think we should be trying to avoid as few casualties as we can. If they have bombs, sir, they will kill hundreds."

"And send everyone into a panic?" He said. "There will be hysteria in the streets if we start an evacuation. Keep this news as down low as possible. We don’t want a riot on our hands. Stay at Kim’s side and don’t take your eyes off him.”

“But, sir-”

“-That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

And you always follow orders. “Yes, sir,” you said defeatedly. 

“You and the rest of your team go to the Containment exit and escort Kim to the city center,” he said next. “I will meet you there.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He hung up without another word, and you moved into action. The exit for Containment was located behind The Pyramid, in a closed off section that required special permission to pass through. You pressed your badge to the gate, and walked through into a garage of black armored vans and trucks. You relaid the General's instructions to Shin as you found the Containment garage entrance; you told them you'd meet them at the city center instead. Going to an emergency cage, you unlocked the gate and pulled out one of the automatic rifles lined up. Clicking on the magazine, you double checked the safety button, and then slung it over your shoulder. You kept your side arm attached to your thigh, so you only checked the clip for bullets. Your foot tapped as you waited for Hongjoong’s truck; his warning came back to you. Coupled with the General's odd orders, you couldn't stop the unsettlement poking at your nerves. 

The elevator doors from the Containment Center opened, and you saw Hongjoong, wrists and ankles chained together, surrounded by four soldiers dressed in black uniforms. You would've thought they were twins with their long bodies and height. They kept their visors down, and guns to their chests. They must've been ordered to shoot-to-kill if Hongjoong tried escaping. Turning around, you faced the two soldiers from earlier. They gave each other a glance at the sight of you, looked at Hongjoong behind them, and then back at you. 

"At ease, soldiers," you told them, "General Bok has instructed me to accompany your escort team."

"That isn't necessary, Lieutenant," one of them said. "We can handle him from here."

"I'm not asking," you said a bit firmly. "Let's get him loaded in and move out." When they didn't react, you glared, "I said 'move out', soldiers."

They all exited the elevator and you walked beside Hongjoong. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked, unbothered by the soldiers around you both. 

"What a Lieutenant is supposed to do when a rebel terrorist warns them of an attack," you answered. "I informed my superiors and put safety precautions in place." 

You reached the Containment truck. The President had this truck especially made for prisoners heading for their execution. The size of the usual large vans, the back of the truck is made of shatter-proof glass lined with steel borders. Only the prisoner is meant to be loaded in there with two guards. You intended on being one of them. His men will come for him, and you'd be ready if they did. The two soldiers went to the front seats, while you loaded Hongjoong into the glass cage. Sitting across from one another, your back to the front driver's seat and his to the back doors, you two were once again alone. 

"You shouldn't be here," Hongjoong said. "I told you not to come."

"If you think I'm going to let your little pirate friends attack this city," you said, "You've clearly forgotten things about me."

"That's not what I was talking about," he leaned in closer to you. “They’re planning to kill you.” 

Once upon a time, you would’ve scoffed and brushed him off. Yet, after seeing how the Republic handles ‘problems’, you hesitated before speaking. “You’re lying,” you decided. “You’re trying to throw me off, and it’s not going to work.”

“When have I ever lied to you, YN?” he asked you, eyes pleading with you. “Your friend, Jisung? The one who died in that factory explosion?” 

You glared, “What about him?”

“The intel you received about that place wasn’t real,” he said. “We were never there. They told you to go there because they hoped you’d die in the explosion they set up.”

You thought back to the factory, a building made of stone and wood, full of plastic and wooden crates and barrels of hazardous chemicals. Back then, you simply thought whoever owned the factory left behind the materials. Yet, truly digging into your mind, you never heard of a business not completely gutting out their factories or warehouses. They might have abandoned equipment, but not materials, especially expensive and rare ones. Then, you recalled the little click and thump that happened seconds before the explosions. You remembered Boggs telling you about the person he’d seen. 

“You blew up that factory,” you said, frozen in place in your seat. You hardly noticed the truck reaching the gates. 

“You really think I did that?” he sneered at you. “My crew might be known for blowing stuff up, but we don’t do it pointlessly. If I bomb a place, it’s for a specific reason. It’s to make a statement. We had no reason to light up that factory. It was in the middle of nowhere, abandoned, and useless to anyone but the homeless. We would’ve wasted our resources blowing it up.” He paused, “He wasn’t the target. The building wasn’t the target. You were.”

He let the words hang between you for a few seconds before the truck stopped at the main gate. He must be lying. 

“I’m sure they didn’t mean for your comrade to die, but these things happen in war.” 

He never lied to you. Not a single time. No matter which side you move to, Hongjoong never lies. Meanwhile, your government lied countless times. You didn’t want to show him any uncertainty. The clear truck finally made its way onto the streets where people lined the sidewalks. Several of them saw Hongjoong, and you saw the hard glares and the objects they threw at him as it passed. You heard muffled jeers through the glass, people thankful that he is going to the noose. Yet you couldn’t help notice the few people who recognized you sitting in there with him. They waved their Republic flags, beamed brightly at you and called out your name. Students from Prestige Academy still in their crisp white uniforms, jumped up and down to get a tiny nod from you. Your heart fell into your stomach. They had no idea. 

“They love you more than they hate me,” Hongjoong smiled slyly. “I wonder why that is?”

“Shut up,” you said quietly. 

“Could it be that they see you as a hero?-”

“-I said ‘shut up’, inmate-”

“-That they see you as someone who gets things done?-”

“-What part of ‘shut up’ do you not understand?-”

“-Unlike our president who sits back and does nothing to help his suffering people? The same president who sat by as officers violated and abused innocent children? The same man who did nothing to punish those responsible for dozens of raids on border towns where innocent women, children and men were slaughtered like animals?” He leaned forward, eyes locked on you. “The person whose reputation you tarnished when you shot those soldiers?”

It made sense. You hated to admit what Hongjoong said could be plausible. You’ve seen what happens to those deemed enemies of the state. You watched several executions of people who may have shed a bad light on the president specifically. A lieutenant who uncovered disturbing, disgusting truths about him and his officials could very much be next. But why didn’t he simply have you arrested? The answer came to you through the people on the street. A woman on the street holding a magazine with your whole face on it told you why. She held your face. Not Yoon’s. You thought of the vendor from this morning. 

‘You’ve done a lot more for people than Yoon for sure.’ 

“He’s in his mansion,” Hongjoong continued, “Gorging himself on delicacies that people could only dream of eating. He throws these grand parties at his home while people all around him struggle to put shoes on their kids’ feet. He could stop this war at any point; he could call a cease-fire and discuss negotiations with the leaders, but no. He lets it continue because he’s secretly being paid by war profiteers who are reaping the benefits of this ongoing war. He doesn’t care about the poor. He only cares about the rich,” he then said, “The people saw you defend those who needed you, and they saw that their leaders wouldn’t do the same. You wouldn’t use their hard earned tax money to have all this fan fare over an execution. You’d put a bullet in my head and call it a day.”

“It’d be cheaper, for sure.” 

“Do you read the papers at all?” he asked. 

“I’m not always near a newsstand.”

“President Yoon’s public approval went down by 15-points when the news about the kids came out, and when people saw nothing was being done,” he said. “It went down even further when people learned what was going on in the sectors outside of here. People saw him doing nothing about it, and lost trust in him.” He gazed over your face, eyes landing on your lips before going to your eyes, “They saw you at those border towns, giving food to starving kids, and saw someone who can be a leader.”

“I’m not a leader.”

“Yes, you are, and they don’t like that.” 

“I don’t believe you,” you said. “You’re trying to get me off my game. You’re using this to distract me so when your men show up, I’m not fully aware of it.” 

“You know I’m telling the truth,” he said. 

“Where did you even get this information?” you asked irritably. 

“Yeosang came upon it a few weeks ago,” he replied. “When he hacked into the intelligence main frame in hopes of finding plans for the new bombs your people are building. He found a locked file, and being nosey, he broke into it to find a list of people labeled as ‘person of interest’. He found that the Intelligence Division had been tasked with keeping surveillance on certain people: politicians who spoke out against the Republic, billionaires who they’d bribed into supporting the cause, and people suspected of working for the rebellion. He cross checked that list with the names of people who died under ‘mysterious circumstances’, and a good chunk of them are dead now. Poisonings, accidents, and unsolved murders were a common theme.” He paused, looking over your face once more, “Your name was on there, YN. It’s why I came here. You have shown your distaste at the Republic, and there’s a strong likelihood you’ll join the rebel cause. If you do, you’ll have all the information we’d need to defeat them.” He saw your hesitation, and said, “You know they’re corrupt enough to do it.”

It sounded too coincidental. It sounded like the sort of thing an enemy would come up with to distract you. Yet, was Hongjoong truly an enemy? A real enemy wouldn’t give away his own jailbreak. Had you captured any other rebel leader, they wouldn’t be with you right now. As the truck went up the street, you considered his words again. 

Boggs mentioned seeing someone throwing the grenade into a window seconds before the explosion. If they wanted to go unnoticed, they’d wear all black to blend in with the night. You remembered the factory again. Most rebel hideouts showed signs of someone having lived there: sleeping bags, empty food cans, tables and chalkboards with photos and maps taped on them. The factory really looked empty with old cobwebs and dusty floors. Only chemical barrels remained behind in the rusty factory. But, were they really abandoned there or did someone place them there? You’re not sure. 

“You’re not a stupid woman, YN,” Hongjoong said. “They would’ve asked you to escort me to the platform, so then they can shoot you and blame me for it.” You saw his face become hard, holding back whatever emotions swelled up inside him. “That’s what they told you when you radioed in, right?”

And you always follow orders. 

Except the times you did not; the two times where you broke your oaths to The Republic and shot your ‘brothers in arms’. You’d indirectly and unintentionally exposed the corruption and perversion infecting your government. By releasing those children and liberating that town, you showed that you took your oath to ‘protect and serve’ seriously, while those above you did not. You turned back to the street where more people jeered at Hongjoong and cheered for you. 

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because they can’t hear us here. They think you won’t believe me, which is why you're here.”

Because you always follow orders. 

Your superiors believe you’re a blissfully ignorant soldier who does what they say without question. Yet, lately you’ve been proving them wrong and they can’t have that. You tried thinking of all the ways that he could be lying, but another fact always contradicted the first. 

“Be vigilant when we step out of this truck,” he said. “Wooyoung isn’t the only sniper up high.”

“How do I know he won’t shoot me and let someone else take the blame?”

“Because he isn’t a snake like them. He has his reasons for joining us, and for wanting to help rescue you.”

“Like what?”

“It’s not my story to tell.” 

The truck drove through into the city center. A large roundabout circling a golden fountain, you leaned against the window to see three beautiful statues: one was a woman with a blindfold holding two scales to signify The Republic’s blind justice; the third was a soldier crossing two swords over his head to signify the Republic’s strength and force, and the third was an androgynous figure holding a dove on their finger which signified the Republic's peace and prosperity. Three things that the Republic no longer had: peace, justice or strength. At the end of the motorcade stood Republic Hall, the courthouse and city hall combined. Standing up tall and made of white marble, you remembered you and Hongjoong receiving your graduation papers on the front steps. You’d both made your vows there like every other official did. Only difference is that you both upheld your promises. 

“I solemnly swear to uphold the justice, peace and strength of The People’s Republic,” Hongjoong said softly. “I wonder which one of us actually meant that when they said it: us or them?” 

The crowds here thickened throughout the morning, so people stood right up against the barricades keeping them off the street. Your chest filled with dread realizing they all stood underneath very tall stone buildings. If Hongjoong’s men have planted any explosives, they’ll be in those buildings and the people below will be casualties. You’d wanted to evacuate but The General disagreed. Why would he do that? These people have no part in his war on the rebellion. They shouldn’t be there. It didn’t matter how many uniforms carried weapons now; they’ll all be caught in the crossfires. The people standing on their balconies and hanging out of their windows will get the worst of it, since they’ll likely be closest to the explosions. You noticed, though, the amount of unoccupied windows. Their curtains drawn, they showed no signs of life behind their frames. People watching on television? Why watch on the television when it’s  happening right outside their window? You envisioned Jung Wooyoung, a member of the sniper division, sitting behind one of them with his rifle trained right on you. But, right behind that came the vision of a faceless, nameless Republic sniper who is also only obeying his orders. 

These pictures made every nerve in your body sink into adrenaline. Fight mode. No flight. Always fight. 

The truck eventually stopped right at the steps of the building. Standing in front of them was a wooden platform a crew constructed overnight. A basic gallows with the Republic flag hanging behind it, a singular noose hung from the rafters above a trap door. The young girl still in love wanted to reach for him. She wanted to hug and kiss him deeply one last time. She wanted to confess everything she felt, and how sorry and stupid she was. Your eyes met his as the truck came to a complete stop. 

“I don’t want you to die,” you said quietly, as if the universe might hear you and hasten his end. 

“I don’t want you to die either,” he said solemnly. “I love you, YN. I always have. I still do. I don’t think I’m incapable of loving you, even if you chop off my hand.”

“To be fair, you blew up half my face and crippled my leg.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you either. I thought I was…” the words died in your throat. “I…” you squeezed your good eye shut, “You shouldn’t love me.” 

“But I do.”

“Why?”

You saw the two soldiers climb out of the truck. “Because even when we both went for blood, grappling and fighting one another, I still missed you. I missed you in my bones, love.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

“But you shouldn’t,” you said through gritted teeth, your mouth going dry and throat closing up. 

“You’re not a bad person, YN. You just work for bad people. You’re still that girl who used to feed stray cats, give money to the homeless, and always tried to do the right thing despite what other people said. You’re a good person.” 

You saw them rounding to the back of the truck.

“I’m not that person anymore.”

“She’s in there. I know she is.”

“And she’s a fool,” you spat back at him, tears burning your eyes. No, you can’t cry now. “A fool who believed in the goodness of people; who believed that at the end of the day, justice prevailed. She thought she was fighting for the right side. The good side. There is no good side in a war-” they reached the back doors and stood to open them, “-Just a lesser of two evils.”

The roaring crowd finally reached your ears as the doors opened. You jumped out before anyone noticed your face, and stood aside for Hongjoong to be guided onto the pavement. You didn’t want to think anymore about what Kim Hongjoong feels for you. It only made your job harder. You couldn’t be distracted right now. Tapping your earpiece, the normal vision on your bionic eye changed to the infrared vision. It picked up the yellows, reds and orange heat of the people on the ground, but your eye swiveled away from them to the buildings above. You saw more figures blocking the view, but your eye stayed on the empty ones. Your good eyes searched for Shin and Boggs, who’d you’d told to meet you here. Perhaps they’d been held up. 

Or worse. 

Once the soldiers cuffed him again, doing their best not to tighten around his metal hand, you all began walking to the platform. There, you saw three people seated behind a podium to the left of the noose right by a set of stairs. General Bok sat farthest from the stairs, whipping his head away when he spotted you approaching; Vice President Han, a portly man with a shiny bald head and small thin-rimmed glasses on his long nose, and President Yoon. President Yoon was a tall, narrow man with thinning black hair and tight tanned skin. The plastic surgery often popular in the city showed in his thin nose bridge and puffy lips. You realized then that you hated him. Innocent children were trafficked and sold into sex slavery, and he didn’t seek justice because they were not Republic children. If anything, he benefited from it or took part in it. To him, the people in the sectors are not human, and should be treated as such. They are not important. They do not matter. What kind of president does that? Like Hongjoong said, he could stop the war at any time, yet insists it’s important that it continues. It is destroying his country, and he doesn’t care because it is not affecting him personally. The idea of this man having a hit list didn’t sound entirely off base. The two men with her were no better. 

You took your position at the bottom of the staircase, gun at your chest and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Your squadmates still remained missing. Shin told you they’d been around the city center. Your infrared vision did not pick up anyone in the buildings or roofs above. Then, someone called out to you:

“Lieutenant Hwang, please come up here and join us.”

Yoon had spoken, and he stared at you with a friendly smile. It felt as if someone filled your insides with snow. 

“Me, sir?”

“Yes,” he nodded, beckoning you up the steps. When you shakily reached the landing, he said, “I’d like you to be here with us,” he said, “You are responsible for The Pirate King’s capture and incarceration. I think it’s only right that you share some of the spotlight.”

“I was only doing my job, sir. I didn’t do it for any glory or-”

“-Like Bok said,” he laughed, “Modest until the end. Come. Don’t be shy.” 

He guided you to a spot a few feet behind him. You glanced over to Bok, who did not meet your eyes. Coward. If he is in on this assassination attempt, the least he can do is look at you. 

The soldiers walked Hongjoong across the stage, and your eyes met his. You noticed his watered with tears, even if he kept his composure and defiance up to the very end. Your own eye teared up again. Every laugh, every cry, every success and failure together flashed before you. The boy who loved glazed donuts and coffee, who wrote songs and loved music, was walking to his death because of you. You brought him here. You hunted him like a dog because the men around you said so. And how trustworthy are they? You watched them walk him right underneath the hanging noose. Your eyes stayed on him. You wanted to put every piece of him to memory before you lose it forever: the blue hair he genetically implanted to look cool, the perfect proportions of his body, the several piercings he had, and his bionic hand. Yeosang and Mingi did quite a job on it. You saw blinking lights right around the vital signs to keep track of his heartbeat which remained steady. 

“Welcome, citizens of The Republic,” Yoon began his speech, his voice booming over the cheering crowd. “I thank you all for being here with us as we celebrate this triumphant day. This day will be marked in history as the beginning of the end of our struggles-”

You remember when those hands used to expertly disassemble and assemble rifles in record time. They were capable of pain and pleasure in equal amounts. You missed them. You missed him. Perhaps you’ll join Boggs and resign from command. You don’t want to do this anymore. You don’t want to live in anguish forever. You then noticed his middle finger bouncing in his palm. Your bionic eye is still searching the buildings, your good eye focused on the finger. What was he doing?

“-The outlaw you see standing before you is a man who has-”

A blue light began blinking in a series of spaces and dots. Morse code. Your wristband went off in your ear, and you chanced a glance at the screen. A message from Unknown came through. Without tapping it, the message opened on its own. 

‘Apartment building on your left, fourth floor, third window from the corner.’ 

Infrared vision showed nobody there. You should’ve known. They’d wear reflective gear to conceal themselves. Zooming in on the window in question, you spotted a shadow behind the frilly white curtains. The incoming breeze made them billow inwards and the sniper had trouble hiding behind the window sill. You saw them. They wore the skull cap and mask of a sniper. You couldn’t let them know you’d seen them, otherwise they’ll abort the mission. 

“-Kim Hongjoong, you stand convicted of high treason,” said Yoon, “Piracy, destruction of Republic property, murder-”

Staring into the crowd, you saw him. Short and slight, a young delivery man kept his bike parked on the sidewalk against a brick wall. You recognized him from earlier in the day, the delivery boy who had the newspaper printed on the side of his bike. Though now he’d removed his helmet to show a mop of black hair curtaining a pale, handsome face. Kang Yeosang’s apologetic eyes met yours as you spotted something in his hand. You recalled the man from his days serving the Republic. He’d been part of the squad who defected at the hospital bombing. His skills with technology were only outmatched by Shin, who helped build the Pyramid’s firewalls and security systems. Your eye zoomed in on his hand, which you just made out through the crowd of people. You realized what it was right away. You shook your head at him. 

But, the blast did not happen in the street. The explosions came from far off in this distance. One large one that shook the very ground you stood on, followed by several more. Right at the same time, you saw several people in the crowd withdraw weapons from under shirts and jackets, and aimed fire at the officers on the ground. Your body swung into action. Pushing Yoon aside, you fired at the fighters on the sidewalks, using your eye as a scope to hit the right targets. Bullets punctured through the wooden stilts holding up the stage, blowing past you and the others on stage. 

“Evacuate the street!” you shouted, finding cover behind the President’s podium, “Set evacuation plans in order-”

“-That’s not my order, Lieutenant-” said General Bok, who’d taken out his own pistol to fire back, “-Negate tha-”

“-Get as many people down the street as you can,” you said over the radio, “We need to reduce the civilian casualties-”

“-Lieutenant,” Bok gave you a stern warning, and you glared back. 

You started giving orders through your earpiece, and watched all of them moving into action right away.  More explosions came from your left, and you realized they’d blown up the Pyramid.  But how? The two delivery men at the elevator. They had several long boxes with them that you thought to be donuts. You remembered Hongjoong’s reluctance to eat them you gave him, and it clicked instantly. The Pirates just destroyed communications, ammunition, artillery, and any support the Republic had left. You tapped your earpiece multiple times, hoping to get a radio through, but you were met with dead silence. 

“YN!” 

Hongjoong and the bullet reached you at the same time. Your enhanced ear caught the whizz of the bullet that would’ve struck your face had Hongjoong not pushed you down. It’d come from the direction of the apartment building. You don’t know how you know, but deep down you did. Using both hands, Hongjoong pulled down the wooden podium to shield you both from more gunfire. In the midst of the chaos, he must’ve broken free of his bonds. His face inches from yours, he said:

“Do you trust me?” 

Your brain couldn’t process his words. It could only comprehend your racing heart and need to get away and find your squadmates. 

“YN,” he said more forcefully, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” 

It came out in a single breath. You said it without thinking, and this time you didn’t take it back. The rush of wind came through next as a whooshing sound came overhead. Yoon and the other officials might not recognize the Valiant, but you and Hongjoong did. A metal hovercraft built with the fragments of wrecked Republic ships, the Valiant was various shades of black, white and gray. Hongjoong and his crew truly leaned into their ‘pirate’ nickname by molding their aircraft like the old pirate ships. The engine caused surges of hot air to blow through the streets, blowing people back onto the street. It lowered down above the gallows, and the hull opened to reveal two people standing there: Choi San and Choi Jongho. San still wore the delivery man uniform, while Jongho wore a Republic guard uniform. Officer Kwang. You should’ve known when you didn’t recognize him. They threw down a rope ladder, and Hongjoong took your hand. 

“I can’t,” you told him. “Not without my crew.”

“You can contact them later,” he said, quickly grabbing the ladder and bringing you over to it. “Start climbing. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Hongjoong-”

“-Go!” 

He took your rifle from you, aiming it towards the guards coming up the stairs. You put your foot on the first ring and started to climb. That’s when the second bullet went past you. Then a third. Then a fourth. The sniper clearly planned to carry out their mission regardless. A cold sweat went over your whole body, causing your hands to slip on the slim rope, but you kept climbing. The wavering ladder made you a moving target, and the sniper isn’t that good. You looked down at the halfway point to see Hongjoong still on the ground. You called out to him, but he didn’t hear you over the wind and gunfire. It’d been at that moment that a deep pain shot through your body from your leg. The sniper’s tenth bullet found home in your shin, having broken the skin and lodged into the bone. You thought your entire leg went numb, only feeling the searing pain every time you lifted your leg. You gritted through the pain, continuing your climb. You need to get to the top, to safety, to where you can defend Hongjoong the best. 

Another bullet sailed through the air into the back of your right shoulder. A lucky shot that burned in every pull upwards. You kept going. You did not stop or look around. The rushing winds made you deaf to anything anyone said to you. Your left ear picked up muffled sounds and static, which irritated what little bit of eardrum left inside. Then a third bullet caught you right when you reached the ramp several feet above the stage. 

“Fuck!” 

You screamed in agony as a bullet grazed your earpiece. Thick streams of blood wet the side of your face, and white noise filled your damaged ear before going silent completely. You felt the cartilage of your left ear as Jongho dragged you away from the edge; your finger went right through the split skin and it burned further. Your good ear-now truthfully good-only picked up the howling winds coming from ahead of you. The newest wound paralyzed the whole left side of your face. You could feel the mechanical ear malfunctioning still, clicking and shooting pain into your brain. The pain spread quickly to your eye, which started seeing static. Both enhancements connected together, one began malfunctioning once the other cut off. You felt blood atarting to seep from under the eye piece, and your chest tightened again. 

“Hongjoong,” you huffed, doing your best to hold back the agonizing pain in your ear. You felt shocks of pain spark every time you opened your mouth, and you couldn’t help pressing a hand to stop it. “Hongjoong….”

“He’s on his way,” Jongho said. “Sit down. Let me see your ear.” He checked your severed ear and he winced, “Damn, that looks bad. Here, put this there and hold it. Yeosang could fix you up really quick.” 

You took the rag from nearby and pressed it to your ear. However, the pain didn’t mask your concern for Hongjoong. One by one, his crew began appearing from the ladder: tall black-haired Jeong Yunho, who immediately rushed for the cockpit at the front of the ship; handsome Park Seonghwa, who grabbed a weapon from the rack and started firing down below; slender Jung Wooyoung who put down his tripod bag and knelt down to aim his sniper rifle into the buildings around the center; pink-haired Song Mingi, the one likely responsible for the explosions, who still wore his delivery man uniform, and Kang Yeosang in his delivery boy jacket. He spotted you grunting and doubled over in pain, and rushed over to you. 

“My…ear,” you growled, not wanting to remove the rag from the wound but also not wanting to press down. “It’s…broken….I think.”

“Come on,” he took you by the arm, “Let’s get you to the medical bay-”

“-But…Hongjoong-”

“-Hongjoong would want you to think about your damaged ear,” he said, ignoring your request and pulling you further into the ship. 

Your wounds made it hard to walk. You stumbled and fell into a wall before someone came up on your left side. Hongjoong. You knew it from the flash of blue you saw in a reflection. He said something, but you couldn’t hear him. Every muscle in your body went limp as your brain registered the sterile, silent infirmary in the ship’s second level. Yeosang and Hongjoong rested you on a metal slab, the bright light above you stinging your eyes and the hard metal being hard on your aching bones. 

“Just relax, Lieutenant,” said Yeosang, who went to work with a bottle and syringe, “You’ll be fine in a few seconds.”

“Hon-Hong-Jo-oo-ng-” you forced yourself to say through a loosening jaw. Any mechanics keeping your jaw straight now malfuctioned, making it nearly impossible to speak. 

“I’m right here, YN. I’m right here,” he shielded you from the bright lights above. His eyes full of panic and concern, he cupped your face and pecked your lips. “I’m right here. You’re safe now.”

“Hon-” 

A sharp pinch to your vein interrupted you. Morphine. Ulta-Morphine from the look of the aquamarine liquid filling the tube and going into your arm. The needle’s sting did not even register with the rest of the pain you felt. You took deep breaths, trying to steady your heart. You kept your eye on Hongjoong, unable to care or think about anything else. 

“I-I…” 

The right side of your jaw slackened, and you lost the ability to speak at all. “It’s okay,” Hongjoong said, “You don’t have to talk. Just rest, okay? Yeosang is going to fix it.”

He didn’t understand. You lifted a hand to his face, despite the burning pain in your shoulder, and he pressed it to his cheek. A sharp metallic taste filled your mouth, and you turned your head to spit it out. Everything hurts, but you needed him to know. You needed to tell him before it all ended. 

“Lo-Lov-ve-e yo-o-”

“I know,” he sniffed, kissing the top of your head. “I know.”

He did it all for you. He risked his life to save you. Even when you both fought and maimed each other, your love never waivered. The morphine finally hit your body, and all pain alleviated at once. Slowly, Hongjoong’s face faded to black. 

 ****

“Will you be able to fix it, Yeosang? It’s gonna heal, right?”

“I fixed the eye with no real problems, but the ear is lost. The bullet went right through the cybernetic pieces around it when it slashed her ear, so the whole piece short circuited and bursted in the canal. She’s lucky we got to it in time. It could’ve made her brain dead.” 

“Alright, but will she be okay, Yeosang?” 

“She’s stable now, but the ear will take time to heal completely. Once that’s happened, I can refit her with a new enhancement. I don’t feel safe doing it until it’s healed.” 

Hongjoong stayed beside the medical bed, watching a medical droid carefully changing the bandage around your head. It took a few hours for Yeosang and his assistant droid to patch you up, but you made it. They had to shave half of it to access the pieces attached to your skull. Yeosang and the medical droid managed to remove and patch up your bullet wounds, but your bionic pieces concerned him the most. He held your hand gently in his, kissing your knuckles. It’d been so long since he touched you this way. He remembered the days when he took any chance he could to touch you, whether hand holding or brushing hair from your face. He always had this need to feel some part of you; as if he needed to be sure he hadn't dreamed of you. Now, he had to wait until you’d become unconscious to hold your hand. 

"You must love her a lot," he heard Yeosang say, fixing up an IV next to your bed. "To risk getting executed for her."

"I do."

Yeosang didn't question his feelings for you like some of his crew members. He understood it better, perhaps, seeing as he'd defected like Hongjoong did. He'd been one of the physicians in his unit, and Hongjoong recalled him saving people from the hospital fire. Yeosang dragged them to safety, bringing them to a camp where rebel physicians worked on them without interference. He had people on the Republic side whom he loved, and would do anything to get back, if he could. 

"They'll blame it on her," he said to Hongjoong next. "They'll say she helped you and brand her a traitor."

"I know." He paused, "But they already thought that when she killed those men."

He'd heard about your heroic deeds through the channels. When he heard a loyalist lieutenant open fire on her fellow soldiers, he never thought it'd be you. He shouldn't have been surprised though. The Republic kept their citizens ignorant to the corruption and crime going on behind the scenes. They didn't know that their president was in the pockets of war profiteers and millionaires looking to cash in. They didn't know the things soldiers did to the people in the sectors, and how those people struggled to survive. They didn't know the fear, intimidation and pain with which the government used to hold power over them. You hadn't known, and you reacted far differently than he'd expected. When Kyungmin told Wooyoung a lady with one eye saved him and several other children, he questioned the boy further. When Jisoo tearfully explained to Seonghwa that a female soldier shot her captors at point blank, he needed to know more. 

It seemed he wasn't the only one who solved problems with bullets. 

Quick, heavy thumps made him turn around, and he saw Seonghwa standing in the doorway. He'd taken off his stolen Republic uniform, and wore a gray t-shirt over black pants and boots. Hongjoong noticed him panting and clutching the door frame. Soon, more footsteps came and Wooyoung and San appeared behind him.

"You need to turn on the TV," Seonghwa breathed, rushing to the monitor on the wall. "You need to see this. I can't believe it. They just announced it."

"Announced what?"

He turned on a monitor in the room where he saw the Republic news station covering the story. Lee Seojoon sat at her usual anchor desk, a solemn face despite her professional tone. 

"-At precisely two-forty-two this afternoon, President Yoon Byungho was pronounced dead. The fearless leader of the People's Republic received several severe gunshot wounds during the Victory Parade this morning. Republic law enforcements cannot say whether Kim Hongjoong, the rebel Pirate King, fired those fatal shots, but it is being investigated-"

"He's dead?" 

Hongjoong found this hard to believe. He knew he'd put a few bullets into the old man's back, but he hadn't seen him fall. His personal guards must've rushed him out of the battle and into the hospital. Hongjoong sat there imagining the man taking his final breaths and knowing he'd lost. The rebel leaders will soon hear of it, and plan an attack. The Vice president will no doubt take power, but he is weak compared to Yoon. They'd blown up their main command base and military center, and there is little resistance left in The Republic. It will fall and so will anyone who helped uphold it. 

He looked back at you, sleeping soundlessly in Ultra-Morphine Land. He had you back. He had you here with him again. He could protect you. You might not love him right away again, and things will never be how they once were, but you were in his life again.

That was the real victory. 

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Read on AO3

Lythra froze in the operating theatre, her blood turning to ice in her veins. All the sudden all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears and all she could smell was the copper tang of blood, just like back in her mother’s laboratory. She was once again small and scared and made stupid with venom, not sure whether to pray to survive, this time, or to die, and let it finally, finally be over.

It never mattered either way, because no Gods were listening. 

She cried out as one of the undead Sharran nurses sunk a blade into her thigh. Karlach pushed her off, glancing at her from beneath furrowed brows. 

“Come on soldier, get your head in the game!”

Lythra nodded—or she thought she did. She was still half in that awful tower, half chained to that vivisection table, half a scared child who hadn’t yet learned not to cry for her father. 

She—she had a sword in her hand, or a dagger. She was in the Shadow Cursed Lands, she was Above, she was fighting—supposed to be fighting. Something tore across her chest and she whirled, reeling away, her blade falling from her hand in her haste. She stumbled, falling flat on her face. She flipped over, panic constricting her throat, only to see the Sharran doctor above, smiling at her in false benevolence. He jammed—something—into her stomach, something like a thousand needles, and it hurt. She tried to lash out with her magic, not caring about the consequences, but it it sputtered impotently as he drained her of blood more efficiently than any vampire. 

The room spun nauseatingly above her, growing darker with each stuttering heartbeat. This was it—all those years of running and she’d still die at the end of some lunatic’s scalpel. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to watch her dismemberment.

“Get away from her!” Someone yelled above her, and there was the twang of a bowstring maybe, but she couldn’t, everything was muffled and she, and she—

Something was smacked against her teeth, a hand roughly grabbing her by the scruff of her neck to force her into a sitting position. Liquid poured down her throat, scalding it.

Her eyes fluttered open only to see Astarion glaring at her, furious. 

“Get up,” he snarled, and her stomach roiled, even as the room ceased spinning. She tried to listen, she tried, but her legs wouldn’t support her. They gave out and she smashed her knees to the tile of the floor, the impact knocking the breath from her. 

He looked at her, disgusted, before he turned and disappeared into the shadows, focus back on the nurses, on that monstrous doctor. 

She needed to get up. She needed to or she would be left here to die—or worse, to live as they took her apart, again and again. She scrambled back, pulling herself up with a bookshelf, letting it support her weight as she dug with shaking hands for her crossbow. She managed to load it just as one of the nurses leapt at her. She fired and missed, only hitting her in the shoulder as she rushed her. She prepared for the impact, the pain, but before she could reach her, Astarion was back, ripping his dagger across her throat. The nurse dropped lifeless to the ground. 

He didn’t move this time, instead he stood, half crouched in front of her, daggers drawn. He glanced back, brows drawn together before turning back to the fight. 

She wretched up the healing potion, sliding back down to the floor. Her head was pounding, her mind slow, stupid. She watched as Karlach and Lae’zel felled the doctor, making quick work of the last remaining nurse. She expected Astarion to begin picking through the corpses, but instead he turned back to her, kneeling at her side. He dug through his pack, pulling out a Greater Healing Potion. 

“You need to drink it, you’re still bleeding like a faucet,” he said, uncorking it.

“I don’t—I don’t—“

“You have to. Now,” he spat, grabbing her jaw and forcing her mouth open to pour it down her throat. It burned and she choked on it, but he only dug for another, doing the same. 

She felt the worst of her injuries knit back together, felt the bleeding slow to a trickle before she was forced to wretch the potions up. She sat back, pushing tangled hair out of her face. Astarion still stared, furious.

Karlach crouched down, giving her a once over. She made a face

“We should get you back to camp. The doctor didn’t have much on him, just an amulet and this,” she said, showing her an old battered lute. She squinted at it, noticing the initials carved into the face.

AC

“Can I have that?” She asked, reaching a shaking hand for it.

“How about we wait until after we get out of the blood-soaked murder-hospital before we start learning a new song? Hmmm?” Astarion said exasperatedly. 

“We should take the Waypoint back to camp. This one is in no condition to travel,” Lae’zel said in her usual harsh cadence, though her eyes flicked to the blood that had pooled in her wake. 

“A fine idea,” Astarion said. “Can you stand, darling?”

“I—“ she said shakily, voice barely more than a whisper. “I need a hand.”

“Of—“ Astarion began, but Karlach stooped and picked her up with hardly any effort. 

“There you are, Tiny. Let’s get you back,” she said, and Lythra couldn’t help but lean into her warmth, shivering. 

She hadn’t realized just how cold she was before she’d felt it.

Karlach set her down gently as they arrived back at camp. The others that had been gathered around the fire, leapt to their feet, eyes wide.

“Hells—I thought you lot were merely going on a scouting mission!” Wyll said.

“We were. That town is overrun with malevolent undead,” Lae’zel said. “It will take us another day to scout the path to the Towers.”

Shadowheart immediately cast a mass Healing Word and crossed to her side. Lythra couldn’t help but flinch.

“These aren’t healing right,” Shadowheart said, examining the wound on her stomach. “I can try—“

“I’ve had enough Sharran medicine for today, thanks,” Lythra retorted, sharper than she meant. Shadowheart shrunk back slightly, though she glared at her. Lythra opened her mouth to apologize but then just shook her head, limping off to the river to clean away what she could. 

She still couldn’t shake off the dregs of her trembling, the fear that constricted her heart. Just seeing such instruments had been enough to render her fumbling and useless, but having them used on her again—

She’d thought she’d outgrown such foolish childhood fears. She wasn’t a child anymore, wasn’t strapped to her mother’s vivisection table any longer.

It had been years. She should be long past it.

And yet, she’d frozen, useless, subjected to more of their horror for her weakness. 

~~~

Halsin looked up to see Lythra push through the door of the infirmary, limping heavily and looking even more deathly pale than usual. Her hair was wet from bathing and she wore no armor, only loose camp clothing. He could smell the iron tang of blood on her, even through the soap she’d used to try and wash it away. He crossed quickly to her side as she swayed slightly, her eyes taking a moment to focus. 

“What happened?” He asked, helping her to a cot. He could feel thick bandages wrapped around her abdomen, under her shirt. He sank a powerful healing spell into her skin, frowning when it hardly seemed to make a difference. Black blood started to run from her eyes, her nose, like when she used her dark magic. He sunk another into her skin, and she flinched away, swiping at the blood on her face. She opened her mouth, a haunted expression flickering across her face, but just shook her head. 

She dug into her bag, pulling out an old, battered lute.

“I think this belongs to him,” she said quietly, nodding at Art in the bed. “Maybe—m-maybe it might jog his memory.”

“By all means,” Halsin replied, hope warming in his chest for the first time since he’d begun trying to rouse Art from his stupor. Perhaps playing would calm her, too, from whatever horrors she’d just faced. Lythra looked at him a moment before swallowing hard, shaking her head as she passed him the lute. 

He couldn’t help but note how her hands shook.

Halsin strummed a few notes. Art woke with a start, shouting for Thaniel.

“Calm, breathe,” Halsin said, his heart catching in his chest. This was it—this was what he’d been searching for, longing for, for a century, a way to find his lost friend. “You’ve been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century. Take a moment to clear your mind.”

“A century,” he said, eyes far off. Surely he was thinking of his old life, of everything he’d ever known, now long dead. He turned to peer at him, brows furrowed. “You’re Halsin. Thaniel said to find you. You must help him—please.”

“I will,” he swore. “But I need to know where Thaniel is. If I venture into the Shadowfell blind, I will never find him.”

“I’m not sure I can put it into words. The landscape there shifts and changes,” Art replied slowly. 

“Was—was there anything that didn’t change?” Lythra asked softly. “Anything that could act as a marker?”

“Lavender. Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled lavender.”

“I can work with that. Rest, now,” he said. Art settled back into bed as Lythra pulled herself back to standing by a bedpost, no doubt to slip away again, just as she’d done the last time she’d handed him a break in his quest, just as when she’d rescue him from the goblins. She forced a smile, giving him a nod. 

“Let me know, what you will require. I—I’m afraid I must rest, now. We were meant to scout the Towers today, but were waylaid. Tomorrow, hopefully, we will have a better handle on their plans,” she said, making for the door, but she was slow, still limping. He crossed to her side, wrapping an arm around her to alleviate some of the weight on the injured limb.

“I’m alright, Halsin. You have much more important—”

“I will see you back to camp, and take a look at your injuries. They are not responding to healing as I would expect. Now tell me, what happened?”

“It was bad,” she said quietly, looking down. “I—I froze. It was my fault.”

“It’s not your fault somebody hurt you, little one. That’s never your fault.”

She didn’t respond and he knew she didn’t believe him. The walked in silence back to camp where he lead her to take a seat outside his tent while he fetched his medical supplies. 

“Did Shadowheart attend to you?” he asked as he took a look at her bandages for the first time and found them spotted with blood. It should have been a bright red color, but it was closer to black, like what she coughed up after spending too long in the Shadow Cursed Lands. 

“I—she tried, but I—I was rude to her. It—they were undead Sharrans we fought.”

Halsin nodded. He didn’t blame her—it was exceedingly uncomfortable, traveling with a Sharran, especially through the lands blighted by her god. He kept it to himself as much as he was able, but it was grating, to say the least. He was far too familiar with their cruelty, with the destruction they wrought and he’d lost too many of those dear to him to their number. 

“Where?” He asked.

“In Reithwin, in the House of Healing,” she replied, nearly spitting the last word. “They were—the Sharrans were killing people there, killing survivors. We found records before—“ she broke off, looking away. 

Halsin’s heart clenched. He was sure the experience had brought up no small number of bad memories, especially after unwrapping her bandages. Her wounds all had the same odd surgical look as her scars, no doubt created by similar tools. 

Tools that were meant to heal. 

He tried another, stronger spell on the the wounds on her abdomen, they knitted back together slightly, but not as they should. Lythra made a face, taking in a sharp intake of breath.

“Did that hurt?” He asked. It shouldn’t have, it could be uncomfortable, sometimes, but not painful. The worst side effect he usually saw was itching. 

“It’s fine,” she said, turning her face away to try and sneakily wipe the blood trailing from her nose. He caught her hand, gently. 

“Answer me honestly.”

“It’s bearable.”

“Then it does pain you. And it’s not working nearly as well as it should. Is this new, since we arrived in the Shadow Lands?”

She shook her head. “It’s just worse.”

So the whole time he’d forced her to sit still and allow him to heal her—he’d just been hurting her too. 

“And potions—?”

“They’re worse. I—I can’t keep them down.”

Halsin furrowed his brow, reaching out with his magic to try and determine what could be causing such a reaction. The potions—it could be an allergy, though he hadn’t heard of anyone developing one before. The spells though—

That had implications that were uncomfortable to consider. 

~~~

There was blood in his mouth, but it held none of the delectable sweetness, only a nauseating film of copper over his tongue. There was pain, so much that he could begin to place is source and the light around him was too bright, washing out the features of the figure standing above, cruel silver instruments flashing in their hands. He knew they were a mage but didn’t know how he knew.

It was only then that he realized that he was tied down to stone slab, that he couldn’t move as knives were dug into him, as he felt fingers inside of him, felt his organs being prodded and examined and shifted about. There was another pang of shock when he saw the mirror hung above the operating table, a mirror that reflected back the horror happening to him on the table. His flesh flayed open as if he were a corpse, his skin ashen and flecked with crimson, the white of his hair soaked in it, but it couldn’t be him, he had no reflection—

And besides, the figure on the slab was so small, diminutive, even. He tore his eyes from the horror of the torso to find the face, only to freeze, eyes widening. 

It was a child tied to the slab, a tiny elven girl with a crude gag shoved in her mouth, tears streaking down her pale cheeks even as her eyes burned with fury, with murder. She couldn’t have been more than ten, but her eyes held the weight of lifetimes, familiar, pale eyes, though here they looked almost green—

He awoke with a start, sitting straight up as he attempted to catch his breath. His head ached in a now familiar way that let him know the dream had been the tadpole’s doing, though even without it he would have known. It wasn’t the first time they’d connected the lot of them without anyone meaning to, wasn’t the first dream they’d intruded on. Usually they were boring, scraps of faces and voices that meant nothing to the rest of them, a swirling mass of nonsense, but this—

Lythra never spoke about her past. They hadn’t even know she was a drow until she’d let it slip when sweet talking their way out of a tight situation on the way to the goblin camp, something she hadn���t taken kindly to him making light of. 

Her reaction today, in the operating theatre, now made horrible, awful sense. It must have been like walking into that nightmare and they’d just torn into her. 

He got up before he realized what he was doing and pushed out of his tent, eyes searching for the familiar spot of moon-bright hair besides the fire. She wasn’t curled up in her usual place by the far side of camp either, her bedroll empty. He stood a moment, wondering where she would have taken off to. 

Only then did he hear the near-silent sound of short, panic-quickened breaths which he followed to find her crouched at the far edge of camp, well out of sight from camp, her skin ashen and slick with sweat, tears cascading down her cheeks. 

“Lythra, darling—“

“Just—just go away,” she croaked out, not bothering to look up. Part of him wished to heed her, to retreat back to his tent and forget what he’d seen, forget her terror, terror that felt all too familiar. He remembered how it felt for terror to make him sick, remembered when it would fill him so wholly it made his teeth ache. He’d never thought he’d meet another that might understand, another that wasn’t one of the poor sods that made up his ‘brothers and sisters.’ 

He crouched down, offering her what remained of his wineskin. She hesitated before taking it and finishing it in one go before handing it back, squeezing her eyes shut. She took a shuddering breath pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

Astarion hesitated a moment before speaking, trying to dredge up the right words, the sort of words people were supposed to say in these situations.

“I—if you wanted to talk—“

“Don’t,” she shot back, voice sharp. 

“Don’t what?”  He snapped, annoyed. He was trying to be nice, after all. She just never let him.

She laughed, the sound strained and humorless. “Surely that must have been but a Tuesday with Cazador. I don’t want your pity, pretend or otherwise. ”

She wasn’t wrong—Cazador was oh so creative in his cruelty. He stared at her and she avoided his gaze, wringing her hands in her lap, brows furrowed. 

She’d been so small, in the memory.

“How old were you?” 

She was silent for a long time, long enough that Astarion had begun to think she wouldn’t answer at all. When she finally spoke it was so quiet he might not have heard it, but for his heightened hearing.

“Do you mean the time you saw, or when it started? Because I don’t remember when it started, I was too young, but I know she didn’t start flaying me proper until I was nine. I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.”

Astarion balked at her. “Grateful? Grateful? I can hardly imagine you and your bleeding heart doing anything to deserve that. Whatever that was, anyway.”

She stared hard at the ground, intent on avoiding his gaze.

“What do you want, Astarion? Do you want all the gory details, how I’d get slashed and sliced up and put never quite back together? How she’d make sure to only use paralytics that didn’t numb the pain? How it was my fault, for being a girl and a szarkai, and an utterly talentless sack of skin? How I’ve been free for five years and I never grew out of being a terrified, useless little thing?” She replied, and he knew the words should have been sharp and angry, but they just came out flat and tired. She took a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring unseeingly into the darkness. 

It was easy enough for him to see the effort it took to keep her breaths level, to clock the tension in her muscles, the way she balled her hands up in fists to disguise the shaking. 

He stared at her, his undead heart lurching painfully. He hesitated before reaching out to pull her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, and he thought she was going to pull away, but instead she buried her face in his chest, a sob ripping itself from her lips before she could stop it, as silent as those he’d seen by the river. 

“Oh, darling,” he said, pulling her closer in a way he prayed was comforting. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her breaths coming too fast. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, repeating it over and over as he smoothed a hand over her back, doing his best to comfort her. He wasn’t used to comforting anyone, but it didn’t feel as foreign and uncomfortable as it should. He didn’t know how long it took, but eventually she calmed, her breaths evening out, her body falling limp against his as she drifted off to sleep, tears still wet on her cheeks. He sighed, relieved before he was faced with a dilemma.

He couldn’t very well leave her out in the brush. Well, he could, and it’d be the easiest thing to do, but it felt—wrong, he’d guess? She was that fragile thing tonight, the thing he’d seen by the river. 

He swore to himself and picked her up, surprised at just how light she was. He thought about setting her back in her bedroll, but that too sat poorly with him. Instead he carried her into his tent and settled the both of them into his bedroll. 

It would be fine, for one night. 

She pressed closer to him, snuffling pathetically in her sleep. He ran his fingers through her hair—beautiful hair the color of starlight with perfect waves even though she barely even ran a comb through it some days. 

Another infuriating thing about her, to add to the pile. 

Still, he tightened his hold on her, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. It would be alright, for one night.

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

Saw a post about Rhys being insane for going after Illyrians who worked with Amarantha while he also worked for Amarantha which reminded me very strongly of a bit that I've been casually working on in my notes app because I have Amarantha’s Takeover Rule Brainrot

Loosely connected with my ficverse and featuring entirely OCs but -

The Illyrian had his hands up. He was speaking - the same word over and over -

"Sanctuary. Sanctuary. Sanctuary. Sanctuary."

Martialis kept his hand raised in stay, but did not lower his short sword. "Who are you? Identify yourself at once!"

"Azeneth of Ironcrest," said the Illyrian. His long hair was a tangled nest of black, a few braided pieces around his pallid, terrified face. He was young, Pyrrha realized with a start - no older than she was, if even that. "Sanctuary. I mean you no harm."

"Liar," someone spat, to her left.

Azeneth's eyes widened; his head whipped to the sound, so Pyrrha got a close look at his eyes - the pupils large as saucers, the whites stark, tears pricking at the corners.

"Its the truth! Please - they'll kill me if I don't fight - the High Lord has gone completely mad -"

"And how do we know you were not sent here to spy on us?" asked Martialis calmly.

Azeneth looked pleadingly at the captain. "They will kill me," he repeated. His fear was genuine; he reeked with it. The green siphoning stone on his chest shone ominously as his emotions flared.

"How did you manage to escape?" Martialis continued.

Azeneth wet his lips. His wings twitched and there was a shift, a series of clanging sounds, as the soldiers behind him lifted their spears and poised to throw. At once, he raised his hands higher, demonstrating his surrender.

"The general is missing," said Azeneth. "We believe that he has been killed - and my unit commander raised this concern with the wrong person - he was executed, and while they were all distracted, I ran."

"And the wards? How did you pass through unscathed?"

"There is a hole on the southeastern segment of the city wall," Azeneth confessed at once. "It hasn't been repaired yet, and its high, so only someone with wings can break through. We know all the weaknesses in the wards - I came through that point, and the others will be coming through after me. They are planning to send a small force to the main gate as a distraction while the Illyrians break through the weak spot. Then the rest of the army will follow."

The south wall - the school, Celestine, was there. Pyrrha's blood ran cold, and it was clear that she wasn't the only one. Martialis's expression was grave, and he ordered, "Tell Keeper Darnic to warn his counterparts, and send a message to Otho and the general."

There was a flurry of movement as one of the priestesses broke free from the group and rushed off. Pyrrha did not dare take her eyes from the Illyrian, who was noticeably trembling.

"Thank you for your information," said Martialis. "For your contributions, a quick death."

Azeneth let out a whimper, but before the captain could attack, Lucretia raised her voice.

"You do not dare spill innocent blood in the Mother's sacred hall!"

Martialis spared the old priestess a glare of indignation. "He's an Illyrian spy," he said, as if she were too stupid to have figured it out. "Illyrians are trained to kill from the womb. We cannot let him live."

"How dare you?" Lucretia's voice, though throaty with age, was still powerful. "The Mother loves each of her children and lifts them when they stumble!"

"We don't have time for sermons!"

"You are right," said Lucretia, lifting her chin. "I am merely reminding you - this is *my* temple. I am the Reverend High, by age and by decree. And if this child claims Sanctuary in the arms of the Mother, then I grant it without hesitatation. Those who would tarnish the Mother's sacred hospitality and compassion have no place here."

Martialis colored with fury and shame flashed across his eyes. Pyrrha understood at once what he must be feeling - not only had Lucretia just threatened to upend their war plans and throw Martialis to the literal wolves at the door, but the old woman had a special talent for enforcing discipline. Serapion slacked off on chores and argued with his parents, but he'd always known better than to sass his grandmother. They all did.

"Disarm him!" The captain snapped the order, but it wasn't directed at anyone in particular and nobody moved at first.

Pyrrha raised her spear and relaxed out of her stance. Her feet carried her - one step, two steps, three steps, four steps - until she was within arms length of the Illyrian.

She held out her hand.

Azeneth began pulling black stone knives from his person - long, curved blades strappedno to his chest, and four daggers strapped to his waist, and another, smaller one in his boot. He dropped them all to the floor one by one, letting them clatter and clang against the tiles. The last thing he removed was the leather strap which held the green stone, and this was the only thing he handed to Pyrrha, placing it gently on her palm.

Her fingers closed around it as she took a step backward. It was warm, and seemed to have a faint heartbeat.

"Search him!" Martialis commanded.

Two male soldiers stepped forward and did so, roughly yanking on his leathers and slapping their hands hard against his body. Azeneth winced, but did not protest.

"Clean!"

Azeneth slowly lowered his hands. No one lowered their weapons.

Martialis broke the tension by sheathing his blade, and turning to face the old priestess.

"Where can we keep him?"

Lucretia's mouth pursed and she said, "He is a guest, not a prisoner."

"Be that as it may," said the captain flatly. "We are at war."

Lucretia looked at Pyrrha, who stared back at her blankly. She was still holding the stone out; she realized she was somewhat afraid of it, and then chided herself as she forced her body to stand normally, arms at her sides. Illyrian siphons were powerful, but they were only stones once they'd been removed from their wearers. Azeneth was harmless.

"My grandson could use some help with organizing our medical supply," suggested Lucretia. "Perhaps our guest might be willing to help?"

Azeneth lowered his chin as a few soldiers snickered to see his expression.

Pyrrha said, "Sure. I'll take you to him. This way."

She looked at Azeneth, who eyed her a bit warily, but followed when she walked. She felt every single eye - her peers, the other priestesses - and only paused when she reached Lucretia's position by the doors.

"Keep your eyes open," the old priestess advised.

Pyrrha nodded. That would be wise indeed.

[missvelvetsstuff]

With Friends Like You, Who Needs Enemies?

Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Natasha, Reader x ????

Reader is a mutant with the ability to turn sound into light who was 'adopted' aka stolen as a child by Baron Von Strucker to use for experimentation. She was given a form of the Super soldier serum so in addition to her mutant abilities she also has super strength, enhanced senses and healing. When he starts experimenting on his volunteers, the Maximoff twins, she tries to convince them to escape with her but they tell the Baron that she's planning to escape so he doubles her cell security. Steve and reader met when the team recovered Loki's scepter from Strucker.

She falls in love with Steve and becomes good friends with Nat but they aren't the friends she thinks they are.

Notes: Here I go with a new idea because I'm stuck on my wip's. Reader has powers like Dazzler from the X-Men, plus a form of the serum.

Steve and Nat are not great people in this.

This story is canon adjacent except that Thanos never happened.

Warnings: none yet

Prologue

Starts at the beginning of AOU

Steve looked around the room, seeing a woman who disappeared behind a wall. "Second enhanced, female. Do not engage"

A tall, beautiful woman in raggedy clothing approached him with her hands up. "Captain America? Are you here to help us?"

Steve noded but kept his guard up "We're here for Loki's scepter but I can help you. Do you work for Strucker?"

She shook her head "No, he kidnapped me when I was young. He helped me learn how to control my abilities but also experimented on me. He wanted me to be a weapon. I just want to go home"

While they were talking Wanda snuck up on them and forced Steve into a memory. Y/N created a light bright enough to shock him out of it.

Steve shook his head and once it cleared stared at her "How did you do that? What abilities, exactly?"

She shrugged "I'm a mutant. I can turn sound into light. It used to be random but I've learned how to make a laser and how to hypnotize people. Strucker made me learn how to break people out of the witches hex, in case she ever turned on Hydra."

Steve nodded "Well let's get you out of here" into his comms "Third enhanced, female. Not hostile. I'm bringing her with me." He looked at her "I'm Steve, what's your name?" She told him and he nodded "Follow me"

Tony nodded, breaking out of Wandas hex "I have the scepter, let's get out of here."

When they made it to the quinjet Y/N was quiet and stayed out of the way while they worked on Clint. She hoped the Avengers were better than Hydra, they couldn't possibly be worse.

Once they arrived at the tower, Y/N was taken to medical to be checked after Clint was being treated but was only found to be exhausted, malnourished and dehydrated. Dr Cho advised starting with a bland diet and rest for a few days, then a check up before starting on other foods and light exercise.

Nat introduced herself "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself before but my friend....."

Y/N nodded "It's ok, all of you were coming down from a fight. I know how that can feel."

Nat looked at her warily "Thanks. Let me show you to your room. You can take a shower while we get some food for you. There are some sweats in the dresser that you can wear until we get you some clothes. We will be in the conference room. in 30. We need to debrief you and Nick Fury wants to meet you. He's not here today but will probably drop in soon."

Y/N looked surprised "I'm no one but I'll tell you what I can."

Nat showed her the room "If you need any help you can ask Jarvis. He's Tony's AI and helps run things here. Just ask him for directions." Nat looked at her, concerned "You're safe here and we'll help you figure everything out."

Y/N looked around the room, more like a suite and more luxurious than she had seen in many years. Strucker kept her in a small, cold cell that had been made so she couldn't use her powers to get out. She hadn't had a proper shower in ages, usually they just blasted her with cold water once a week.

The shower was heaven and the hot water never ran out. There were some high end toiletries and plush towels, she hadn't felt so good since she didn't know when.

She dried off and put the sweat shirt and pants on, they were so soft and felt wonderful on her skin. She found a pair of slippers in the closet and was ready to face everyone. She looked up at the ceiling "Jarvis?"

"Yes, miss?" She jumped at the disembodied voice.

"How do I get to the conference room?"

"Exit this room, turn left and follow the lights"

"Thank you"

"Of course, miss."

Y/N found the conference room with Jarvis help and could hear the team talking quietly, her name came up more than once which made her nervous. She entered the room and everyone stilled, which made her more anxious.

Tony looked over at her "Come on in, we'll see what we need to do here. I have to say you look much better now. I've never seen anyone look so good in sweats. Natasha can take you shopping for some clothes when you're up for it."

Y/N shook her head "Thank you but I don't have any money."

Tony smirked "Don't worry about that, it's taken care of.

Please have a seat. There's food coming for you."

She sat down where he pointed and looked around nervously. She didn't know much about the Avengers and could only hope they were better than Hydra. A plate of eggs and toast with a glass of Apple juice was set in front of her. She picked at it for a minute before diving in. Strucker almost never gave her real food, just some high protein paste that did the job but tasted awful.

Tony clapped his hands "Alright kids, lets get this started. Y/N would you like to start?"

She looked up at him, wide eyed with a mouth full of food.

Tony grinned "Right, sorry. Go ahead and eat and we'll come back around to you."

Y/N listened carefully to everything they said and tried not to eat too quickly. When they came back around to her she had cleaned her plate and wanted more.

"I'll get you more after we're done here, don't want to shock your system too much." Tony told her softly.

"Can you tell us some about yourself and what Strucker was up to?"

Y/N nodded "Like I told Captain Rogers, I'm a mutant. I can turn sound into various forms of light. I can hypnotize, make lasers or just a pretty light show when I sing. I was 10 or so when Strucker kidnapped me and started experimenting to see how my powers work. He also gave me some kind of serum that made me stronger, heal faster and enhanced my senses. Taught me to fight hand to hand. He insisted he was my father but when I got older, he did things to me that no decent father would do to his daughter.

Last year he brought the scepter and two people that he enhanced with it. Wanda can mess with your mind and her twin brother Pietro moves very fast. I tried to tell them how awful he was and talk them into escaping with me but their hatred for Tony Stark and the Avengers was too much. They told Strucker I wanted to escape and he locked me in a cell I couldn't get out of for the last few months. He released me when you showed up, hoping I would help the twins fight against you but I couldn't. I didn't want to be under his control anymore"

Tears were running down her face as she finished.

Nat rubbed her back gently "Do you know where you're from? Where your family is?"

Y/N sighed "I don't remember much. Strucker tried to erase my memories and they are pretty scattered now. I see flashes of another life but they are blurry and vague. I know I wanted to be a singer, taught myself how to make light shows to go with my songs. I remember when my mom saw me doing that and freaked out. There's not much after that except for Strucker and his experiments."

She sat back looking a little dazed "I'm very tired. Is it ok if I go rest?"

Tony nodded "We can talk more later. Once you're fully recuperated you'll have to come to the gym and show us your stuff. Captain, would you like to escort the lady to her room?" He saw how Steve was looking at her so wanted to give him a little shove.

Steve and Y/N were both quiet on the way to her room. She started humming without even realizing and a soft colorful haze surrounded her.

Steve looked at her in shock "That's so beautiful" his cheeks flushed "I mean you're beautiful, you know your voice and the lights"

She stopped "Sorry, it's a habit and how I comforted myself in my cell."

"No, no, don't be sorry. You don't have to stop, it just caught me off guard" they stopped in front of her door. "Get some rest and ask Jarvis if you need anything" he gently touched her arm and felt sparks which made him pull away quickly. "Yeah, uh, good night"

"G'nite Steve"

Chapter 1

[ikeromantic]

Keiji - Red Thread of Fate

This is a gift piece for @scruffymctee featuring the lovely Tomoyo. Approx. 4K words.

Keiji felt like an idiot. This wasn’t a new sensation. More like an old scar that tore open from time to time, bleeding shame instead of blood. He shoved his feelings down into his chest and ignored the bitter bile taste in his throat. “Of course, my lord. I will stay back with the reserves.” His voice was cheerful, his expression the same. “It’s an honor to be given any position in your forces.”

Nobunaga’s carnelian gaze pinned him to the spot, as if he could see straight past the smile and into the roiling darkness of Keiji’s heart. “Do not disappoint me,” was all he said. His expression was too flat to read, his tone expectant and regal. 

The wild child bowed low, knowing this was not the time or place to demand more. He hadn’t earned it. Not yet. One day though . . . one day he would be at the head of a mighty force. His name made legend in song and poetry. And his uncle would be no one and nothing, finally made to eat his words. That thought made Keiji’s smile widen.

Two days later, he and his reserve troops sat idle at the Oda camp. They could hear battle in the distance as Masamune brought a rogue daimyo to heel. It was impossible to tell from here if they were winning or losing, but the signal for the reserve had not been sent so there was nothing for it but to wait. 

Sweat ran down Keiji’s back, and the harsh hot sun beat down on him and the other soldiers, all dressed in their armor and ready for a fight. But the only action in camp was the steady hustle of the medical tent where Ieyasu and his strange assistant treated the wounded. He could not help but watch the action there, bored as he was. 

Ieyasu wore a stern, disapproving expression as he moved between the wounded soldiers. He would pause to assess their condition and determine treatment. His assistant - the girl - followed in his wake, lingering to dispense medicine or check bandages. For the more serious injuries, she would work right alongside Tokugawa. Blood up to her elbows, a look of focus on her face as she helped him remove bullets and stitch sword-wounds closed. Her name was Tomoyo.

It annoyed Keiji that he knew her name. She should be outside of his concern. One of Nobunaga’s playthings. But he couldn’t have ignored her if he wanted to. She’d shown up several times for training in spear and staff. As if she were one of the conscripts and not a princess. She came to war council. And she came to battle. She was . . . strange. 

He caught himself watching her again. The graceful curve of her neck as she bent to inspect a closed wound. The smile she gave the injured soldier. He said something to her and Tomoyo laughed. Keiji forced his eyes away. He didn’t need to be distracted. Especially not by such an odd woman. 

“Think we’re gonna stand here like this all day?” One of his men, a rugged soldier who’d spent most of his life as a bandit, spoke up. 

“Nobody told me serving the Oda meant sweating in my armor all day with my thumb in my arse,” another commented.

A third agreed. “At least when I was doing mercenary work, they let me swing my sword.”

“Shut up,” Keiji growled, his own annoyance burning in his tone. “Following orders is more honorable than just hitting whatever’s in front of you because it’s harder to do. Are you saying it’s too hard for you? You’re too weak?”

There was a murmured ‘no’ in response, barely audible.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of some whining little boys?” Keiji cupped his hand to his ear.

“No!” Came the roared response. 

Keiji grinned at them. “Good. I’d hate to think I wasted my time in all that training. Now, we’re gonna stand here ready and waiting because that’s our job today. And it’s an important one.” He tried to make himself sound sure, even though in his heart he too wanted to be out in the thick of it, making his name. 

“Is everything ok over here?” Tomoyo’s voice startled Keiji.

He spun to face her. She’d taken advantage of his distraction to walk over from the medical tent and now stood less than an armslength away. “Everything’s fine, lady.”

She smiled at him and something in her gaze made his heart lurch, it’s beat suddenly too fast and a bit uneven. “Good. I brought some water for you, if that’s alright? You look hot.” Tomoyo gestured to a large clay vessel at her feet. 

Keiji’s eyes fell to it. He hadn’t even noticed. “You carried this over here? By yourself?”

“Yes?” She laughed lightly. “It’s not as heavy as you might think. And I’m used to helping Ieyasu lift the wounded so this is nothing.” Tomoyo bent and lifted a ladle of water from the urn. “Here you go.”

He shook his head. “Let my men go first.” He thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in her face but she just nodded and held the ladle out to the first man in line behind him. The soldier took the ladle from her hands and got a drink. 

Keiji studied her face as she handed each man the ladle. Tomoyo smiled and laughed and chatted with them. Every soldier walked back to his place with a lighter step, taking more than water from the interaction. It should have cheered Keiji to see the improvement in morale, but it only irritated him. Clearly she was faking it. No one could be so happy in the midst of a battle. 

“Don’t look so sour,” she laughed, catching his gaze. “I offered to let you go first and you said no.”

“I don’t look sour,” he snapped. Then forced a smile, swallowing his sudden surge of annoyance that she’d read his mood so easily. “I am just eager to join the fight!”

Tomoyo’s grin widened. “Hm. If you say so.” She winked and tapped his nose before going back to handing out water.

Keiji prickled with irritation where she’d touched him. Definitely irritation because the little shock that raced up his scalp and down his neck couldn’t be anything else. He liked refined women, not . . . girls who read poetry and sang. Not women willing to get their hands bloody in a warcamp.  

He turned away from her to watch the horizon, still awkwardly aware of her presence at his back. The sound of her voice coming to his ears whether he wanted it or not. Keiji ran a hand through his hair. If only the reserves would be called, he thought. He could prove himself in battle. And with a victory to his name he could start to smile for real. Then, perhaps . . .

Tomoyo’s fingertips brushed the back of his neck and Keiji nearly leapt in surprise. He could feel the cool, silky touch vibrate through the nerve endings of his back, a pleasurable jolt that turned his face hot. He spun, sputtering. 

“What! Don’t - you - don’t go surprising random men, you weirdo!” He snarled at her. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and he felt a surging warmth in his chest hotter than the afternoon sun. His thoughts were a confused snarl.

She tilted her head, regarding him with an emerald gaze as deep as the sea and as calm and still as a forest pond. “You are hardly random, Keiji Maeda. And I tried calling you several times but you were just staring into space.” She laughed. “I thought you might still want a drink but if not, I can go?”

Keiji blinked as Tomoyo lifted a ladle full of cool water toward him. He was thirsty, and . . . he didn’t want her to leave. Not like that. Not after his bitterness revealed itself again. She had a way of seeing past his mask, of forcing his true self out into the open. Keiji wanted her to believe he was the wild child, the cheerful, boasting buffoon that could fight as well as he could talk. Not the small, angry soul he hid beneath that persona. 

He bent his head toward the ladle, his warm golden eyes flickering with a mix of heady emotion as they remained fixed on her. His lips touched the smooth wood of the ladle as she tipped it toward him. Keiji drank in the sweet water and the peace in her jade gaze. He felt as if his lips touched hers and it was Tomoyo’s soul he drank from. His anger ebbed away, the tangle of his emotions eased. The moment felt intimate, the world around them distant. 

Keiji felt his mouth curve up in a gentle smile foreign to a face normally stretched in false boast or true rancor. “Tomoyo -”

Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile, but then her eyes slid past him, going wide. The ladle fell from her hands as she let out a wordless shout.

Before Keiji could turn to see what she was looking at, one of his men stumbled into him. An arrow stuck out of the soldier’s throat as he clutched at it, blood seeping between his fingers. Keiji stared for a moment, fixed on the surprise and horror in the soldier’s eyes. Then everything sank in at once, as if the world around him sped up. “We’re under attack! Form up! Let’s go!”

To their credit, the soldiers scrambled back to formation, following Keiji’s shouted orders. That first arrow was followed by a whole flight, piercing ground and flesh alike. He darted a glance toward Tomoyo, but she was already moving toward the medical tent. Unhurt. Good, he thought, his focus moving back to the battle sweeping through camp.

After the arrows, figures rushed into view, steel flashing in the afternoon sun. Their faces were twisted with ferocity, ready to fight and die, ready to kill. Keiji grinned fiercely, exultantly. This was his chance. He hadn’t been called to the front, but the front had come to him and he was going to make the best of it. He drew his sword and charged forward, giving his men the signal to join.

Despite having surprise on their side, the attackers didn’t make much ground. Keiji and his men engaged them at the outer ring of tents. The enemy used the fabric to mask their movement, darting between and around the taut fabric. Keiji laughed wildly as his opponent tried to dodge behind a tent, as if that was barrier enough. The Maeda wild child went through instead of around. The cloth billowed around him as he slashed and cut the enemy down.

For a time, Keiji’s world narrowed. There was him, the men beside him, and their foes. Sweat and blood and shouts of anger and pain. His soldiers fought as hard as they could, but they were outnumbered. For every opponent felled, two more took his place. And Keiji was getting pushed back, back to the center of the camp. 

They had to keep the enemy from making it to the command tent, the weapon stock, and the wounded. “Fight your hardest,” Keiji shouted, encouraging his men to push even harder. Whatever it took, he couldn’t lose. He would not fail. “Let’s show them what we’re made of!”

His soldiers shouted in response, a roar that shivered the air and put fear in the eyes of their opponents. For a breath, it seemed like their courage might turn the tide. But there were just too many enemies, coming from all sides. Keiji and his men converged in a circle around the camp center, pushed to this last, defensive formation.

“We can do this!” He called out. “This is our strongest position!” It was true - and not. The fact was, this was their last position. If the enemy forces broke them here, there was nowhere to run. Keiji felt no fear in this knowledge. Only a grim determination.

Ieyasu pushed into the line beside Keiji. “Are we going to fight or just keep yelling about it?” Grumpy, even in the face of terrible odds, his calm disaffection gave the soldiers heart in another way. 

“Guess we’re gonna fight.” Keiji grinned at the frowning warlord. And that was all the time they had to talk as the enemies surged forward again. Soldiers fell to the ground around Keiji, friend and foe alike. The battle was balanced on the edge of a knife, swaying between the ferocity of the cornered and the confidence of the antagonists. Any one element could swing the fray in favor of one side or another.

Keiji and Ieyasu fought side by side, the eye in a storm of blood and fury. The wild child had reach and strength on his side, while the heir to the Tokugawa had technique and an almost clinical viciousness. It seemed like no one could even get close, but numbers count. 

Ieyasu cried out in surprise as a blade he didn’t see coming caught in the gap of his armor. Keiji was quick to knock the enemy back, but not before the warlord took a wound. Cloth and flesh gaped around the bloodied gash in his side. He exchanged a look with Keiji, both knowing this was likely defeat. 

Their opponents knew it too. They rushed forward, sure now that the Oda forces would crumble. But their attack stuttered as a new fighter entered the fray. 

Tomoyo launched herself into combat, wielding a light spear. She slammed the butt into the chest of one enemy, and slammed another with the shaft, and slashed at a third. She was a whirlwind of bladed chaos, pushing the attackers back. Her fury was palpable, her gentle smile turned into a feral grin, eyes flashing with green fire.

Keiji was almost as surprised as the rebels he fought. Tomoyo was no fragile flower, and for the first time, that left Keiji in awe of her. Every lesson he’d taught her showed in her skilled attacks. She had a flare and passion in battle that went beyond learned technique though. Like a goddess of war, he thought. Brave and ferocious. His heart thumped in his chest, adrenaline and a lust for something other than battle.

Beside him, Ieyasu gave an exasperated shout. “You better not get hurt!” There was a fierce affection in his blue eyed gaze. 

Tomoyo only laughed in response, as if injury was the furthest possibility. And maybe it was. She seemed unstoppable. Several enemies lay down in surrender, while others broke and ran. The remaining Oda forces took heart from her and rallied, chasing after. 

Ieyasu held himself up, shaking from the effort of staying standing. His skin was pale and clammy from bloodloss, his breathing pained. Keiji stayed beside him, calling out orders. Though the tide had turned, victory was a canny bitch, able to slip your grasp the moment you were sure. 

His soldiers knew what they were about, obeying his commands and pulling the defenses back together as they chased the enemies out or captured them. The relief was palpable. A joy that felt all the sweeter after coming so close to defeat.

“We did it,” Tomoyo shouted, hoisting her spear over her head. She turned to flash her smile to Keiji. “We -” Her words ended in a sharp gasp of pain. An arrow jutted from her chest, the sharp barbed end coated in a sheen of her blood. She looked down at it with an expression of disappointment. Her spear clattered against the stones. Then her legs gave way.

Keiji lunged for her, his body moving faster than his thoughts. He caught her in his arms before she hit the ground. “Tomoyo!”

She sighed, the fire in her eyes dimming to embers as she looked up at him. “Well,” she breathed, “this was not how I imagined ending up in your arms.” Her laugh was choked. 

“You imagined ending up in my arms?” Keiji raised an eyebrow, trying to cover the way her words struck at his heart. He shook his head. “No, don’t answer that you idiot. I can’t believe you went and got yourself shot. How am I gonna explain this to Nobunaga?”

Tomoyo gave a weak shrug. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Hey! Hey! None of that. Tomoyo!” Keiji felt a jolt of fear that if she shut her eyes now, she might never open them again. He might never see her beautiful emerald gaze, playful and teasing, brave and kind. He couldn’t stand it. 

“Stop shouting and bring her to the medical tent,” Ieyasu hissed. He was hobbling toward said spot, and did not pause to look back at them as he spoke. 

Keiji cradled Tomoyo to his chest and stood. 

She gasped at the motion, her lips pressing to a thin, pale line.

“You’re gonna be ok,” Keiji told her, trying to force confidence he did not feel into the words. He set her down on her side atop one of the mats in the medical tent but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her completely. Keiji reached for her hand and grasped it. His warm, rough palm encompassed her small, cold fingers. 

Ieyasu cut through the layers of her clothes and peeled them back to reveal the wound in her back and chest. “I need you to stabilize the arrow while I remove the head. Can you do that?” His voice wavered as he spoke, as if he were barely able to hold himself up. The wound in his side seeped scarlet, dripping to the floor beneath him. 

“Yeah. Can you though? You look half dead.”

The warlord grimaced. “I’m fine. A little blood loss.”

Keiji thought it looked like more than a little, but he just nodded. With his free hand, he gripped the arrow tight, keeping it from moving while Ieyasu cut the head from it. 

Tomoyo squeezed his hand as the arrow head fell away. Her eyes did not open, and her breath remained shallow. 

“O-ok. Good. Now -” Ieyasu clenched his eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus. It was clear he was struggling to stay conscious. “I - I need you to pull the arrow out the way it came in. When you do, it’s going to start bleeding. A lot. You - you -” His jaw clenched but despite his will, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the side.

“Ieyasu? Hey! Tokugawa, come on! That was only half the instructions!” Keiji shook the warlord, but there was only a muted groan in response. It looked like he was on his own. “Alright. I can do this. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” They could both die, he thought, and it will be my fault. “No. No.” He shook his head, forcing the venomed pessimism away. If he did nothing, both would likely die. So there was only really one choice, to try. 

Keiji tried to release Tomoyo’s hand, but she wouldn’t let go. Her cool, slim fingers grasped onto him as if his touch was all that held her in this world.  “I’m going to be right here with you,” he told her. “But I need to let go of your hand to get the arrow out.”

He wasn’t sure if she understood or if she’d fallen unconscious, but he was able to prise his hand from her grip. Though as he pulled away, he felt something tug at him. He looked down to see what had tangled him. A single crimson thread had wound its way around his hand, weaving between his fingers and hers. At first he was confused, wondering how this kimono thread managed to catch them both but then he saw where the cord led. 

A binding strand ran up his arm and ended at his heart, and the other end sat just below Tomoyo’s arrow wound. He felt a rush of heady emotion. For a heartbeat, he could only stare. This woman was his fated love. His soul mate. There was no other like her, no one else for him. And she lay at death’s door. It felt like the luck he’d always had.  

He nearly gave up then. Better to endure the sorrow than to hope. But Tomoyo would never give up on him, were the tables turned. And so, Keiji pulled his hand away from hers with the most gentle of motions, and set about removing the arrow shaft. The next several minutes felt like hours. 

Keiji’s hand shook as he pulled the arrow free and staunched the scarlet flow with linen bandages. 

Tomoyo arched and gasped. A cry of pain escaped her pallid lips before she collapsed. But she was still breathing. Her pulse still fluttered in her wrist and neck. 

He wished Ieyasu were still conscious, to tell him what came next when the bleeding stopped. But the warlord was out cold, and likely to stay that way. Keiji did his best to bandage him, though he feared the blood loss was too great. Only time would tell if either Tomoyo or Ieyasu would wake. 

Keiji, exhausted and nursing wounds of his own, fell into a dead sleep between them, his arms wrapped tenderly around Tomoyo. 

When he woke, he was bandaged and lying on a mat alone. The tent was dark, though there were sounds of life from outside. The laughter of soldiers, the crackling of dinner fires. He carefully sat up, feeling every strike from the battle echoed in his flesh. Bruises and strained muscles, cuts and tears he hadn’t noticed. The crimson thread was gone, but Keiji could still feel the gentle tug of it. His heart ached more than any of his physical hurts.

He left the tent, following that taut, invisible cord. 

Tomoyo was sitting at the edge of camp. Her back pressed up against some crates, a mat piled with cushions beneath her. She glanced up as Keiji approached. Her smile was as lovely as always, even if she still held the pallor of her near-death.

“I didn’t think they’d let you get up and around yet.” 

She laughed. “It’s been three days. And I told Nobunaga if I didn’t get out of bed, I was going to start stabbing people.” Her laughter turned into a sharp, pained breath. 

Keiji plopped down next to her. “Well, it sounds to me like you should still be in bed. What are you, a petulant child? You can’t rest when you’re supposed to?”

Tomoyo gave him a side-eye glare. “The fresh air is good for me. And Ieyasu is up and around too so -”

“So you’re gonna push yourself just as hard as he does, even if you don’t have to.” Keiji raised an eyebrow. 

She had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but wouldn’t admit it. “Anyway, why are you here? Don’t you have soldier things to be doing?”

“Sure.” There was reporting to Nobunaga, checking on his men, cleaning his armor and checking his blade. But none of that felt as important as - “Tomoyo. Do you . . . feel something?” Keiji put his hand over his heart, where the ache sat heavy in him. 

She looked down, no quip ready for once. 

“Because, look - I don’t, I don’t know if I believe in fate and all that. A person makes their own future. But. I feel - I saw -” Keiji struggled to explain, feeling more foolish as he went on. 

Tomoyo stopped him with a look as she lifted her head. There was so much warmth and passion in her brilliant green eyes. A depth of affection Keiji knew he had not earned and did not deserve. “I’ve always felt it. Some . . . connection to you.” She sighed. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to, though.” Keiji scooped up her hand in his. He pressed a kiss to it. “You lived and I - I want to take it as a chance. Maybe you’ll end up hating me. Or one of us will die and it won’t even matter that we tried. That we took this chance to -” Keiji’s throat locked up as the word bubbled up from his heart. “To love. But I want to try anyway.”

Tomoyo leaned against him with a sigh. “That wasn’t the most romantic proposal. But I think it will do.” 

Keiji found himself smiling. “You want more romance, huh?” He tipped her chin up to face him. “Tomoyo. When you nearly died, I thought a part of me was dying too. I cannot lose you. I love you.” And then he pressed a kiss to her lips, gentle and sweet and slow, and full of heat. 

When he pulled back for a breath, she grinned up at him. “Better. You might have to give it a few more tries though. Just to make sure.” 

He laughed, the tightness in his chest easing as his heart filled with warmth. “Alright. I can do that. A proposal a day?”

Her eyes were alight as she kissed him back. “Only one?”