#get those gears turning marvel!!!!!!!!

[maximusboltaqon]

Two things. 1) Did you see the Rainbow Rowell Medusa comment on Twitter, 2) Dan Abnett will be writing at Marvel first with a Groot limited but think he might try to continue where he left off with the Inhumans somehow?

if you're referring to these - i had to go look, and AAAAAAA!!!! very very curious!!! if im remembering right, medusa is meant to appear in a women of marvel comic next month, which miiiight explain her being 'occupied'? but considering there's a bit of a time gap and she-hulk herself will probably also be in the comic, i wonder if it's a different thing keeping her busy.... really really hoping she's getting a bigger role here soon 🥺

and i think it'd be interesting if he did! tbh, im still only cautiously optimistic about their returns, and i don't expect a full return or even an issue or two dedicated to them like we used to have anytime soon. i think their reputation is still a bit too tattered to stray far from small cameos. though if medusa does get some actual breathing room in the next couple months, i really hope she gets some positive attention out of it!! if she does well, i think it would be a very good sign for the inhumans. also very curious about that devil dinosaur show that came out not too long ago - crossing my fingers that girls help us get some more content !!

okok but back to abnett, i think he'd be a good choice to continue from! i feel he had very good characterization in his runs, especially for crystal and maximus, so i'd be very pleased to see him tackle the family post-royals, or maybe some more insight on how new attilan is doing without the fam. would also love love love a series about ahura and luna, which i think might be a good choice for characters to start a return with. rhelm of kings is one of the last runs with ahura and luna together with their accurate ages, iirc, and itd be fun to see his take on them now that theyre young adults. big big jump in time from then to now!!

[naffeclipse]

Packmates

Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

This is such a delightful little fic requested by @counterbalance involving Orca!Eclipse having a little heart-to-heart with Michael and Vanessa with, of course, Y/N overseeing it! It's very cathartic and sweet to see all of these characters talk to each other after everything that has happened. I hope you enjoy!

———

Spring in the Arctic is frigid. No flowers bloom along the frozen land. Sea smoke sends pale wisps into the rosy pink dawn light. Jutting mounts of hills and ice jag the landscape as you slip closer and closer to the edge of the snow-dotted ocean. 

You tuck your scarlet wool scarf tighter around your throat. Goggles and a hood protect your face and eyes from the wicked air so cold, it brandishes itself like a knife against exposed skin. 

The darkness of a blistering cold night in the polar region lifts away, and the sweet, soft light of a new, short day begins. Slowly, the days will get longer and longer, until there is only the hint of dusk before it brightens all over again. You marvel at the sunlight on the glittering frozen ground. The way it refracts upon the tips of waves as the ocean churns slowly in its below-zero temperature state. 

All of this is no matter to an orca siren. Eclipse has never been cold. Only alone.

That will change.

You trek across the plain with company. It’s taken you a few days to prepare Eclipse to meet your packmates as he refers to them properly. He’s not wrong. Michael and Vanessa form your little tightly knit group, forged by comradery from first being stuck in such a stark landscape in a tiny base, to then enduring the mysterious uncertainty of sirens and the lingering presence of those who hunted them. 

They tried to protect you and you protected them. On your left, Michael’s head is on a swivel. He strains his neck as he peers down into the deep and dark indigo waters as if he might spy Eclipse before he’s ready to emerge. His gloved hands clench, held in front of him as if a harpoon might materialize and drop into his waiting palms. The fur of his dark gray parka is red, pushed by the slight breeze as if he were an Arctic fox roaming, briskly attempting to keep away from a much larger threat.

Vanessa walks so close to you on your other side that her shoulder repeatedly brushes against your own with the thick scratch of durable fabric from your Arctic gear echoing. Her face repeatedly turns to you. A black aviator hat protects her head from the fierce cold, the white fur along the flops of her head attire serving to keep her safe and warm. She anxiously moves her arms. You wonder if she intends to hug you or drag you back to base—either way, she seems to want to grab onto you tightly, as if you might fall through the thick ice now. 

They have their reasons to fear, but it’s alright now. Eclipse isn’t going to hurt anyone.

Seeing is believing, it seems, as you lead them towards the icy coast. The water reveals a deeper teal hue to its soft waves and lapping against the edge of the sea as the sun glares across the horizon. You squint against the brightness. Holding up a hand to help shield your gaze, you search the salty edge of the ocean.

Eclipse said he would meet them. He said he wants to know your packmates better.

“Stay here,” you say softly.

Michael’s shoulders become rigid. His eyes, verdant and almost wild, like a creature about to snap with its fangs, follow you in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

You turn back, smiling despite how well your Arctic gear covers you up. 

“I am. It’s okay, Michael.” In a firmer tone, you remind, “You said you would give him a chance.”

Inhaling deeply, he dips his chin once. “I did. But he’s still a siren.”

“And you’re a human who had a harpoon.” You face him, no longer shrinking in his presence. There are no more secrets, no more reasons to protect each other from the truth. You love Eclipse. That should be enough for Michael but it’s going to take a little more time.

But he’ll see.

“We don’t have them now,” Vanessa says. She crosses her arms in what might have been a pout but her gloved hands grip herself anxiously. “It—He can still sing.”

“He won’t. He promised me he wouldn’t.” You have to ask much of them, and winter isn’t enough time for change, but it’ll have to do. “Trust me.”

They can now. Michael and Vanessa glance at each other, reassuring and perhaps, reinspired by the other. 

You nod gratefully and turn back to the water. You kneel at its edge, searching for a tell-tale sign of a sharp dorsal fin or burning red flukes. He shouldn’t be bold—at least more than is excessive for him. You took great care to explain to him how wary Michael and Vanessa might be and that he needs to be on his best behavior. He promised but the way he held you close in an embrace left a grain of doubt in your mind.

In the distant dark teal of the Arctic Ocean, you spy the beautiful, red-tipped dorsal fin of an orca siren. Eclipse. He swims slowly, approaching in the way a shark might curiously regard fresh bait while it’s not currently hungry. You wait. In the corner of your vision, Michael and Vanessa tense. You remain, hands on your legs, inhaling the frost-bitten scent of the wind before the dorsal fin dips below.

Right before you, where ice meets water, Eclipse emerges dripping wet, maw wide open in a grin. His eyes burn through the chilled landscape. One yellow and one red eye greet you with a radiant wonder. His expression softens. Your heart warms as he reaches for you, black-tipped claws dripping wet.

“Happy day, birdie,” he singsongs in a low rumble of harmonics. 

His hands brush your gloved palms, and you hear a strange rush of steps behind you. Eclipse’s eyes narrow. He latches onto your wrists just as arms encircle you from behind, one over your shoulder, and another around your waist, and a breathless sound of panic touches the back of your hood. You look down to find the off-white garb of Vanessa’s Arctic gear clinging to you, her gloves twisting deeply into your coat.

“Vanessa,” Michael says, his tone unreadable. He steps closer just as Eclipse growls.

“It’s okay,” you pipe up over everyone. “We’re fine, everyone’s fine.”

Tensions soar as you slowly turn your head back to find Vanessa wide-eyed and breathless. Her gaze is locked onto Eclipse. A rumble on the threat of a snarl vibrates through Eclipse’s chest. Vanessa holds you tighter.

“Eclipse, will you let go of me?” You level him with a pointed stare. “I want to introduce you to my packmates.”

Eclipse’s teeth flash. His array of head frills, flaring in dark oranges and deep reds, cut through the blues and whites of the Arctic in his agitation. 

“Eclipse,” you say softly, “Let me go. Just for a moment.”

His gaze drops back to you. You are firm, and unyielding as he lowers his shoulders. A softness returns to his feature. Though he appears pained to release your wrists, his claws slip away. 

Vanessa’s death grip upon you loosens in the slightest.

“Vanessa, this is Eclipse.” You pat her arms once. “He’s not taking me anyway. You can stop grabbing me now.”

She drags in a ragged breath. She slowly blinks, her green eyes returning to a more sensible state as she at last withdraws her arms from around you. You pat her arm again. Yet, she sits close beside you, trembling with anticipation. 

Gently, you gesture towards her, “Eclipse, this is my packmate, Vanessa.”

He tilts his head. Hiding his teeth, he smiles. “Hello.”

A stare follows from Vanessa, caught somewhere before wariness and the strangeness of an orca siren speaking to her. Was she expecting a monstrous grable to leave his lips or perhaps a wicked song? 

“Hi.” she finally decides. She glances at you in confusion for a moment. 

Oh, right. Packmate. You’ll explain that later.

“Eclipse,” you then hold your hand out beyond Vanessa to Michael. He still stands on his feet, unwilling or unable to join you guys on the ice that the orca siren leans his arms against. “This is Michael.”

Eclipse’s eyes sharpen as if the tip of an icicle. He lifts his hand. Michael tenses, his fists balling into fists.

“You are the child of the human who took away my pod, my family,” his deep voice is abysmal with the accusations. “I thought you would be worse.”

Michael turns hard as stone. Tension laces his jaw as he clenches tightly. Your heart skips a beat, glancing sharply between the two.

Eclipse snarls. “Your father killed my mother.”

“Sirens are dangerous,” Michael retorts, his shoulders braced for an impact that you refuse to see.

“Eclipse, you said you would be good to my pack,” you say sharply. You reach out and touch the back of Eclipse’s slick, sheeny hand.

He pauses, his eyes flashing to you. His claws quickly curl around your wrist. 

“I am,” he says, but he lowers his voice. 

Vanessa tenses, her hand reaching to hook around the crook of your arm. Desperation fills you to the brim.

“Please, there’s been enough fighting and hatred.” You look between all three of them. “You all have suffered, haven’t you?”

You steely hold Michael’s gaze. His expression morphs between molten rage and seething hatred before melting into something less bitter. You turn on Eclipse. His expression is sharp, edged with rime and fangs. You squeeze his hand. He glances down at your small gloved fingers in his palm. Slowly, he breathes out a huff of misty air. When you turn to Vanessa, her head is already bowed. Her grip upon your arm is no longer a means to keep you close, but to anchor herself.

“My sister,” Michael says, then stops. He struggles for a moment before looking at Eclipse—truly looking at Eclipse for the first time. “My sister is gone because of my father.”

The beginnings of a snarl pulling over his teeth stop. Eclipse’s grip around your hand becomes gentle. A low sound of sympathy escapes him in a warble.

“Afton let my mother be taken by a siren.” Vanessa’s voice is so small, you almost don’t catch it. “He sacrificed her for the sake of his studies.”

Her fingers dig into your coat. You wish you had another hand so you might comfort her. 

Eclipse looks at your other packmate, much more gentle as he leans closer as if to console her. Then, for a moment, he’s pierced with a strange expression. He leans away. His hand slips out of yours as he clenches his hands. His claws rake over the ice.

“Did the siren take your mother as a mate?”

Vanessa’s head lifts. Her mouth contorts as if her very muscles are paralyzed before she says gravelly, “I think so.”

Eclipse’s gaze falls over you. A memory of a time of being stolen away, held underwater, and forced to swim leaves you with a chill. Eclipse, however, slowly inches his hand back to you, open and waiting, and you accept it again. His shiny black and white markings are still sea salt-slick. He whistles a soft sound.

“It is wicked to force your will upon another,” his voice is low, repentant. 

Michael and Vanessa share equal expressions of scrutiny and wonder. Perhaps you merely imagine the first shine of acceptance in their eyes, but it’s a start.

Visibly, they relax. Vanessa still holds to your elbow but her fingers are no longer hooking around you in the hope of keeping you from being reeled out. Gradually, Michael lowers himself onto one knee. He rests his arm on his leg and loses the tautness in his body. 

You hold tight to Eclipse’s fingers. You wish you could close the distance. It’s been a few days since you’ve returned to the Arctic and spent time with Eclipse, but you still yearn for more of him. It was a long and cold winter without your siren. 

Perhaps humans and sirens don’t have to stay enemies. Perhaps the past can die with the generation who couldn’t stop fighting. Maybe you all can be better, and happier.

“Eclipse, will you tell Vanessa what you told me before?” you nudge. You think it will sound better coming from a siren than from you. 

Straightening, Vanessa glances quizzically at you, then Eclipse as a few water droplets fall from his frills.

“Your mother may be alive.” He turns towards the sea without releasing your hand. “She may be out there. I can help find her if that is something you wish.”

A ripple of shock crosses your friend’s expression. Of course, you and Michael promised to help search for her mother now that she understood what may have become of her. This is one of your motivations for returning to the Arctic. Vanessa is almost speechless. You have never seen her emotional before, but you wonder if she may weep. Is she happy or angry that a siren would offer such a thing to her? Knowing what happened to her mother?

“You know where she is?” she asks.

“No,” Eclipse corrects promptly, “but I can aid in your search. I know these waters. I have swam them all my life. If she is here, I can locate her.”

She glances at you, her eyes shining. You smile reassuringly. Slowly, she turns to Michael. His expression is firm and difficult to read, but he gives a slight nod. 

This might not end up how you wish it would, but it’s something. It’s hope—a possible answer after never having her mother all of her life. You wonder what kind of tail her mother could possess, and shiver as you glance down to your legs covered in thick Arctic gear.

“I—Yes,” Vanessa says at last. She faces Eclipse. “I would owe you everything if you helped me find her.”

A wide grin splits the crescent marking of his face. Just below the water and beyond the edge of ice you sit upon, his tail snaps to one side.

“No need. I want nothing more than what I have.” He squeezes your hands. His claws carefully brush over the fabric of your gloves as your heart swells with pride. 

You face him. Gently tugging yourself free of Vanessa’s grip, her hold loosens and she lets you go, her hand hanging in the air while you close the distance between you and Eclipse. His arms open gladly. You enter his embrace. A spark of shyness flies through you, never having an audience before to witness the affection between you and the orca siren.

Eclipse makes you forget all else as he hums soothingly. He nuzzles softly along your hood, pushing your goggles up to touch the heat of your skin. You close your eyes. He squanders not the opportunity to press a slick kiss to one eyelid, then the other. You breathe softly.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him.

“I thought you would know there is no need to thank me,” he rumbles with mirth, “but I still enjoy it.”

You pull back and touch his cheek. He leans into it before you remember who is present. You turn back to Michael and Vanessa and bashfully ask where they should start looking first.

[astaroth1357]

Flipping the Script: Leviathan Meet-Cute (Human World AU)

So what if you met the demon boys in the human world instead? You’re not magic. You’re not special. You’re an average little human that came crashing into some demons one day. Good luck!

Contents: Pretty new format for me, second person (you), forgive any wonkiness

Part One (You are here), Part Two, Part Three (Coming Soon...)

~♡♡♡~

You’re a hardcore otaku influencer with a niche in creating and sharing cosplay. You’ve befriended a lot of other enthusiasts pursuing your passions, but there was one guy that you met at a recent convention that stood out from all of the rest.

The Seven Lords was just having yet another milestone anniversary, so several friends in your circle all decided to get together and do a group cosplay for the fans, you all were even offered space for a panel and locations for meet-and-greets! Your whole fanbase was ecstatic, and so were you, but there was just one problem…

The friend that agreed to be your Third Lord backed out at the last minute! His baggage was totally lost on the flight there and suddenly your whole group was without a member to complete the set. Though you knew it wasn’t a huge deal, you hated to disappoint your fans who were looking for a full group photo-op…

But then you saw this guy waiting around your hotel lobby-

“I can't believe Wess had to cancel on us…!” You thought to yourself while tapping your foot furiously against the hotel's linoleum floor. You were waiting for check-in last night when your collaborator sent his text to everyone, and your team still hadn’t found a suitable replacement… How could you guys have a TSL photo event without a Lord of Shadows?? Especially when you're the one dressed as Henry! What self-respecting group TSL cosplay doesn’t have those two together?? They're the closest pair in the show! The Sun and Shadow shippers were going to start a riot…

You were all still double-checking your gear and supplies down in the lobby. Months of work had gone into planning and prepping for this event… Your friends were trying to calm you down as best as they could, but your nerves weren’t on your side… You hated letting down your fans, even if it was entirely out of your control. But without a replacement, what exactly could you do? Just as you were about to throw in the towel and get dressed, a bunch of shouting from the hallway entrance caught your attention.

“Why the hell am I stuck carryin’ all your crap, huh Levi?! Ya got two working hands!”

“Because this outfit is heavy, Mam-er-Malcom! I need help, or else I'll get sweaty and gross!”

“You're already gross, so what's it matter?”

“Shut up, scumbag!!”

'Yeesh, what a loud pair...' You turned to look their way with a visible frown to show your annoyance only for your jaw hit the floor. Two men walked out of the hall and into the lobby, one being a dark-skinned male with the whitest hair you'd ever seen, and the other… Sweet kami-sama above, the other guy…!!

He. Was. Perfect!! The dark, shadowy armor, constructed fron what you could only guess was EVA foam and faux furs, combined with his violet hair made him look like the spitting image of the Third Lord! It was almost like the character himself had climbed off the page!! You had to cover your mouth to contain an audible gasp of shock while glancing at the others in your team. Only a few of your friends had noticed the man's arrival, but those who had all shot you back the same kind of look, “Go get that guy. NOW!” Who were you to refuse?

The god-tier Third Lord cosplayer was still arguing with his companion when you first made your approach, allowing you to sneak up pretty close without getting noticed. By the time you were in speaking distance, you were already marveling at the craftsmanship of his cosplay up close. The foam pieces looked flawlessly metallic and there were no patches of hot glue mishaps, frayed stitching, or painting mistakes. It was truly something else!

“Hey, what'cha gawkin’ at??”

The white-haired male caught you red-handed, leading the cosplayer in his company to turn in your direction. Though, amusingly, the moment your eyes met he seemed just as star struck as you were. You wasted no time thrusting your hand out towards him with your most “camera-winning” smile.

“Hi! Uhm, I’m Y/n L/n and I'm-"

“-the most popular cosplay model on Instagram, three-time champion of the WCS competitions, and the host of the ‘TSL Today’ fan podcast-!”

You froze from surprise as the cosplayer slapped his mouth shut with his own hand in a bid to stop rambling. His cheeks instantly tinged pink as he must have realized that he was spitting your own resume at you in excitement. It was hard not to feel a bit flattered at the sudden eruption of joy, so you smiled back more genuinely.

“That’s right! You've heard of me?”

You waited for his response with a patient, maybe even endeared, gaze. Seeing that you weren’t immediately weirded out by his hyped babbling, he uncovered his mouth to respond shyly.

“Y-yeah, of course I do…! I uh… came here to see your meet-and-greet today…”

He winced, face getting hotter, and looked like he wanted to double over from embarrassment, but honestly, you couldn’t have been happier. A creator of THIS caliber was one of YOUR fans?? Talk about a “diamond in the rough” moment!

“Really? That’s awesome!! Because I couldn’t help but notice that cosplay you're wearing… Did you make it yourself?”

How his face recalibrated from flustered to ecstatic in just a few seconds could have made your heart melt. After he confirmed that his cosplay was his own handiwork you began to gush about the design, asking rapid-fire questions about the materials he bought, what patterns he found, and his different sewing techniques. You both were so caught up in each other's passion that you hardly even registered the other guy standing next to him until he finally cleared his throat insistently.

“Yo Levi… This crap’s gettin’ heavy. Are we going or what?”

The cosplayer, who you guessed was Levi, turned to the man reluctantly, which sent a surge of panic through you as you still hadn’t asked him to stay.

“Wait!!”

Both men flinched a bit at your sudden exclamation, making your cheeks flush with color, but you pressed on regardless,

“Um, Levi right? My team and I could use your help… Our Third Lord just dropped out on us today because of baggage troubles and we really need a replacement for the shoot. Your outfit is fantastic! Do you think that you could step into the role for us? I have early access badges to the vendors room, so we can take a look together if that uh… if that…? Um. Levi...?”

The man in front of you looked like he was moments away from breaking down in tears, but somehow holding them back through sheer force of will… and his closed eyelids making a decent dam.

“H-hold on… I think I need to pinch myself because this can’t be happening. Is this actually happening?”

His voice wobbled while the man next to him, Malcolm(?), rolled his eyes behind his gold-tinted glasses.

“Hey, that doesn’t answer their questions, ya know?” He elbowed Levi while looking at you with a serious expression, “Are ya willin’ to take him AND his stuff with ya?”

“Of course! It’s important to have everything while yo-”

“Great. You can have’em.”

You were taken aback just a bit by the speed of his response, but not as much as Levi because he quickly leapt back into the conscious world in a panic!

“Wha-wh-Whaah?? You can’t just answer for me!!”

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders, letting several bags he had on slide to the ground but cushioning the fall a bit with his foot.

“Why not? It’s clear ya wanna go with them. Unless you wanna leave them hangin'…”

“N-No!! I mean, yes! No-er UGH!”

You watched Levi cover his face in frustration feeling a twinge of sympathy. Does he get tongue-tied like this often? After a few seconds to compose himself, he finally straightened up to give his true response.

“Y-yes, I want to go with you…! Being able to help one of your online idols is like a dream come true for any fan! What can I do to help?”

You could feel your smile grow twice as wide from the combination of relief and gratitude. Maybe the shoot would go alright after all…

“Give me your hand.”

Levi stuttered watching you reach your hand out towards his, using your other one to pull out a black marker that you always kept on your person for fans. His skin was soft, but strangely cold, when he rested his knuckles into your upturned palm. The icy jolt even made you jump a bit. Holy crap, was he cold-blooded or something?? When he flashed you a concerned glance, you quickly recovered uncapped the marker between your fingers. With years of built up practice, you ran the black ink over his pale skin, but instead of a signature, you left one of your burner numbers that you used for interacting with collaborators.

“Here. We still need a bit of time to get ready, but that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying the con. Text me your name and I'll send you back where to meet up once we're ready to go.”

Levi was staring at the black marks on his hand like you'd just handed him a key item in a video game when one of your team shouted back from behind you.

“Y/n! Why aren’t you dressed yet?? We gotta go!”

“Shit, I’m coming!” You turned to head back, but you spared just a second to smile at Levi over your shoulder. “Thank you so much, Levi, you're going to be a huge help! Don't forget to text.”

“I won’t!”

Levi's promise made you grin lift even higher. With a wink and a wave, you made your way back to the others with a brand new pep in your step. Mission, saved!!

Meanwhile…

“… Did ya seriously just score a number in that getup?”

“I swear, I’ll never wash this hand again...!!”

“Fuck's sake, Levi, stop being so gross! At least put it in your phone before your sweaty palms wipe it off!”

“Gah, you're right!!”

[bunny-jpeg]

fall/halloween bakery special

hello bunnies! i wanted to do something a little special for halloween/fall season! it's hare's favourite season so i've grown to love it a little more. basically these are special prompts that can be combined with the regular bakery prompts. but these ones are more geared towards the fall season! this is more like a halloween party rather than a bakery, but still it'll be fun!

these prompts will be closed on novemeber 2nd and be posted between now and until i finish writing them all! these will be posted on top of regular bakery orders so please feel free! and happy halloween!

what i'll write for: formula one, call of duty, haikyuu, jujustu kaisen, marvel & dc

DESSERTS

ghost s'mores dip: "i really appreciate that you're getting into the halloween spirit, but it's ten in the morning. please turn off the slasher films so i can eat my breakfast in peace."

zombie brain cupcakes: "stop squirming, you're gonna mess up your face paint!"

vampire poke cake: "what happened last night?"

witch finger cookies: "i hate this time of year, i'm always so fucking cold!"

chex-mix: "did you go as a whore this year, or did you just forget a costume?"

all-dressed chips: "i'd propose right now. but not while you're wearing this."

pumpkin patch brownies: "you should've worn something a little thicker. you're going to catch a cold."

candy apples: "alright, let's get you home."

dirt pudding: "I hate horror movies, can't we watch something else?"

pepperoni pizza: "i wonder if that mascara will run when i'm finished with you."

ghost cookies: "they had how many shots of tequila?"

dead velvet cake: "we can't fuck right now. we have to hand out candy!"

nacho dip: "seeing you with those kids makes me want one."

chunky treat bars: "i'm getting you pregnant."

hocus pocus rolls: "next year you're wearing something that covers more."

candy corn: "i'm not jealous!"

ghostly cheesecake: "i got a broomstick you can ride on."

mummy hand pies: "be careful of the full moon!"

spider web pops: "the costume is meant to be scary, not cute."

DRINKS

sprite: semi-public sex

coca-cola: costume sex

doctor pepper: university au

fake-blood: vampire au

hot cider: werewolf au

jell-o shots: drunk sex

pepsi zero: rough sex

haunted lemonade: size difference/kink

peach juice box: filming/recording

poison apple punch: outdoor sex

pumpkin sangria: pregnancy

hot cocoa: gentle/soft sex

witch's brew: witch au

little devil cocktail: demon/devil au

white claw: slutty costumes

black widow cocktail: dom!reader

espresso martini: dom!character

water: hangover

gummy bear cocktail: possessive behavior

on the house: author's choice

have a spooky halloween!!

[hannahssimblr]

Pretending to be good at driving isn’t as easy as I assumed. It’s not like pretending to be into wine, or classical music, or other such things that allow you to nod along and smile, and make statements bland enough to seem vaguely knowledgeable. Italians drive on the right, and I’m terrified, yet one of my hands is nonchalantly out the open window of the rental car, resting against warm metal, while the other white knuckles the wheel. Tyres toss dust into the air behind us, and I feel like we’re starring in a film about Americans in southern Italy, where the sky is colour graded cyan blue, and the greens bleached out, dulled to bone dry ochre so that you know it is hot and poor. 

I don’t think I have ever been much of a driver, despite the belief of my classmates back at school who assumed I must be, simply because I owned a car. Yes, I could drive it. I could control the clutch, shift the gears and manoeuvre myself into a parking space with semi-accuracy, but the traffic in Dublin was so diabolical that I spent most of my driving career crawling by, metre by metre, bumper to bumper until I’d give up, pull into the train station and get the DART the rest of the way. The other times, I was having disappointing sex in the passenger seat, or eating ice creams from McDonalds, a dead eyed stare over the bay on Fridays after school, just to have a way to unwind. 

The road to Amalfi is a narrow twist of hairpin turns carved from a mountain, climbing above little towns and a verdant landscape which I picture dried to brush by the time July’s heat comes, a landscape in sepia tones.

Warm, dry air kisses my sweat dampened skin as I climb out of the car to the smell of the sea. Salt and seaweed, and fish, from a seafood restaurant by the water. Waves lap against the shore in a gentle symphony as seagulls circle above the vibrant hum of a busy tourist town. 

The first thing Astrid wants to do is take photographs. And so, she perches on a low wall, against a backdrop of azure waters and green capped mountains, and poses for the camera. I take several, in a variety of positions, and indulge her whims by digging her straw hat out from the car boot so that she can pose with it, one hand on the brim as she looks out over the Tyrrhenian sea like it is her kingdom. 

I get her to take some with me, too, using the front facing camera on my phone, then choose one to send to my mother. 

We’re in Italy. Wonderful. Enjoy. 

I suspect it will be weeks before we communicate again. 

“It looks like it did on the website, anyway,” I say, as I unload our cases outside our villa. It is loaded with picturesque, old-world charm, the brick exterior crumbling slightly from salt and age. We decided that a villa with a pool would suit us best when I booked it, surmising we would appreciate a swim before breakfast under the morning sun. I gaze at my reflection now, a ripple of dark hair against the cloudless sky and take a moment to relax my shoulders, and thank God it will be ten days before I have to drive those perilous roads again.

 Our footsteps echo against the hallway tile. Astrid gazes around her as I haul our bags upstairs. 

“It’s quite nice,” she says, an understatement that incites a chuckle from me. This is the nicest place I’ve ever stayed at, including a family member’s desert guest house in Palm Springs. It is perfect. From behind the wrought iron banisters I spy a small living room, white linen couches and a bowl of fresh oranges on the table, and suspect they are from the tree outside. 

“It’s a marvellous view from here,” Astrid says at the bedroom window while I roll the last of our cases across the floor towards the wardrobe. I won’t want to unpack them. I usually live out of my bags while I’m travelling, but I suspect Astrid will like things hung up and put away. With the heat and the exhaustion from travelling, I cannot face the thought. I join her at the window, where we look out upon a small dock, little coloured boats floating in water so serene, so clear that we can see their shadows at the bottom of the sea.

“Woah, yeah. It’s pretty here, huh?”

“I told you that,” she says, leaning into my chest. “I think this is the best place in the world.” 

“Touristy, though, don’t you think?” Across the little bay, the coastal road is traffic jammed, holidaymakers weaving between the cars. A tour yacht glides by, its linen clad passengers pointing their cameras toward the charming little houses that cling to the mountainside, including ours. I raise my hand to wave at them, though I’m certain they cannot see us. 

“We are tourists too,” she points out. “It’s good for the economy. If we weren’t here, the restaurants and craft shops would have to close.”

I hum in vague agreement, caught in between two ways of thinking. Jonas paced my room as I packed my bags for the airport, giving me a spirited, if not slightly manic, lecture about the perils of tourism, from environmental degradation, cultural disruption, exploitation and overcrowding. 

“Shut up,” I said. “You and I are going to Thailand in June.” And he argued it was different, because he had intentions of learning about the cultures and traditions, and being respectful, unlike all the other tourists, trying to take pictures in the temples with their shoes still on and eating in Subway instead of trying a new cuisine. 

Still, the conversation has left me with a vague feeling of nuisance I’ve never experienced while travelling abroad. I look around this bedroom, the voile curtains fluttering in the breeze that floats through the open balcony door, and fear I am gentrifying the town just by standing here. What if they hate me, the locals, and the chino trousers in my suitcase, the way my hair is pushed back, my trendy little sunglasses? I couldn’t even ask for water in Italian if I wanted to.

But Astrid can. Perfect, clever Astrid. She gazes at her appearance in the mirror, and smooths out her dress, which shows no signs of having been travelled in. She combs her fingers through her pin straight hair, and a strand comes loose, floating through the sun rays like a strand of white silk. 

I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her neck. “This is a great room, hm?”

“Yes, it’s spacious.”

“We could spend a lot of time in here.” I slide my hand over her ribs and cup her breasts. She sighs and lifts them away. “Don’t. Not now. We’ll put creases in the fabric.”

“You can change into another outfit.” God knows, she has packed enough clothes. 

She twists out of my arms and opens her suitcase on the bed, retrieving her toothbrush. “I don’t feel clean after travelling. I’d need time to have a shower and freshen myself up first.”

To this, I laugh. “I don’t really care about that, to be honest. Like, I’ll go down on you no matter–”

“Well, I do.” She pushes through to the adjacent bathroom. The tap squeaks, and water splashes into the sink. “I want to see the town, anyway. I don’t want to waste the day in bed together.”

“I never think a day is wasted like that.”

“Well, we can do it later. Perhaps after dinner.”

“Very organised,” I say, and she doesn’t respond. She’s brushing her teeth. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[porcelainseashore]

The Faceless One - Palla Grande "King Slayers" ft. Gael Romilly

Author's Note: I’m so excited that this is my first time writing for VtM and participating in an event! Here’s my entry for the Palla Grande "King Slayers" hosted by @tzimizce, which tells the story of how Gael, the daredevil, couldn’t resist getting into one of her own.

She wasn’t from around these parts. Her brothers and sisters had told tall tales about the infamous event the Sabbat held each year, captivated her with descriptions of their festivities—maybe rumors—rumors were common among her kind.

“Bullshit,” she had said, waving her hand dismissively, drunk on warm blood sloshing around in a squashed plastic cup. A dash of it spilled to the ground, watering the cracked soil and scarring it red. 

“You don’t believe us? Then see it for yourself,” they had chanted, eyes gleaming, sharpened teeth luminescent under the glow of the moonlit sky.

The compulsion in her ached, clawing through her ribcage, shredding it apart. Streams of ribbons scarlet on her bare hands. And she knew that she would tear out her undead eyes just for a glimpse into such revelry.

“I will,” she gritted out, tossing the empty cup into the dirt, another blemish upon the landscape they called theirs, at least for the night.

All Hallows Eve descended upon the city in all its wicked glory, reeking of cheap liquor on tacky costumes, and barbed wire in candy. Gael drove into the heart of it, finding a place where the misfits and wannabes hung out in droves. A perfect hunting ground for those who dared call themselves vampires.

In there, whispers upon whispers circulated among friends of friends of acquaintances of strangers, and she heard it all. She could be charming if she wanted to, especially when she wasn’t shivering like an addict looking for their next fix.

“It’s an exclusive party,” one of the group told her snottily. “They asked specifically for five of us.”

Us. Gael didn’t belong—not yet.

That was okay. She revealed her first card, just like the way her lips pulled taut against the flesh of her gums to reveal her teeth. For a split second, her pupils flashed diabolically.

“But I am part of your five,” she grinned.

They stammered, hemmed and hawed, unable to shy away from her gaze. It didn’t take long for them to oust the weakest of the group, offering Gael their spot instead. As they set off, there were cackles and chatter about being honored at a Blood Feast.

Poor new age witches, they never stood a chance. So naive, so easy to manipulate, she thought. And what of her now? She would let them be blood bags for some ostentatious display of power.

A silent witness.

“Mistress Lydia’s guests?” the bouncer at the door asked.

Gael’s heart pounded in her chest. Oh, how she had forgotten what it felt like to be alive! Even through mimicry—what she would continue to rely on for the rest of the evening.

“Here, put this on.”

She was handed a poppy flower to pin on her jacket. Touché. The flower of spilled blood and sacrifice. How blatant could the Sabbat be?

As she was ushered in, she took in the marvelous sights of wild excess and debauchery. The costumes, each more extravagant than the other. She would soon don her own, but for now, she played the role of a moronic tourist, piggybacking off someone else’s invitation.

Her keen eyes darted around, surveying the venue. The passageways and exits were triple checked. So were the doors leading to the pantries and cellars.

The bathrooms. Check.

Behind the bars. Check.

Backstage. Check. 

The gears began to turn in Gael’s head as she ticked each area of interest off like an item on her inventory list. Years of being a runner and drug mule for a particularly notorious coterie in the Northwest had left its mark and taken its toll. But maybe we’ll get to that later—or not.

As usual, she slipped away into the crowd, losing the flower as she blended in like a chameleon, shifting skins—smoothly, expertly, shedding her self in the layers, to appear as one nondescript form to another. She had to be careful to avoid any misstep. One wrong move, and she was done for. Although she had a thousand masks to wear, there were a thousand pairs of eyes, always watching, from the shadows, from the blind corners of her vision.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as a byproduct of the way in which she conducted her affairs—meticulous and calculating. Falling into pace, fear and trepidation gave way to thrill and excitement. She swore she could see the searing white adrenaline course through her veins, turning them milky and sticky. And her Beast was pleased.

Across the night, she was a human guest, a ghoul server, a band’s roadie all-in-one. She flitted between guises like switching dance partners—never bored, nor boring. Picking up on secret codes and gestures, weaving in and out of head counts, sometimes one more, sometimes one less, like that creepypasta she had read on 4chan… Anansi’s Goatman?

Doppelgänger, shapeshifter, but she was pretty damn sure that they were Ravnos—like her. 

Just before suspicion arose, she would change out again. Luck was on her side, for the time being. 

She watched wide-eyed as the grandiose performance of a sacrificial rite played out on stage, interspersed with images of Gehenna. The first of the mortals were slaughtered unknowingly among the sheep.

Power. Was this what Cainites felt at the height of their bloodlust?

Gael felt it too, similarly but different. She’d done it. None of her brothers and sisters saw, but she’d done it, and that was enough. 

Here she was, standing in a tank circled by sharks, unnoticed. Just another one of the many. Faceless, nameless, a nobody.

To be faceless was to retake power from having an identity—something to label, to judge, to align you with a sect or cause, under a banner. And for what?

To be unshackled of the ego—that was true power. 

She’d made it this far, but the hardest part yet was getting out. As far as she observed, the doors had been sealed shut long ago. Everything would be accounted for, dealt with, and cleaned up.

What would they do if they found her? Would they destroy her on the spot, or convert her to their church? Had they lulled her into a false sense of security, waiting for the right moment to strike?

Regardless, she would always remain fiercely independent, even in her final—

Dividers by @diableriedoll

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 7

Marvel

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates - Feeling the connection as soon as you see each other.

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one of her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

Warnings will be per chapter.

For this fic reader will be British, but let your imagination replace if needed.

Chapter Summary: Bucky's sick of the back and forth and is determined to find you, but can Nat track you? Who's at the door?

Chapter warning: Brief mention of blood.

“Buck, where are you going?”

“I’m going to get our girl.”

“We need a plan, she could be anywhere.”

“Well, you make your plan Stevie, I’m going to get our girl.”

“Your girl?” Maria asked.

“She’s their soulmate” Sam said in a hushed tone.

Bucky made his way to the door and the stride in his step didn’t go unnoticed, he was determined and had flipped into mission mode.

“Barnes wait.” Called Nat.

“I’m way passed waiting Romanoff.”

“Just hang on. If you give me two minutes I can cut your search time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Are you questioning my skillset?”

“No but I know my soul sister, you’ll start at the base and work from there following any tracks. I know how she’ll handle this, we’ll find her quicker if we work together. From those field pictures none of those hostiles are bleeding out enough to account for all that blood, we’ve got to find her quick.”

Bucky was torn, he nodded his head but still turned to leave the room.

“Buck?”

“I’ll get my gear on, you’ve got three minutes.”

Nat didn’t even acknowledge him as she went to work. They knew you then but she knew you now.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, bring up full mapping of the base up to a two hundred mile radius, highlight all unmonitored routes, sewers, cargo trains, any roads without traffic cameras.”

The AI responded quickly showing various routes away from the mission.

“Now delete any routes with S.H.I.E.L.D safe houses.”

“Agent Romanoff may I ask the logic behind that decision?” Vision enquired.

Clint answered, not wanting Natasha’s concentration to be pulled away from the task at hand.

“It’s a covert mission, where she’s been screwed over by the organisation she’s doing a mission for with bad intel, we’ve taught her well enough to not then use that organisations safe houses.”

“Understandable.” Vision replied.

Steve moved to stand at the side of Natasha.

“Who would she trust in this scenario?”

“Me, Clint, British intelligence but only certain branches and teams, a couple of others. F.R.I.D.A.Y highlight all British safe houses, ours, Wakandan, any used by Delta Task Force. Take off any routes that don’t have at least one of them. Remove any that don’t have accessible and walkable sewer lines.”

Nat’s eyes scanned the map as Bucky re entered the room.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Six possibles.” Steve replied.

“So we split into six teams and we go and find the old men’s soulmate.” Tony started.

“Hang on. I’m not done.” Spoke Nat.

“I said three minutes.”

“And you have been two” Nat replied, not taking her eyes from the screen. “Exclude any that don’t have pay phones on the route.”

The map quickly went from six possible routes to three.

“Now pin any that are off the hook.”

And with Nat’s last command the route went down to one, the off the hook phones showing the path you were taking. Tony was next to speak.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, calculate the travel distance on foot, by car, train and anything else she could travel by, against the time each phone was used, and check if any calls were made.”

“No calls boss, the route taken and the time between each indicates she’s on foot and slow moving.”

“She’ll be heading to somewhere safe, somewhere she feels safe or towards someone she trusts.” added Clint.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, how long since the last phone was taken off the receiver?” Asked Steve.

“Seventeen hours Captain Rogers.”

Steve couldn’t help himself and glared at Maria, who avoided his gaze. Seventeen hours unaccounted for, you could be anywhere or unconscious in a ditch.

“Three teams, we start at the last dropped phone, on foot, unless you can fly then low air cover. Sam and Nat you take south, Wanda, Vision west, Rhodey, Tony east. Eyes out for any movement of British intelligence. SBS were running training in Florida last week, if she’s got an alert to them they maybe headed there too. Buck and I well we’ll take whatever path he wants to.” Steve instructed turning to Bucky.

Bucky went to speak but was cut off by an alarm sounding.

“Boss there’s a caller at gate 3a”

“Well now’s not the time for visitors F.R.I.D.A.Y” Steve snapped as he turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Shouted Nat as she started to move the screens “3a.”

Realisation washed over the room as they realised the gate and the reason its importance gave it an alarm. Gate 3a was hidden and only the Avengers and a select few knew about it.

“Who is it? Come on, I taught you better than that.” He quipped at his AI.

“I can’t detect them boss, they’re blocking the scanner somehow.”

The security cameras around the compound came to the front of the projectors and with it came a gasp from Natasha.

Leaning against the gate in the late evening darkness, covered in blood and dirt, exhausted and barely upright was her sestra. Her soul sister. You.

And you weren’t alone. Your left arm was looped around the waist of someone, their head flopped on your shoulder and you were wincing in pain as you tried to keep them upright. As you pulled them upwards again the team and soul family caught sight of who it was.

There in your arms was Pietro Maximoff.

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

[coryothesub]

Coryo almost unconscious, with his mind clouded, with his butt raised and saliva falling from his mouth, while the reader relentlessly fucks him with his dildo

Ahhhh this is the sight we all need don't we? I somehow wrote this as a little sequel to the previous ask I did, but they both can be read separately

nsfw / mdni / sub!coryo / dom!reader

You were standing at the foot of the bed in your parents guest room taking in the lovely sight before you. Coryo was laying there on his stomach, completely naked and panting heavily, his hair was already a mess, some tousled curls sticking to his sweat covered forehead. His eyes were closed and his cheek was pressed to the mattress. Poor boy was sucking on his own thumb to give himself at least some comfort after the wild strap-on session you two had just had.

You enjoyed him like that. A teary drooling mess completely under your mercy. Not a sign of  the bratty smart-ass that had grinded your gears just a couple of hours ago.

You gazed upon him with a cocky smirk, wearing a leather bralette that was designed in a way to expose your breasts. Apart from that you were wearing only a strap-on with a sizable dildo still glistening with lube from the last round.

“We're not finished yet,” you cooed, climbing into the bed. “I think we need another round to teach you a good lesson about being a fucking brat in front of my parents.”

Coryo just shook his head faintly.

You grabbed a fistful of his golden curls and yanked his head back.

“I can't hear you darling!”

Coryo pulled his thumb out of his mouth and let out a soft whine, feeling a sting in his scalp from your tight grip. He opened his eyes, all red from the tears he had cried just mere minutes ago.

“I-I…Don't…” he mouthed silently.

“You didn't like it?”

Coryo shook his head again, making you pout.

You helped him sit up, his body felt drained and exhausted almost like a ragdoll in your arms. You tilted his chin up, looking into those big baby blue eyes.

“It did seem like you enjoyed it though cumming in the sheets both times like a little slut, huh? C’mere!”

You pulled him close and your hand went straight for his cock making the boy let out a sharp gasp. You wrapped your hand around it letting your thumb dance around the ultra sensitive tip making Coryo shiver at your touch

“You're fine, angel, you’re good,” you murmured, gently stroking his cock and feeling it getting hard in your hand. You just loved how amazingly responsive he was. And watching you both in the mirror that for some reason was hung just across the bed in your parents' guest bedroom made it feel even more arousing.

“Third time’s the charm and mommy has prepared something very special for you.”

Proceeding to pump him you pressed a soft kiss against his dry lips.

“Let's do another one, mommy’s gonna make you feel so good, okay?”

“Okay,” Coryo whispered against your lips.

“On your knees!” You instructed, getting up from the bed.

Coryo obeyed and you removed the used dildo from your strap-on, grabbing the vibrating one from your bag.

“N-no,” Coryo almost squeeked, noticing the change.

“Shhh baby, I know you can take it!” you mused and sucked on the toy sensually before coating it in a rich layer of lube.

“We gotta teach you a thing or two about being a brat, alright?”

You finished adjusting the dildo and lined up behind your boy marveling at his fucked out hole before pouring some lube over it.

Coryo was waiting patiently, it almost seemed like he was holding his breath.

You started pressing at his hole gently, watching Coryo's pretty face in the mirror. His eyes widened as you were entering his tight hole, a soft whine left his lips and his knuckles turned white from clutching at the sheets.

“Just look at you babyboy, taking it so good,” you praised, establishing a steady pace as you watched the sleek dildo going in and out of his pretty little hole.

Coryo let out a loud moan and as you finally reached the sensitive spot inside him.

“Shhh…don't forget we’re in my parents house,” you gently reminded before shoving your fingers in his mouth and stretching it from both sides. You could feel his saliva dripping past your fingers and over his lower lip as he wasn't physically able to make any coherent sounds so all you heard was just a series of open mouthed whimpers.

“You look so pretty like this,” you cooed, watching you both in the mirror. 

“So helpless baby. You're all mine!” you whispered into his ear before letting his mouth go causing him to swallow deeply.

“Oooh,” Coryo moaned, feeling you grabbing his thighs and rapidly increasing the pace. Your thrusts were hard, almost relentless.

Coryo clutched at the sheets even harder but that didn't prevent tears from streaming down his pretty face and dripping on the sheets beneath him as he felt the dildo hitting against his prostate with an intense force. 

You grabbed his curls and yanked back his head once again, not able to get enough of his beautiful reflection in the mirror, all desperate and broken, completely under your power. His tears glistened in the dim lighting before mixing with saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and streaming further down his delicate neck.

“Harder, please!” he pleaded through gritted teeth and you kept on thrusting into him with full speed, seeing his neglected cock twitching under him. 

You let go of his hair and grabbed his aching member, switching on the vibration simultaneously and drilling his asshole with the most force you had ever applied.

Not being able to hold on any longer, Coryo let his head sink down on the sheets, his ass deliciously raised towards your thrusts. 

Coryo's face was now out of your sight, you just saw his blonde curls bouncing slightly as you kept banging him into the mattress. You heard a series of muffled moans before his whole body convulsed and he went silent. 

At that very moment you felt a thick load of warm cum coating your hand and you pumped him through his orgasm as your thrusts gradually slowed down. You pulled out the dildo and watched Coryo fall back into the sheets powerlessly.

“Such a good boy for me,” you hummed, laying next to him. Coryo seemed completely out of it for a moment. Then he slowly opened his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice sounded weak and exhausted. “I think I passed out for a moment. I don't really remember myself cumming. But I remember the feeling of it.”

A hint of concern appeared in your eyes.

“Oh my god, was it too much? Did I hurt you?”

“N-no,” Coryo reached out his hand to caress your cheek.

“It was actually fantastic,” he chuckled softly. “You cannot actually expect me to stop teasing you in front of your parents if THIS is the punishment.”

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 3 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Merry Christmas from me to all y'all!

Summary: Obi-Wan and his padawan arrive on Taris, but Obi-Wan's odd behavior only increases, sending his padawan into confusion.

Warnings: none that I can think of, let me know if I missed something!

Word count: 8.1k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

The landing gear clicked as it unfolded, the ship coming to a landing a moment later.

Obi-Wan and I stood in silence as we waited for the door to open, allowing us to step foot onto the skyscraper that rose high above the pollution Taris was famous for. The rich got to avoid the worst of the pollution, condemning the rest of the planet to fend for themselves. 

It was the kind of thing that would stoke the flames of Obi-Wan’s contempt, causing it to bleed through his resplendent Force signature. As we waited, however, my sense of him was strangely subdued. What was left of the normally pleasing hum had soured into a deep whine.

“What’s our objective?” I asked, unable to take the silence anymore.

“Taris has stayed out of the war until now, but Senator Kin Robb is realizing she cannot stay neutral anymore. She must pick a side, so she has arranged a meeting including the Republic and the Separatists.”

“So…we’re making a case for Taris to join the Republic?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Obi-Wan nod. Attempting for some normalcy, I turned to him, plastering on a lopsided smile. “You mean I’ll finally get to see the famous Negotiator Kenobi in action?”

Obi-Wan remained staring directly ahead. “That you will.” There was no mirth or happiness in Obi-Wan’s tone.

I dropped my smile. “You don’t want to be here.”

As the door cracked open, letting in the first sickly yellow light of Taris and revealing the sight of a tall woman and two even taller armored soldiers waiting for us, Obi-Wan finally looked over at me. “I am not a politician.” 

“Thank the stars for that,” I muttered. Perhaps I was imagining it, but as Obi-Wan swept forward to meet the attendant, I could’ve sworn I felt a momentary flash of warm light through the Force.

The woman, dressed in elegant purple garb, glided forward. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your presence here.” 

I craned my neck to meet her gaze, marveling at the famed height of Tarisians. Obi-Wan answered with a bow, which I quickly followed. “Thank you for the invitation,” my master said, a silkiness to his tone I rarely heard before. “This is my padawan, Y/N.”

“Welcome to Taris, Y/N.” The woman shot a no nonsense smile at me. “I’m Kin Robb, I’m very happy to see both of you safely on my planet.” She refocused on Obi-Wan. “Now that you’ve arrived, the negotiations can start. In the instance that they extend overnight, I’ve asked them to prepare a suite for you.” 

I tried to keep my expression neutral. A suite? That would be a vast improvement over a bedroll in some war camp. 

“And finally, the conditions of this negotiation are peaceful, so we ask that you surrender all your weapons to us.”

A shot of alarm spiked through me, and though I couldn’t feel it, I knew Obi-Wan felt the same. “Ma’am, we are peacekeepers,” Obi-Wan said. “We do not raise our weapons until it is necessary, and if it is necessary, we will need them.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Kin Robb replied, her voice firm.

One of the soldiers expectantly held out a shiny, metallic tray. I looked at Obi-Wan, silently asking for direction. He gave me a tight nod. Reluctantly, I set my lightsaber on the tray, and Obi-Wan followed suit. I watched the soldier carry the tray into the building, feeling off-balance without the familiar weight of my lightsaber on my belt. 

Kin Robb’s appreciation was evident, if subdued. Like most everyone in the galaxy, she would’ve heard stories about Jedi. If I were more naive, I would’ve expected those stories to speak for our peaceful and moral conduct, but I knew firsthand that not every Jedi was peaceful and moral. 

“If you follow me,” the senator said, “I will lead you to where the Count of Serenno is waiting.”

Obi-Wan stiffened. He really didn’t want to be negotiating, did he, if the very sound of it wound him tighter than a spool of thread? Whatever the issue, I would be there to help him, I decided as I started to follow the politician. For my master, I would be a pillar of–

A hand grabbed a hold of my elbow, dragging me back. “Thank you,” Obi-Wan said to Kin Robb, causing her to stop, “but my padawan will be heading to the suite.”

“What?” I blurted, twisting my neck up to look at my master, confused at the abrupt change in plans. “What are you talking about?”

His beard scratched beside my ear, his words barely audible. “I need you to go to our suite.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t want to see you until I retire to the suite at the end of the day, is that understood?”

A splash of discontent soaked me through to the bone. “Obi-Wan, I am here to learn. I won’t learn if I’m not with you.”

“Go to the suite,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “That’s an order.” Without waiting for a response, he followed Kin Robb, whose surprise I could sense even if it didn't appear on her face.

I watched them go. 

“This way, please,” the remaining soldier said pleasantly.

Since Krell became a figment of my past, I’d gotten better at sorting through my thoughts and feelings. I had to, since I could no longer push them down or hide them. Obi-Wan helped me identify the ones of which Jedi needed to be wary. 

Shame. 

Jealousy.

Fear.

The feeling boiling inside me was familiar, one I’d become intimate with long before I’d learned its name: anger. 

It was one thing for Obi-Wan to stonewall me, to not treat me as confidentially as he used to. But to keep me from the negotiations? Was he punishing me? And if he was, what for? He’d been given ample opportunity to tell me why he was displeased with me, and yet he said nothing. 

Clenching my jaw, I followed the soldier. 

-

The suite was indeed something to behold. 

Plush, colorful furniture filled the room which adjoined the two bedrooms, each with beds massive enough for an Anoatian pit beast. Double doors made of transparisteel led to a balcony, as if the room were intended for a contamination connoisseur to gaze out on the hazy, sallow air hovering over the ground below. 

The soldier left without so much as a word, leaving me to my own devices.

For the first hour, I fumed over being left out.

For the second, I paced, starting to worry about Obi-Wan. With no lightsaber and no padawan, would he be easily taken unawares? 

For the third, I searched the rooms for anything out of the ordinary, almost hoping to find a bug or a bomb if only for some entertainment. 

When four hours had passed, my restlessness had peaked, enough for me to try something unorthodox. I seated myself in front of the balcony doors, relaxing my shoulders and taking a deep breath. The Force responded as soon as I closed my eyes. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” I whispered. I waited for the Force to grab me, like it had on Felucia, bringing me right to my master.

But nothing happened.

I felt the Force around me, but it didn’t take me anywhere.

I huffed. I’d just have to do it myself then. Taking a deep breath, I began to stretch my conscience. I didn’t know what direction Obi-Wan was in, so I just reached out in all directions, expanding the radius of my mind, searching for any hint of my master. 

My conscience didn’t make it very far before a searing pain shot through my head. “Ow!” I blurted, my eyes shooting open. But the pain stopped as soon as it’d begun. 

“Ready to be a Jedi Knight, my butt,” I grumbled. 

The door at my back opened, and in a moment, I was on my feet, ready for anything. 

Obi-Wan let the door fall closed behind him, walking over to the couch. 

I cocked my head. How had I not felt Obi-Wan drawing near? I’d searched for him, and he’d been close, and yet I hadn’t sensed him. Curious, I reached through the Force again, trying to place Obi-Wan’s light. But there was no light, nor any hint of his emotional state. I scowled at him. Why wasn’t he sharing with me? Why was his light so far away? 

Obi-Wan dropped onto the couch, closing his eyes and bringing his fingers up to rub at his temples. He looked…exhausted. In fact, his very bones seemed to sag underneath his weight. The salient weariness lifted my irritation. 

I sat beside him. “Are you okay?”

“We didn’t get anywhere,” he rumbled. “Hours of talking, and we’re worse off than when we started.” 

“Well, if it was an easy choice, Kin Robb wouldn’t have organized the meeting.”

Obi-Wan merely nodded, his eyes still closed.

Once, I’d been so cut off from the Force that I had to rely only on what my other senses could tell me. Now, it felt wrong to be able to see the evidence of Obi-Wan's fatigue and not feel it. 

I got to my feet. “C’mon,” I said softly, causing Obi-Wan to look up at me. “Let’s go get some food.”

-

The servants down in the kitchen didn’t seem very happy to see us, and with their added height, I felt quite like a Gartro just waiting to be squished. 

We were seated at a tiny table, tucked away by the cellar in the corner. Obi-Wan ate and drank with a vengeance I’d never seen in all my months with him. I was as happy as could be that I was eating something other than war rations, but this was different—Obi-Wan was practically ravenous. Were the negotiations really so taxing?

If he’d let me take part, perhaps I’d know.

Once Obi-Wan polished off his plate, a servant whisked both plates away and set down a serving of chocolate cake. “Wait, we didn’t–” I said to her, but she walked away before I could finish. I eyed the cake hungrily before looking up at Obi-Wan, asking the question I already knew the answer to. “Are we…allowed?” I braced myself for the brusque, negative response. As Jedi, we really weren’t supposed to indulge, and Obi-Wan wasn’t one for breaking rules.

But to my astonishment, a soft smile played with Obi-Wan’s lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

I grinned at him, swiftly taking a bite before he could change his mind. 

The delightfully rich taste bloomed on my tongue, the decadent chocolate seemingly melting in my mouth. “Ohhhh.” I shut my eyes and covered my lips to keep any crumbs from falling because to let even a smidgen of this cake go to waste would be a crime. “Okay, I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” My eyes fluttered open to see Obi-Wan smiling at me. “You have to try this.”

Obi-Wan lifted his fork, tentatively bringing a bite to his mouth. At first he didn’t react, as if the cake were no different from the overly sweet sugar cubes we’d been eating for the last week. But then he started to cut another piece, and I knew he enjoyed our debauchery as much as I did. 

We took turns cutting bites, eating in blissful silence. 

I still couldn’t locate Obi-Wan’s light through the Force, but some of it had returned to his eyes again. As much as it pleased me to see him acting more like himself, only my concern derailed my boiling questions, and unluckily for him, my concern had been sated. Time for answers. 

Obi-Wan refilled his cup, drinking deeply.

“You must be thirsty after all that negotiating,” I said shortly. 

“I am,” he replied.

“I’m not thirsty at all.” I slowly cut another bite of cake. “There’s plenty of water in the suite.”

“Is there?” Obi-Wan’s tone was bland.

I tossed my fork onto the table. “Do you think I’m ready to be a Jedi Knight?” 

Obi-Wan’s startled blue eyes looked from the delicious dessert to me. He slowly chewed his bite of cake, looking down at the fork in his hand. He chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Finally, he swallowed. “That is the council’s decision,” he said, before quickly adding: “do you know what specialty you’d want?”

I narrowed my eyes, but he avoided looking at me, studiously watching the cake as if it may grow legs and walk off the table. While I could hardly begrudge him vigilance where this cake was concerned, his evasion irked me. But I decided against voicing my thoughts. Obi-Wan could already feel it all anyway. “If I pass the trials, the council will decide my specialty.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did, it was quiet but firm. “When you pass the trials, do you know what specialty you will request?”

I stared at him, grappling with my confusion. Whatever answers he hid, I sensed they lay in between the words instead of in the words themselves, yet I could not puzzle them out.  “Once the war is over, I was thinking perhaps of being a Consular Jedi.”

My master twirled his fork thoughtfully. “Not healing?” I lowered my eyes to my food, a pang shooting through my chest. He leaned forward. “You’re sad.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not hiding my emotions might be the Jedi way, but it sure benefits you a great deal.” I expected Obi-Wan to respond with immediate cheek, but he didn’t say anything. Yes, his eyes probed, urging me to reveal more, but his mouth stayed closed. 

Without even thinking, I reached out with the Force, hoping to gain some insight, only to be reminded that it couldn’t tell me anything. Had Obi-Wan had some sort of falling out with the Force? Was that even possible?

“Why are you sad about healing?” Obi-Wan asked, forcing me back into the present. 

I lowered my eyes. The healing ability of a Jedi stemmed from one thing, and one thing only. A thing I’d lost a long time ago. “The heart of a Jedi healer is pure.”

“And you think you’re not pure of heart anymore.” Obi-Wan paused, as if waiting for a reaction. I gave him none, instead raising my cup to my lips. “I think you are.”

I choked on the liquid, nearly splashing it all down my front. “How do you figure that?” I asked, once I finished coughing.

Obi-Wan rested his elbow on the table. “Cody told the council you saved a clone on Felucia.”

I looked down at the dessert, but instead of chocolate-y goodness, images of Dank, Click, and Exit floated through my mind. “I barely did anything.”

“You stabilized him.” Obi-Wan’s stare dared me to argue.

“Well, what of it?” I said crossly, staring right back. “It’s just common courtesy on the battlefield.”

“And then with that villager?” Obi-Wan asked. “Was that battlefield courtesy too?”

“No, that was picking up after the Separatists, which is our job last I checked.”

Again, it was strange to see Obi-Wan’s exasperation and not feel it. “Over and over again, you prove that your first instinct is to heal.”

“Instincts mean nothing, not when–”

“Instincts,” Obi-Wan said firmly, “mean everything. They reveal things that might otherwise be hidden by deception or fear. Your instincts do you credit, and credit builds up.”

“The council would never allow me to become a healer.”

“The council may change their minds,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

I slammed down my cup. “You and I both know that’s not true!”

The noise around us went quiet. I glanced around to see all the servants staring at me. My cheeks burned, and I averted my eyes, wishing I could disappear.

“Carry on,” Obi-Wan said, and I could feel the Force surging from his every word. Without a moment’s hesitation, the clatter and chatter resumed like there was never an interruption.

Another reminder of Obi-Wan’s prowess.

I gripped my cup. “The council sees me as an encumbrance. They won’t ever change their minds.”

“They’ve already begun to.” There was a strange tint to his tone. Was it…bitterness?

I titled my head. “What do you–”

I twisted to look at the door. Something had changed, as if the planet had an earthquake and shifted everything to the left by an inch. 

Obi-Wan was already on his feet, but instead of looking at the door in the direction of the sensation, he was staring intently at my face.

"Something's wrong," I said breathlessly. Together, we sprinted out the door and up the stairs towards the higher levels.

Whatever we were about to face, we would do it together as master and pada–

“You need to go back to the suite!” Obi-Wan shouted at me as we ran.

Faltering a step, I struggled to keep time with him. “I’m not doing that,” I said.

“It’s an order, not a request.”

“You’re going to need back-up,” I bit back.

“Y/N, go!”

“You can’t fight on your–”

Obi-Wan grabbed my shoulder, bringing both of us to a stop. “I fought and won many fights before you became my padawan. Go!”

I watched Obi-Wan disappear out of sight, feeling as though he’d just cut me down at the knees. Why wouldn’t he let me help? If he believed in me as much as he said he did, why did he keep sending me away?

I stood straight. I obeyed him once and wasn’t able to be there to support him during the negotiations. I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. 

I was about to start running again, when the Force tugged at me, tugging me in…a third direction. Not the way to the suite and in the opposite direction that Obi-Wan had gone. It was as if the Force was whispering to me, but I couldn’t quite hear the words. I tried to listen, but the whispering disappeared and the tugging increased.

So I followed it down two flights of stairs and across a large hall to a door that was slightly ajar. 

On high alert, I pushed the door open wide enough to soundlessly slip inside, my heart hammering in my chest. 

The walls were covered with weapons similar to the ones I’d seen the guards armed with. Why would the Force bring me to some type of armory? The answer made itself clear as my eyes fell upon a pedestal with two lightsabers on top. If Obi-Wan and I were going to protect Kin Robb and face whatever threat lurked in this building, we would need our weapons. I clipped both lightsabers onto my belt, turning to go. When my head lifted, I nearly screamed.

Behind the door lay a pile of Tarisian guards, all of them with closed eyes and unmoving bodies. 

It took only a moment to realize I felt no life through the Force.

By the light. Someone had killed the guards and piled their bodies out of sight. Anything that could easily dispose of this many guards without raising an alarm was a grave threat. 

And my master was running around this building without me or his lightsaber. 

I left the armory at a panicked run, following the Force’s guidance, trusting that it would lead me to Obi-Wan. Up stairs I didn’t recognize, through corridors I didn’t have time to search. 

I must’ve been nearing the top of the building when I ran past a pair of double doors and came to a screeching halt. The prodding from the Force was far from subtle. Something was going on in there. 

If I were truly ready to be a Jedi Knight, I might’ve waited outside the door and eavesdropped to get an idea of what situation unfolded inside. If Obi-Wan were here, he would force us to wait.

I didn’t hesitate—I flung the doors open.

The suite was laid out exactly as the one I’d spent my day in.

The only differences were the rich purple of the couches, Kin Robb cowering behind said couches, and the balcony that contained a man I’d never seen before. 

A brown cape, held in place by a delicate silver chain, flowed from the brutally straight posture of his shoulders. The power on his wrinkled face was centered upon the chilling assurance in the arch of his gray eyebrows. He stood so tall, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could be mistaken for a Tarisian. But the most threatening quality was the surge of shadows that emanated through the Force. 

Whoever this man was, he was not a good one.

“You are interrupting.” He spoke with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. “Kin Robb and I have business.”

Kin Robb let out a little whimper, a strangely vulnerable sound from such a noble woman. 

I stepped further into the room, my hands raised non-threateningly and my steps slow. “I believe these are Kin Robb’s chambers, therefore Kin Robb decides if I’m interrupting or not.” Kin Robb darted away from the bed, clinging to my arm as she ducked behind me. I shot an easy smile at the man. “Looks like I’m not interrupting.”

The man fluidly tilted his head to the side. “You’re with Kenobi.”

I didn’t answer, for I didn’t discern a question. Instead, I looked him up and down for a clue as to his identity. Was he a Separatist or a third-party?

“He hid you away from the negotiations, did he?” The man pursed his lips as if he were amused. “How impotent. He kept you in the shadows, not by his side.” The man dipped his chin, and a searing warning hurtled through the Force. I whirled around, shoving Kin Robb behind me and igniting my saber just in time to block the strike from behind. 

I beat back the tall assailant, before slicing their weapon in half and slicing at their arm. Only once the assailant was on the ground, gripping their arm in pain did I notice they wore a Tarisian soldier’s uniform. One of Kin Robb’s own men, turned against her? Or an imposter? 

As I turned, I caught sight of the double doors I'd just come through. They were closed now. Suspicious, but I couldn't linger on it. I returned my attention to the man of darkness, holding my lightsaber loosely in front of me. He mentioned the negotiations, so he was likely a Separatist.

“You’re not ineffective,” the man noted with little surprise, like he was blandly commenting on the weather. 

“No, I’m not. Now I believe it’s time for you to leave.”

The man narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps into the room, studying me with enough intensity to send a shiver up my spine. Clearly something perplexing held his attention, but what could he possibly be trying to puzzle out? “What are you?” the man finally asked.

What, not who.

The oddity of his phrasing threw me off guard, but I quickly brushed it off. “This negotiation is a peaceful one,” I replied. “You are in direct conflict with your government’s agreement by attacking Kin Robb in this fashion.”

“What are you?” he repeated.

“I’m a Jedi.” I crouched slightly, searching with the Force to discern if any more attacks lay hidden in wait. “That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re afraid.”

No, I’m not, I wanted to shout. I’m not afraid!

But a true Jedi didn’t hide their feelings.

“Yes,” I finally admitted. “Yes, I am.”

“Is that why you have a touch of��” he hesitated, as though tasting the air. “The dark?” The words made me lose focus for a moment. The man lifted a hand to his chin. “Or is it something else?” Without waiting for a reply, he reached out with his hand. I flinched, waiting for some sort of attack around me, but I felt nothing, nor any strange nudging from the Force.

What in the blazes was he doing? I threw a look over my shoulder to check on Kin Robb, who was unchanged from her position. If the man wasn’t attacking me nor attacking Kin Robb–

“You’re Krell’s padawan.”

I jerked back to face the man. He spoke with no intonation whatsoever, nor did his face show anything even remotely human, and yet I could sense the surprise that tainted the shadows.

Tightening my grip on my saber, I rolled my shoulders in an effort to stay loose. “I haven’t been his padawan in a long time.”

“And yet his signature is all over you.”

“Well, he matters not, for he is now one with the Force.” It was selfish of me, but my heart burned with satisfaction at the fact that Krell was gone. He couldn’t hurt me or anyone else ever again.

“And yet our teachings bely us, don’t they?” The corners of the man’s mouth turned up into an eerie smile. “He is tucked away inside you, deep in the recesses of your mind.”

“No, he’s–”

“How very like a Jedi you are,” the man said, a cruel smile on his face. Despite his dismissive tone, his dark eyes never left me. “You deny what is inside you.”

Robbed of speech, I glanced at Kin Robb again, to remind myself that my purpose was to keep her safe. Nothing else mattered, especially not this man’s goading.

“How disheartened Obi-Wan must’ve been to receive you as his student.”

I hissed at him before I could stop it. “You don’t know what you speak of!"

For the first time during the whole exchange, the man smiled. It was a starved gesture, the corners of his mouth barely upturning, but it transformed his whole face. He looked human, and it was far more terrifying than any scowl he could’ve given me.

“What a pity I have to kill you,” he said as he reached for his belt. “We could’ve done a lot together, you and me.” Red light filled the room as he ignited a lightsaber.

My heart nearly stopped beating against the pressure of fear that ballooned in my chest, and I quickly took calming breaths. 

He was a sith. 

I was barely able to lift my lightsaber before the man brought his own down. 

“Go!” I shouted at Kin Robb, trying to hold the locked position. The man—the sith—possessed such strength, I wasn’t sure how long I could hold on. 

The sith slid his lightsaber higher, creating an awful scraping sound before pushing hard enough for me to fall back a step, our lightsabers breaking contact. I had less than a moment to catch my breath before the red saber swung again.

I was at a disadvantage. Not only was this man clearly the superior fighter, but I was limited to the defensive. The moment I gave him an opening, he would take it and kill Kin Robb or worse. 

The sound of rattling reached my ears, but I couldn’t afford to look. Was Kin Robb trying to open the doors?

My momentary distraction cost me.

The sith struck my lightsaber with such force, my fingers lost grip of it and it went flying off to the wall. I had barely a moment to grab Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from my belt before a great force hit my chest. 

I managed to roll away, nearly colliding with Kin Robb, who was indeed wrestling with the doorknobs. Without sparing her another glance, I ran at the sith, lifting my master’s lightsaber in an offensive strike, determined to land a blow.

The red lightsaber moved too quickly for me to follow, and the next thing I knew, I flew backwards, landing so hard on my back that the lightsaber slipped from my grasp and my breath filtered out of my lungs. 

“You’re no match for the dark side.” The man pointed his saber at me, the end so close to my neck, I could feel its heat on my skin. 

I looked up into the man’s face, certain that it was going to be the last sight I would see in this life. 

A loud thump sounded, and the man whirled around. Taking advantage of the moment, I scrambled to my feet, once more putting myself in between the man and Kin Robb. 

That’s when I saw Obi-Wan, breathing hard on the balcony. His hands were empty, but his eyes were dark. “Get away from her.”

Get away from her.

Which ‘her’ was he referring to?

I thrust out my hand towards my lightsaber, using the Force to bring it to my palm. 

“I must say, Kenobi,” the man clasped his hands behind his back, his lightsaber sheathed one more, “you did a spectacular job of hiding her from me. Now I know why you were shielding yourself from me earlier.”

I sucked in a breath. Obi-Wan, shielding himself?

“No wonder your padawan found me before you did.” The sith laughed, a cold and short-lived sound. 

“I will give you a chance to leave in peace,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice stiff as his feet moved fluidly closer. “I suggest you take it.”

“Kin Robb is coming with me. Alive or dead, though I assume you prefer the former.”

“You’re in direct conflict with the terms of this arrangement.” Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t budge from the man, but the fingers of his right hand flexed ever so slightly.

“Alas, the same Kenobi as always, with focus so great, it blinds him.”

Obi-Wan smiled tightly. “I appreciate your concern, Count Dooku, but I assure you my eyesight is fine.”

My legs wobbled like my knees were suddenly replaced with jelly.

This man was Count Dooku?

I’d been fighting Count Dooku?

As if he heard my thoughts, for he probably did, Dooku’s piercing eyes found me. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, did you choose your padawan or did the council?” Distantly, I saw Obi-Wan scramble towards his abandoned lightsaber, but I was frozen. Not under Dooku’s stare, but under his question. “Well, padawan?” Dooku asked. “Did he choose you?”

My world tunnel-visioned to just the sith lord in front of me. 

Dooku’s eyes somehow flayed me open, inspecting every piece of me, even the parts of myself I couldn’t see. He read every piece of me, clearly searching for something, perhaps something that matched his own sinister shadows. 

Suddenly, my view was blocked as Obi-Wan slid in between us. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said sharply, igniting his lightsaber, casting blue light onto Dooku’s harsh features. “I chose her.”

“Interesting,” Dooku murmured. “You’re flirting with the darkness, Kenobi.”

He means me, I thought.

Without looking away from my master, Dooku nodded his head, as if concurring with my thought. “And you know it, don’t you? It’s why you’re still shielding yourself.”

“I have no time for your chicanery,” Obi-Wan said forcefully. “This is your last chance to leave in peace.”

Dooku’s only answer was to step forward, and I braced myself for the furious fight that was about to occur. 

But then Dooku cut a glance at the door, just as it burst open. As Tarisian warriors poured into the room, he ran for the balcony and jumped off, free-falling into the gray pollution and disappearing from sight.

A loud “No!” broke through my lips. Holding tight to my lightsaber, I ran for the balcony, bending my knees in preparation for jumping after him. 

An iron grip seizing my arm, holding me back with a great jolt.

Incredulous, I looked at the firm hand and followed the length of the arm to my master.

“Let the warriors go after him,” Obi-Wan said, a little breathless. “Our concern is Kin Robb.”

I looked back the way Dooku had gone, contemplating wrenching my arm out of his reach and following Dooku anyway. 

The grip tightened, as if Obi-Wan knew what I was considering. “Let him go.”

A ship rocketed out of the smog below. As we watched, it flew straight for the atmosphere, growing smaller and smaller. Reluctantly, I stepped back. Obi-Wan’s grasp held on still. I looked up at him, expecting his eyes to be trained on the ship. 

But Obi-Wan’s eyes were fixed upon my face, his steeled look enough to make even the proudest bow their head in chagrin. I couldn’t blame him. I stood in this chamber as a direct result of disobeying him.

After a long look, my master mechanically released me and walked to Kin Robb. “How are you, my lady?” 

Ignoring Kin Robb’s response, I looked back at the way Dooku’s ship had gone. Kin Robb was still alive and with us, so we’d done what was necessary. But I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something horrible had just occurred. 

-

“I told you to return here.” Obi-Wan paced between the couch and the window of our suite, his pivots aggressive and his tread heavy. “I gave you an order, and you defied it.” His admonishment was strangely loud compared to his normal low-toned criticism.

“I’m sorry, master,” I said for the third time, hoping to put an end to the frantic pacing. If I could feel his light, I’m sure it would’ve been pulsing like a racing heartbeat, but my master must've still been shielding himself.

How could I be so foolish? It was obvious once Count Dooku said it, but it never even occurred to me that Obi-Wan was concealing himself.

“He could’ve killed you both, he could’ve killed Kin Robb, and then what would have happened to Taris?” Obi-Wan's scowl and raised voice hit me like wafts of bantha dung. It struck me, down to my innermost self. “What if he’d taken you too?” Obi-Wan was saying. “Chobb knows what he might’ve done to you if I hadn’t gotten there in time!”

I blinked, my own mind starting to swivel as quickly and harshly as he was. “But if I hadn’t gone,” I said slowly, “then no one would’ve stopped Dooku from taking her.”

Obi-Wan’s feet halted on the carpet, and my heart rate kicked up into an agitated pace. I couldn’t make myself look up at his face, my own starting to burn.

I’d just questioned him.

Me.

Questioned Obi-Wan.

But even with the desire to sink through the floor, I couldn’t retract the statement, because I wanted to hear the response. None came. Taking a breath, I dared a glance up into my master’s face. I could see the conflict on his face, clear as day, but I couldn’t see which two sides were fighting. 

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, turning away from me to resume his trek. “You should’ve done what you were told, that’s what padawans do.”

Padawans.

I lowered my eyes again to the luxuriously plush carpet. “You really don’t think I’m ready.”

My words were soft, and the way his shadow shifted as he turned was anything but. “What?”

My insides swept and roiled with something I couldn’t name, but it brought hot tears to my eyes. I tried to fight them, and, like every fight I’d fought today, I lost.

The alarmed face of Obi-Wan came into my view as he knelt by the couch. “Y/N?” I twisted away from him, not wanting him to see the tears, but he caught my wrists. “What’s wrong?” I wrenched my wrists from his hands, getting to my feet to put him behind me. “Y/N.” Obi-Wan’s stern voice only made the waves inside me swell all the more.

“Why would you tell me to be a healer?!” I cried, spinning to face him.

Obi-Wan jumped a little, looking like he’d been bowled over. “What are you talking about?”

The words were so jumbled up in my mind that I could hardly keep track of them. “You…you keep telling me to be a healer, but you think I’m useless.”

My master rose to his feet. “I never said–”

“But you’re thinking it!” I shouted. Deep down, I knew it was wrong for me to raise my voice at him, but even deeper down, there was something growing, something that would not be contained. “You…you were disappointed in me on Felucia, and then when we got here you wouldn’t let me go to the negotiation, and then when Kin Robb was in trouble, you sent me away!” My breaths were coming in short gasps, and my head spun. I needed Obi-Wan to explain it, to order my thoughts in the way only he could, to make it make sense. 

But he didn’t speak, simply stared back at me. What was he not telling me? Why had he sent me away? Why did he continually keep me from doing my job at his side? Why had he cut himself off from the Force, to the point where he couldn’t find Dooku and had to physically pick up his lightsaber in a fight instead of using the Force to bring it to him? 

There was only one possible answer to all of those questions. 

“You don’t trust me,” I said miserably, my voice wobbling. 

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply, but what else could it be?

“Can you feel the darkness too?”

Obi-Wan’s wary expression didn’t stir, showing me his infamous control as he spoke with an even voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Dooku said that I have a touch of darkness. He could feel it.”

I could’ve sworn Obi-Wan paled. “You talked to him?”

“He knew that Krell taught me!” I spat. “He could–could sense Krell’s signature in mine!”

The distress on Obi-Wan’s face would’ve been enough to clue me into the gravity he felt, but the sudden devastation I felt through the Force could’ve leveled planets. He lifted shaking hands to his hair, clenching his locks with whitening fists. “Y/N–”

“You’re the one who always tells me that my history with Krell is irrelevant!” I snapped, my voice growing louder by the second. “You tell me that I am pure of heart, but you’ve known all along that I’m not!” My voice broke on the last word.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Yes, it does! It does to Dooku! It does to the council!”

I paused to suck in a big breath, giving Obi-Wan time to say: “Y/N, you’re ready.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t keep cutting me out!”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t you dare lie to me again.” My breathing was heavy and loud. “You taught me that cutting oneself off from the Force to hide thoughts and feelings was the way of the sith, and yet you’ve been shielding yourself all day!”

An uncharacteristically wild look flashed in Obi-Wan’s eye. “I was trying to protect you!”

“From what, my own incompetence?”

“From Dooku!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, crossing the room in two, urgent strides. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer. “Dooku trained Qui-Gon Jinn, my master. Dooku sees myself and Anakin as part of his legacy!” Obi-Wan’s chest heaved as he took gulps of air. “I knew that when he met you, he would be able to sense Krell, it’s why I kept you away!”

Obi-Wan would…go against his own teachings to keep me safe? 

I tried to think through the magnitude of his actions, but his sharp blue eyes hovering so close to me made it difficult to think. “Maybe that explains your actions here,” I said slowly, “but why were you acting strange on the ship?”

Obi-Wan froze, and I could read guilt all over his face. 

“You couldn’t have been angry about my actions in battle,” I realized aloud. “Otherwise…you would have talked to me about it before we went to help the village.” Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide and his grip on my shoulders tightened, begging me not to continue, but I'd listened too long. “It happened in the council meeting, didn’t it? Whatever it was?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, like a child scared of the dark, wishing for some light to chase away the shadows on his bedroom wall.  

“Tell me the truth,” I said quietly. “You owe me that much.”

When his eyes opened, the deep pain in them was almost enough to dissuade me. But I held his gaze, willing him to talk. 

He let go of me, but didn’t step back. “After this negotiation–” Obi-Wan’s words were scratchy, and he cleared his throat. “After the negotiation, the council wishes for me to bring you to Coruscant where you will complete your trials.”

The news which ordinarily would bring me joy made my mind go blank. The council wanted me to complete my trials? To rise from the rank of Padawan to Knight? 

This was…huge.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered. “Why did you let me believe I’d done something wrong?” 

Obi-Wan rubbed his face. “I never meant to give you cause to doubt yourself, for that I am sincerely sorry.” He looked at me for a long moment, perhaps waiting for an acceptance of his apology, but I couldn’t even form the necessary thoughts. He pursed his lips, his face tight. “As Jedi, our lives are based on change. We carry no possessions with us, we have little control over our whereabouts or activities, and we are charged solely with caring for others.” His eyes flicked to mine, and there was hesitation. “Perhaps…perhaps I wasn’t ready…for this to change.”

“Change?” I echoed. “Why would–”

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, my chest was lit on fire, burning and thrashing in agony. Something must’ve shown on my face, for Obi-Wan nodded sadly. “Once you are no longer a padawan, you no longer have need for a master.”

No, I had every need for my master!

“I…I can’t do this without-without you!” I stammered as my head spun. “I’m not, I’m nowhere near ready!”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and I resisted the strange urge to seize his robes before he could disappear forever. “You can,” he said. “And you are. You actually have been for a while now.”

“But what about my darkness?” I spluttered. “I still have a touch of darkness!”

“A touch of darkness!” Obi-Wan laughed—actually laughed—and shook his head. “You haven’t the faintest idea how remarkable you are.”

“Remarkable?!”

“Yes, remarkable.” Affection punctured the amusement in his eyes. “Y/N, you faced a sith.”

Confusion spun my mind like an antennae in a dust storm. “I did not face a sith, a sith thrashed me and then got away!”

“Not Dooku.” Obi-Wan leaned against the couch, his face growing grim. “Krell.”

My brain seemed to make some sort of perplexed popping noise as it tried to understand his meaning. “I never fought Krell. And even if I had, he would’ve won.”

“You were raised by a sith. Krell spoonfed darkness to you and said it was light.” Obi-Wan pushed off the couch and came closer again, his eyes sweeping the expanse of my face. Was that…wonder on his face? “It should’ve eaten you alive,” he murmured. “It should’ve snuffed out the light without a trace, and instead you beat it back.”

His unbearably warm tone caught me by the throat, barricading it shut. 

“You haven’t told me all of what Krell did to you,” Obi-Wan said, and I stared at the floor, unable to look at him. Obi-Wan grasped my chin, lifting it so I was once again trapped under the weight of his inescapable stare. “You told me some things, and Rex told me others, but I know there’s more.” 

“Obi…” I pleaded.

“Yet even with what I know, I’m shocked you have enough goodness in you to think of others.” 

My eyes burned. “It wasn’t me.”

“It was you.”

“No, I couldn’t have done it without your guidance, your teachings.”

Obi-Wan exhaled in exasperation. “You give yourself so little credit.”

“I thought humility was the mark of a Jedi,” I said weakly. 

“The mark of a Jedi healer,” Obi-Wan’s careful words made me brace myself, “is conquering darkness. You can’t conquer darkness if you pretend it isn’t there.” He shook his head. “The code doesn’t say that Jedi must be innocent. Even in a galaxy at peace, it’s impossible to stay innocent for long.” Obi-Wan inclined his head. “Most padawans haven’t faced as much as you, it’s true, but instead of letting your experiences make you weak, you turned them into strength.”

The effects of his words were…indescribable. 

They were like wind passing over me, dislodging my hair and making me feel I could fly. Like warm water pouring over me, giving me relief from the cold. Like the forbidden but heavenly taste of chocolate cake I was never supposed to eat. 

I cast around for something to say, something else to look at, but Obi-Wan’s gravity made it impossible. I could only see—only feel—him.

His long hair, which never got cut, no matter how many times I offered or how many times he said he meant to do so himself. His beard, excellently framing his mouth whether he smiled or frowned. His eyes, half-closed as they were now, spilling into mine, like the distance between us was irrelevant.

I knew the Force showed him everything. He knew how I felt. I knew that he knew how I felt. 

Suddenly, a rush swept through me, warmth nearly twice as large and strong as I'd ever felt. It knocked the breath from my lungs, yet I couldn’t mind, even if I were to drown in it.

Obi-Wan wasn’t shielding himself anymore.

The light that shone was sweeter than the cake he’d let me have. I couldn’t name it or understand it, but I could feel it better than I could see it in his eyes. 

And just as unexpectedly, the warmth turned to an aching loss. Obi-Wan’s deep bereavement was mirrored in me, the pain he felt about our parting sharp even though I still stood in front of him. 

I felt Obi-Wan’s need to speak before he opened his mouth, but while the Force in between us tensed in preparation for his words, no words came. Obi-Wan licked his lips. “Promise me,” he said finally, “that you’ll request to be a healer.”

The tension remained, as if that wasn’t what words he’d been going to say. 

“I don’t think–”

“If not for yourself,” he pleaded, “then for me?”

If this was the final request my master—my good, kind, accomplished master—would make of me, how could I refuse?

“Okay.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression one of satisfaction, but his signature one of apprehension. “We are Jedi.” He squared his shoulders. “This is what we are made for.” Made for change? Or for loss? “We should sleep.” Obi-Wan walked towards the door of one of the bedrooms. “Tomorrow, we will escort Kin Robb to Coruscant, and you should be well-rested for..."

For my trials.

We held each other’s gaze for a moment longer, the silence loaded with all the things we couldn’t and didn’t know how to say. 

“Goodnight…master.”

The light fluttered for a moment before Obi-Wan replied. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

I shut my door, clutching the door knob tightly. 

Obi-Wan was right. Of course he was. Our lives were devoted to the Force. To serve it best, I would eventually have to move on and teach others of it. But if leaving Obi-Wan was a part of my duty, why did it feel like the ground beneath me was disappearing? Why was there a great heaviness inside me, threatening to swallow me whole?

My chest felt like a crumbling bridge, my arms sagged at my sides, and I somehow couldn’t lift my feet from the floor.

I closed my eyes, reaching out for the Force, craving its peace.

As always, it answered, enveloping me like the embrace of a mother and the protection of a father. Bend, the Force whispered to me, don’t break. I leaned into the feeling, allowing the weight in my chest to bend me. I sank to the floor, pulling myself further away from my present and closer into the Force.

And then I felt the light.

Obi-Wan’s light.

It shook violently, like it’d been left out in the cold with no cloak and was desperately trying to hold on.

And then another pull appeared. One far in the distance. A pull made up entirely of shadows. My first instinct was to panic and recoil as fast as possible, even if I ended up recoiling from the Force itself. 

But as my master said: one can’t conquer darkness if one pretends it isn’t there. If I wanted to be a healer, it was time to recognize the darkness. Recognize and prepare. I can feel you, I said to the pull. And next time we meet, I may not be with my master, but I will certainly be ready.

-

Part 4

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[courtforshort15]

Chapter 8

Pairing: Matt Murdock x FemReader

Word Count: 7,600

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: This chapter is a little dark and features the death of an un-named character. Read with caution if that might be triggering.

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

You speed up so that you’re at a jog, trying to move as fast as possible while keeping yourself upright, and though you can barely see him, you follow the blurred gray figure up ahead of you that’s moving swiftly. He takes a sharp left and disappears out of sight, so you push your legs as fast as they can go, hoping you don’t fall too far behind and lose track of him altogether. Your legs burn, the muscles straining and aching, but what’s a sore muscle in the grand scheme of things?

If you survive this, you won’t remember the sore legs, the blisters, the cut across your hand; you’ll remember the crumbled buildings, the ruined city blocks, and the fear that was so thick that it was a struggle to breathe.

Will you ever breathe the same again, secure in the knowledge that you’re safe? You’re not sure.

The smoke and dust in the city creates a brown haze, and it settles through the streets like a hot and suffocating blanket. Dodging this way and that, you keep to the side of the buildings as closely as possible, hoping that you’ll avoid being seen by the things still flying overhead, still unable to keep yourself from flinching with every crash and siren that pierces the city. 

You take the same corner Matt had taken, and it doesn’t take perfect vision to see the spilled concrete and rising flames of twisting oranges and reds that crackle and pop from where they burn just half a block down. Stumbling to a stop in the eye of a burning building, your breath hitches on a gasp. Even from the corner, you’re able to feel the heat brushing across your face, and each millisecond you stand still, it only grows in intensity.

It’s not long before you force your feet to take you closer, but you still hesitate longer than you would have liked. You’d been raised with the knowledge that fires were to be left to the professionals, to those with heavy gear and helmets and oxygen masks, but in a city that seems to be consumed by nothing but open flames, the people inside don’t have the luxury to wait for a team of firefighters to show up.

They’ll have to settle for the likes of you; vulnerable, insignificant, and completely overwhelmed.

Your spine does its best to turn to steel even as your fists clench at your side, shoving your panic down ruthlessly, and your tentative steps forward speed up back into a jog. There’s already a few people surrounding the building, digging frantically through the rubble and moving stone, wood, and brick aside to get to those who are trapped inside. It’s subtle, especially with your eyes the way they are, but you notice the second Matt becomes fully aware of your presence, his head shifting to angle towards yours ever so slightly as he helps another man pull away a large piece of stone.

You’re not sure where the other people came from - the streets had seemed deserted as you made your way to the subway station - but you marvel at every single person who has thrown their own fear and caution to the wind and jumped in at the prospect of someone else needing help. Time and time again, the people of New York have risen to another’s defense, banding together in the face of tragedy and destruction.

The scene is horrendous, something out of a twisted nightmare, blurry as it is in your limited eyesight. Brick and stone have toppled off of the building, leaving behind a large, mangled mound to sort through and push away in an effort to have access to pull people out. The front door is hardly visible with too many things blocked up against it for it to be usable. Most startling, however, is the large hole that sits around the second floor of the four story building, leaving an aching wound that surely must look worse from the inside than it does from the street.

Bloodied skin and frantic looks of terror and urgency decorate the faces of those helping to pull the chunks of debris away from the building, throwing their full weight into digging and shoving through the damage. Flames twist and pull, scorch and dance, as they burn the building from the inside out, heedless and apathetic to the sensitive skin and lungs of its occupants.

The horror of the destruction is only outmatched by the screaming.

Each cry scalds across your skin in a blaze hotter than the flames and causes you to flinch backwards, overwhelmed by the devastation and pain that oozes sharply from the wounded street, and for a split second, you consider turning on your heel and running away. You’re not brave, not entirely selfless when it comes to easing someone’s pain at the cost of your own sanity and safety, and you hate the way you hesitate when people are so clearly in need of help.

But one glance of the determination and grit on Matt’s face changes something in you, pulls you into a space that allows you to acknowledge your fear without sacrificing your desire to do good, and your feet are suddenly moving faster towards the rubble before you’ve had a chance to fully think about it.

The city may forgive your cowardice in the face of such dread and horror, but you never would.

Twenty feet in front of you, a small group of men and women shove away more debris, their faces dark with soot, and you immediately run to assist them, wordlessly jumping in and pulling brick and stone away from the door. Someone attempts to scale the large mound of debris, but he only manages to get so far up before his weight shakes some of the stone loose, sending them tumbling down. The person next to you pulls you sharply to the side as a brick flies down in your direction, and you send a brief but startled grimace their way. 

“Help me lift this,” says the woman to your right, her voice strained as she struggles to pull up a large clump of bricks that have stayed together through the strength of the concrete. You don’t hesitate this time, leaning down and sliding your hands underneath the object of ruin. The large cut on your hand protests loudly, but you ignore it, even as it feels like the newly-formed scab has ripped open under the pressure.

“One, two, three, lift,” the woman directs, words changing into a hiss as she begins to rise. The weight in your hands aches, but you struggle through it, putting all your effort into lifting it and walking a few feet to the side before dropping it. It hits the concrete with a crash, the brick finally breaking apart, but you pay it hardly any attention, following the woman back to the small section of the pile she’d been working at.

“This piece next,” you tell her, pointing at another collection of bricks, wiping a drop of sweat off of your forehead with your other arm. It seems the scab had indeed torn quite a bit, as you’d predicted, because blood is trickling down your arm from underneath Matt’s tie that is still wrapped tightly around it. The red stands out, even through the dust that lingers upon your skin, and you’re close enough to see the other woman wince.

“Are you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” you brush her off, already bending down to lift another piece. “Gotta keep going.” She drops the topic quickly, joining you at a crouch, and grunts as the clump slowly raises from the pile.

One by one, the two of you wordlessly move large pieces of brick and concrete to the side, trying to clear a path for people to get to the shattered window of the building where they can help people escape. It’s slow going for the pair of you, your efforts taxing and seemingly little in comparison to the group of men who are able to move faster. The heat around you builds, as do the cries of the people trapped inside, and it only makes you push harder.

“It feels like this isn’t going anywhere,” you remark with a gasp of air. You feel more and more discouraged by the second, the task at hand feeling far too large for your tiny hands. You hated this feeling of helplessness, even as you did everything in your power to help. The two of you shove a large piece to the side, and it falls with a groan and crack as it breaks apart slightly. The woman turns away from you, eyeing the small clearing you’ve made. 

“They’re close to clearing the door, I think,” she says. She bends over and rests her hands on her knees for a split second as she takes in a large gulp of air, but quickly straightens back up and follows you back to the side of the doorway urgently. “It’s helping, the people will be out soon. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully.”

The panic mixed with grit and determination on her face is only matched by yours, and you let it drive you forward.

As if on cue, there’s a sharp cry of relief as the top of the front door is revealed, about a foot of wood paneling finally visible behind the stone that had blocked the exit. The digging continues frantically, and the sight of it refuels you with renewed speed and strength as you move back to another piece of stone the two of you will be able to lift. 

The woman continues to look exhausted during the next two pieces you lift, face drenched with sweat and red with exertion. She’s just above middle-aged, with frail arms and wrinkles exaggerated as she frowns and groans under the weight, and her strength seems to be waning even as she does her best to work through. She’s clearly struggling even as she puts one foot slowly in front of another, and a warning bell sounds in your head. You watch with clouded vision as her form begins to lose its shape, hunching over the slab of concrete you’re moving to the side, and a flash of fear suddenly rips through you.

Her arms shake under the weight, face twisting in pain. “I can’t–”

“Don’t drop it,” you wheeze, walking backwards more quickly. Sweat continues to pour down your face, the heat of the intense labor creating a burn that slides upon your skin as it joins forces with the flames from the building. “We’re almost there.”

She wheezes, her red face rapidly increasing its shade. “I’m gonna–”

“No–” Your eyes widen with horror as her hands begin to slip, her face shifting into one of panic. Your foot is directly below the slab of brick, and instinctively you know there’s no way you can move your foot quickly enough to get out from under the brick, not without jostling her and causing her to drop it quicker. It all seems to go in slow motion, the sliding of the slab through her fingers, the beginning of its descent, and your body freezes in anticipation of the pain, one that will likely bloom viciously from the breaking of your foot.

Your eyes slam quickly shut as you tense up for the impact.

But suddenly, the brick is rising back up, the weight taken on by another force, one that even lessens its own load on you.

Eyes flying open with a gasp, you’re surprised to see Matt’s sweaty face in front of yours, mouth twisted in a frown as he lifts the brick, a quick groan slipping out. His eyes are wide open, the sun hitting them and highlighting them hazel, blindly aimed to the left of your ear as he holds up the brick. 

“Keep walking,” he tells you gruffly, pushing you gently but urgently along as he steps forward and off to the side. The woman steps out of the way quickly, and you catch the look of relief on her face. Your legs, still tense from the fear that had pierced through you, protest with every step, even as he takes the brunt of the weight. It feels like forever, but Matt finally indicates to place the slab down and out of the way, and you follow without question, grateful to let the heaviness of it go, rolling your shoulders as you stand up.

He’s directly in front of you a second later, steadying you and matching your grimace.

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, grabbing your arm and lifting it slightly, seemingly examining the blood he can’t see. “It’s as bad as before.”

You try to bring your hand back to your body, but his grasp slides to your wrist as he all but cradles your palm in his. A loud sigh escapes your lips, though you imagine it could almost be considered a hiss when he puts the slightest bit of pressure over the wound. “Can’t be helped, Matt.”

“No, maybe not,” he responds with a deep frown. His face has a few smudges of dirt on it, and his shirt can hardly be considered white at this point. “But maybe you should think about finding shelter again. I don’t want–”

You hate how tempting it sounds. “Absolutely not.”

He runs an aggravated hand through his hair. “I don’t want you getting hurt any worse.”

The smile on your mouth is as bitter as it tastes. “Everyone here is hurt, too. Including you. It’s not going to stop any of us. There’s still people who need help.”

“Fine,” he says with another frown, this one bordering on a wince, rolling his stiff shoulders before pulling slowly away. “But…just watch it, okay? You’re not helping anyone if you get yourself hurt. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“Why do I feel like that’s advice you never follow yourself?”

He snorts, the sound of it abrupt and out of place in a city that’s hardly standing, already moving back towards the entrance of the building that still blazes. “I hardly–”

“Hey buddy!” someone calls out a few feet away, waving in Matt’s direction. It’s the group of men Matt had been working with when you’d arrived, and it catches his attention as soon as the first syllable is out. Matt’s head turns swiftly towards them, tilting in question. “Can you come back over here? We need help with this one.”

Matt’s nodding before the man’s already finished. He throws you one last glance, reaches out to squeeze your uninjured in a subtle goodbye, before running back to the group. His touch is missed the second it’s gone, something about the warmth of his hand acting as soothing heat that almost overpowers the flames behind you. You watch him go, his form tense and seemingly ready for whatever challenge could come his way, choosing to focus on the task at hand rather than the unfamiliar ache in your chest that he leaves behind.

That’s…not something I can focus on right now.

You eye another piece that needs moving. Its removal will help clear an easy path for those trapped to get to the end of the sidewalk and out of the way, so you grit your teeth and look up at the woman to see if she’ll be able to help. She wipes her forehead briskly and pushes a lock of red hair behind her ear, head nodding at the unasked question.

She’s ready to move again after a small breather, and you ground your teeth together to prepare for the same. You turn your back to her as you make your way over, stepping quickly around the littered debris and squaring your shoulders.

But out of nowhere, there’s a loud, piercing cry behind you, the sound nothing but a sheer whine of terror, and you whip your head around just in time to watch a quick flash of color shoot straight into the woman’s chest before she falls to the ground, the scent of burning flesh and sight of a blurred hiss of smoke rising up. 

You stare at her in horror, your own scream bubbling up and leaving your lips before you can help it.

But before you can step towards her, before you can even fully process that she’s gone, the sound of heavy footsteps behind you catch your ear, and an ice-cold chill runs down your spine. Your breath stops in your lungs, your heart beats painfully in your chest, and your skin prickles in dread.

Slowly, you turn around, unable to help yourself.

Its purple, mottled skin stands out amongst the black of the road and the white sidewalk behind it, its posture stiff as it holds the large weapon. From where you are standing just ten away, you can barely see its features beyond the sharp beak-like structure and glowing eyes that observe the group of you with unrestrained hatred and a disturbing amount of glee. 

You wish you hadn’t looked.

All efforts to clear the door have temporarily stopped, each person staring at the alien with blood-drained faces. It holds its weapon close to its chest, claw-like hands wrapped tightly around something that looks like a trigger, and it’s almost like it's deciding who to kill first. 

Swiftly turning your head away from the sight, your eyes land on the remains of the woman that lay carelessly to your side, nothing more than an empty, beaten shell that had once housed a person, and the contents of your stomach roll and speed up through your throat. You barely keep it in as tears blur your vision, a hand rising up to cover your mouth as a scream, this one silent, parts your lips viciously.

While you stare in horror at the broken body to your left, another boom of the weapon rocks the city block, and it's quickly followed by the nightmarish sound of another person falling to the ground. It’s suddenly mass chaos as people begin running and diving behind the rubble, doing their best to protect their bodies as the thing advances. Someone makes a run for it, sprinting across the street in hope of reaching shelter, but there’s another flash of light, a startled scream, and a suddenly lifeless form that slams against the pavement. 

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” you chant under your breath, making a split decision to run and duck behind a large pile of bricks to your left. It’s futile, you know, but it’s your best shot.

Sure enough, before you can make it, before you can throw yourself down to the ground, an ear-splitting blast sounds from behind you. Your body tenses up, all too aware of what’s coming, waiting for something to tear through your body, and a scream leaves your mouth before you know you’ve opened it.

But the blast doesn’t hit you, it hits the pile of bricks you’d been about to duck behind, as if the being had miscalculated slightly and expected you to be diving to the ground a split second before you actually had. You had been too slow, or him too fast, and it had temporarily saved your life. 

The brick explodes next to you, and you let out the most piercing shriek you’ve ever had slip past your lips as you do your best to cover your face. In your terror and pain you quickly lose your balance, and it’s as if the force of the blast might as well have knocked you down itself. Your head smacks crudely against the concrete, the sound of your skull crashing down nothing but a solid crack, and the sound of your scream rattles your head and ears in a way that’ll haunt you for days to come.

Brick falls down over you as you lie there, each piece nicking you on its way down, and you can do nothing but huddle in on yourself and cry until the dust seems to finally settle. 

Your vision is hazy when your eyes manage to open, and you’re not quite sure if it’s solely because of the eyes that have needed glasses for years, or if it’s because your head had slammed to the concrete with the force of a bat slamming into a baseball thrown by a major league pitcher. You’re facing upwards, and despite the heat of the raging flames around you, there’s a slight chill that brushes your skin as you lay in the shadow of the skyscrapers surrounding you.  

A large form, gleaming from the strange shine of its blotchy skin hanging from solid angles that make up its inhuman frame, steps into your limited field of vision, weapon raised with fingers still on the alien trigger. Your heart stutters, your breathing stops, and dread curls down your spine as you watch it lift its gun again. It seems to relish the look of terror on your face, finding enjoyment in your panic, and there’s nothing human about the way it looks down on you.

There’s a voice somewhere in the distance screaming your name, getting closer and closer with every millisecond, but you’re well aware that the speed of the anguished sound isn’t going to make a difference, the person still too far away to change how your story is about to end.

There’s only one person who could be screaming your name, and you’re grateful that his lack of sight will keep him from the image of your mangled and burned skin.

You look past the being in your face, choosing that your last moments be that of the blue sky behind him. It doesn’t give you any sense of peace, not really, but the blue has inspired poets and musicians and artists for thousands of years, and will do just fine for the last image you’ll ever see.

The monster in front of you lets out a warbled sound that’s both grating and groaning, no doubt communicating to whatever part of his army can hear him, and you brace for the impact. But before it can follow through, before a flash of light can penetrate your body and leave behind a shredded hole of blood and flesh, it just….

…drops.

It crumbles just to your left, the mottled gray form falling to the ground bonelessly, eyes open and mouth still twisted in a snarl. For a second, all you can do is continue to stare at the sky, far too confused to know what’s just happened. The lack of a weapon in your face does not yet ease the fear, bone and muscle immobilized from terror, and your lungs still struggle to push air in and out of your body.

The site is silent for a split second as the group of people stare in disbelief at the fallen alien, but it’s not long before the screaming and sobbing starts again, though it seems to slip past you as your brain threatens to shut off. You feel numb all over, and just for a second, you give into it.

You must drift shortly into unconsciousness because the next thing you know, Matt’s face is hovering directly over yours, his mouth opening on words that take you a few seconds to process.

“--ey, hey, you’re okay,” he says hurriedly when you shift with a groan, and you’re relieved that sound has finally come back to you. He frowns as he runs a hand lightly down the side of your face, fingers grazing over something on your left cheek that burns at the contact. The contact is jarring, and you can’t help the way you flinch as you try to sit up. 

Matt’s face is alarmed at the movement, pressing gently at your shoulder until you lay back down reluctantly. “Woah, hey. Don’t move. You need to stay down for a few.”

“They’ll be back,” you respond with a cough, struggling against the hand that presses lightly into your chest. “We should–”

“I think they’re gone,” he tells you, and you notice the new cut that’s been added to his jawline, “all of them just…it’s like they’re dead.” His voice is absolutely bewildered, his eyes wide, head shifting from side to side as if struggling to comprehend the way the street had suddenly changed. “Whatever they were, they just fell to the ground. It’s the same with the other ones in the area.” 

You don’t ask him how he knows.

The wailing and crying in the background has continued, but you pay it no mind. Your energy is draining rapidly, and you don’t have the ability to focus on much more than the man on his knees next to you.

“I–” you’re unsure of what to say at first, just as perplexed at the sudden death of the aliens. You turn your head slowly to the side, jumping when you remember the being that had fallen next to you, its blank face not seven feet from yours, mouth hanging open lifelessly. From up close you can see every ridge in its armor, every line and splotch in its face, and it’s even more terrifying up close. 

You find it hard to think even as a shudder wracks your body. “Are you sure? I don’t–”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok.” A deep breath surges through your body, the first full gulp of fresh air since you’d fallen, but you cough harshly as the air leaves, barely managing to cover your mouth with your trembling hand. “But I should still-”

A shaky hand gently pushes down on your chest again, the one that had touched you on your cheek just a few seconds ago, and your eyes widen at the bright flash of red that stains his palm. 

Blood. 

His?

No. Yours. 

“Don’t move,” he says, voice a little more firm than last time. It’s got a thin veil of steel behind it, the same one that’s been present the past few hours, something that hints at a far more forceful interior that he perhaps doesn’t let others see. The tone doesn’t startle you, doesn’t stop you, as you’re far too focused on the fact that there’s another reason to get up on your feet. How had you forgotten about the people who needed rescuing? “Just lay here for a second.”

Your tone is incessant. “Let me up. The people in the fire need–”

Matt shakes his head, and the motion is suddenly more fuzzy than it had been just seconds ago. “Everyone got out, everyone’s fine.”

Your eyebrows raise in confusion. “How–”

His blank eyes rake over your face. “You were out of it for a few minutes. I–you hit your head really hard.” He shudders briefly. “I heard it from all the way over there.”

“But–”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he says as gently as he can, though he’s still incredibly blunt, “and you need to go to a hospital.”

For the third time, you move to sit up, but he stops you with a firm shake of your head.

“I’m going to pick you up. You shouldn’t be walking.” An arm reaches underneath your knees, pulling your weight closer to him, and it takes all of two seconds before you’re struggling against him.

“I’m fine,” you argue, pushing him lightly away, though he easily overpowers you. Your head continues to pound, the throb as forceful and abrupt as a loud snare drum, and it takes a second to gather your thoughts. “It’s just my cheek, it’s fine.”

“It’s not just your cheek,” Matt grunts as he finally snakes his arm again under your knees, holding a little tighter this time. He floats in and out of your vision, not because he’s moving, but because you suddenly feel like you’re swaying despite his jerky movements. “You’ve…the crown of your head. You have a gash, it needs stitches. As soon as possible.”

Oh. 

Your mouth parts in immediate shock, and without a word, your hand lifts and runs over your head, the wince on your face sharp and dramatic as the pain that suddenly flares out. Between the sting of the wound and the pounding in your head, it quickly becomes too much, and you’re very suddenly overwhelmed and having even more trouble focusing. 

“Yeah,” Matt mumbles, correctly assuming that the pain’s finally hit with full force. He lifts your arms before helping tie them loosely around his neck. You allow the movement easily as if your body has lost its ability to function with the new knowledge of just how hard you must have hit your head. 

Well…that makes sense.

“Maybe,” you begin slowly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, “m-maybe that’s why I feel so…so dizzy?”

Matt hisses in displeasure, something about the slurring of your words triggering his need to move faster. You let an undignified squeak as he pulls you up and straightens his back, and though before you might have wrapped your arms around his neck tighter in a split second of panic, you find your arms suddenly too heavy to move. They flop uselessly to the side as if the muscle is no longer attached to the bone, just a dead weight of torn skin and fingers that tingle.

“Where–where are you t-taking me?” you slur out, and you don’t have the energy to make your voice louder or more clear. He picks up a swift pace, and you’re unable to tell which way he is going, only that he’s walking away from the people he’d helped save from the building. No one calls out to him to return, though the tears and cries left behind are present and haunting, and Matt seems to be single minded as he takes you away from the fire that still burns behind him. “Where–”

“There’s a hospital a few blocks away,” Matt responds immediately, his body randomly jerking you to the side as steps around something. “We can…we should be able to make it there safely now that there’s nothing to stop us.”

You try to wiggle out of his hold in protest, but your body refuses to work with you, especially once Matt seemingly strengthens his hold on you. All semblance of a fight leaves you as exhaustion suddenly hits you heavier this time. “Matt, no. You can’t carry me that far, it’s not–”

“Don’t argue,” he says tightly. “Your head…you’re losing too much blood. And you’ve probably got a concussion. You need a doctor.”

Your eyes flutter shut before snapping open again. “There’s…there’s people who are w-worse off. They-they need to be h-helped fir–” Something inside you abruptly cuts off your ability to speak, tongue feeling too heavy in your mouth before you’re able to finish your sentence. Your head falls backwards, strength rapidly draining from your bruised and tired body, and you hear Matt grunt when he adjusts slightly so that your head is resting on his shoulder as best as it can. Your eyes grow heavy, the lids making a valiant effort to stay lifted even as a sense of darkness beckons you below.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he tells you urgently as he continues to pick up his pace, his steps feeling more and more jarring as he quickly turns a corner. “Stay awake for me.”

You don’t answer, you can’t, and your body continues to do nothing but sag into his. He mumbles something, something you can’t hear, the blurred lines of his lips tilting into a deep frown. 

It’s a lovely mouth, now that you think about it. You wish you’d seen a smile such as his in the life that had existed before today.

Matt continues to move, his voice soft and almost warbled in your ear, and with every step, you feel yourself floating outside of your body, whatever string that ties your spirit to your physical form attempting to snap and separate. It’s nice, almost. The feeling of dread and terror slides away, the throbbing of every inch of your body beginning to dissipate. You’re aware that bells should be ringing in your head, some alarm that tells you that your sudden emotional and physical numbness isn’t a good thing, but you’re too far gone to care.

“Sweetheart,” Matt says with a shake of his arms, trying in vain to wake you up even as you continue to slip away, “you gotta stay with me. Don’t close your eyes, stay with me. I need you to–”

But you don’t hear what he needs. The black catches up to you, forces your eyes shut, and leaves you with nothing more to cling to.

—----

Matt’s heart falls into his stomach when you lose consciousness again, though he had known this was a possibility long before your words started slurring. The thump of your heart is growing weaker by the second, fading with every drop of blood that leaves your body and soaks his shirt, and every step he takes towards the hospital feels far too slow, far too unsteady. 

Despite his fear, despite the way he trembles as your head lulls back and over his arm, Matt’s navigation is on point. He knows exactly what block he’s on, knows exactly how many steps are needed until he’ll get to the corner he’ll turn at, and even while screams and sirens tear through the bruised and beaten city, his sole focus is your safety.

His sole focus is you.

You, who had run in the opposite direction of the crowd to help him, even while people ignored him standing there by himself on that apartment stoop, nothing more than a liability in the face of death. He could have found a way to find shelter on his own, he knows that, but he hadn’t needed to, not with you there, a beacon so bright that he didn’t know how he could have missed it before.

You’d been terrified, blood circulating viciously through your system with every uneven breath and pounding of your heart, but all he could think in that moment was that he had never met someone so selfless, so…fearless.

Matt isn’t fearless now, though. He’s in agony as distress and panic roll through his system relentlessly, a deep and abrasive flaying of his nerves with every second that slips by.

He’s a city boy, born and raised in the underbelly of New York City, a place that lives and breathes tension and apprehension, so in an awful way, the anxiety he’s feeling is familiar. He’s used to it crawling up and down his spine, long before he gained and familiarized himself with his abilities, but nothing could have prepared him for this. 

Matt vaguely recalls Stick talking about the war and wonders briefly if this was what he’d been talking about, but he quickly dismisses the idea entirely. Stick’s stories had always seemed so human, and there had been no mentions of aliens tearing through the sky and beating the city, his city, into the ground.

The brick of the wall next to him suddenly disappears, indicating that the building has ended and he’s reached the end of the block, and he takes a sharp turn, feet expertly avoiding the stone and brick that lies broken over the sidewalk, no doubt from a building close by that had been devastated by the force of an explosion. The smell of fire still lingers in the air, but he’s all but numb to the world, nothing existing but his feet, his path, and you cradled in his straining arms.

He takes a second to adjust again, hoisting you closer and further up his body, ignoring the slight burn as his arms accept the weight of you in a slightly different position. Like this, your head is now closer up by his, your silken hair brushing lightly his chin, and he can’t help shudder at the feeling. 

His adjustment jostles you enough that it startles out a low moan, one that is filled with a sense of pain that he wishes he could take from you.

“I know,” he mumbles into your hair as his pace picks back up again, following the path that his head has laid out for him, filled with the angles and pressures and temperatures that only his mind is able to process. It’s a clean shot down to the hospital, just three blocks down, and Matt can’t help but press a soft and short kiss to the crown of your head in relief. “I know, sweetheart. We’re almost there.”

He walks as fast as he can with you in his arms, and each step is filled with as much relief as fear, because what if…what if he gets you there in one piece, but there’s nothing they can do?

Your heart has slightly evened out, though it’s still weak and slow, and Matt admits that he has done little more than monitor it the whole journey to the hospital, hell, the whole journey since he grabbed your hand. Two hours with you and the sound has been seared into his memory, its pattern just as familiar as the back of his own hand.

It’s only a few more minutes before Matt’s walking briskly through the automatic doors, somehow managing to focus even as the sound of broken cries swarm around him on all sides. He’s walked in through the ambulance bay, he thinks, judging by the lack of furniture for waiting friends and family and a check-in desk. The lights are fluorescent, and he can hear their loud humming, so different from the soft lighting and calmness of a waiting room. There’s so much going on around him, so many people shifting and rushing past him, the wheels of gurneys screeching across the linoleum floor, and he can’t help but be temporarily overwhelmed. 

The scent of blood is so strong it’s sickening, and Matt has to swallow down the taste of copper that floods his senses ruthlessly.

He finds himself floundering for a second, unsure of which way to walk as chaos swells around him on all sides. Your blood is soaking his shirt with every second he wastes stalling there, and it’s finally enough to push forward. He’s hardly taken a step before a man is standing in front of him, his hand outstretched to stop his movement. Matt opens his mouth to protest, unsure of the man’s reasoning and instinctively wanting to keep going, but the man cuts him off.

“I need a gurney over here,” the man calls out sharply, turning his head to the left. He sounds frayed at the edges, too, and Matt can’t help but shudder. “Now!”

Relief floods through his system, and it’s only a brief few seconds before a gurney is wheeled his way. 

“Here, put her down,” says the man urgently, lowering the rails down so that it’s easier for Matt to lean down. He hesitates for just a moment, something in him suddenly unwilling to remove you from his body, and even though he knows he needs to place you on the padding, his heart protests so sharply that it startles him.

I don’t want to let her go.

But Matt pushes the thought aside, finally placing her gently on the gurney, pulling back as the man raises the railings back up and wheels her up against a wall a few yards away. He immediately begins hooking you up to various machines, one monitoring your heart rate, the other your blood pressure. Matt is moved lightly to the side by another pair of hands as a second nurse or doctor steps up, placing an oxygen mask on a face that feels like it’s been permanently scarred with the remains of blood and tears from the day.

“What happened?” the man asks as he begins a quick exam, watching as your stats begin to populate on a screen to the left of your head.

“They…she…” Matt struggles to find the words at first, language failing him for a second as the sound of your body slamming against the pavement echoes through his head. His fists clench uselessly at his side as he tries to focus on the facts of what happened instead of the way it had caused a panic so abrupt that he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from it. “She…she fell as she was running. One of those things–it shot at her and missed, but she lost her balance. She must have hit her head on something because she started losing blood and eventually lost consciousness.”

The man continues his exam, not bothering to look up, which causes a strange sense of relief. Matt’s not wearing his glasses, he’s pretty sure he lost them around the time he sprinted to your side when all thought and reason left him, and while it’s the least of his concerns at the moment, he’s still grateful the man has yet to notice that he’s not making eye contact.

He’d promised to tell you everything if the pair of you survived, and he’d stand by that promise gladly, but the idea of someone else questioning his sight made his skin crawl. This was a secret meant only for him and you, now. 

“When was this?” The man pulls Matt out of his head with the question, moving your head from one side to the other to determine the level of damage. He is thorough and almost detached in his examination, brusque and to the point, but Matt detects the tremble in his hand, notes the skin that is likely too pale, and knows the man is trying to remove himself from his own fear in order to focus on those who need him. 

It’s a trait that Matt will become achingly familiar with in years to come.

“How long ago did this happen?”  

“I, uh…probably about ten minutes ago. We were a few blocks away and I had to carry her here,” Matt responds, licking his lips with a nervous tick. “Is she–is she going to be okay?”

“We’re going to have to take her up for a CT,” he responds, pulling out a chart and writing on it, his chicken scratch sliding abrasively on the paper. “I have someone who can do that for her in a few minutes. Can I get her name and date of birth for her paperwork?”

Matt freezes briefly, because of course he doesn’t know your date of birth, and he never got your last name, but to admit that he doesn’t know either implies that he doesn’t know you, and it causes him to lurch in place.

He does know you. He does. 

Maybe the day hadn’t started out that way, but he knows you in a way he doesn’t know anybody else, because what else is there to know about a person other than how they’ll react when push literally comes to shove? He knows that about you now, already knows the kind of person you are, and he hopes he’s shown you equally the kind of man he is and wants to be.

On paper you are a stranger, but his heart knows differently.

So instead, he lies about the information the doctor is requesting and gives the doctor his father’s birthday as her own, simply changing the year so that it’s only a few years younger than himself. The doctor doesn’t notice the lie and simply nods, writing it down quickly.

“First name?”

Matt gives it swiftly. It’s a name that he’ll never be able to forget.

“And last name?”

It’s out his mouth before he can hold it back. “Murdock.” 

He doesn’t know why he says it, but it’s too late to pull it back, so he adjusts his form and does his best to not give away the false statement that had poured from him so easily like wine from a barrel.

“And you are?”

Matt clears his throat. “Matt Murdock.”

“Relation?”

“She’s my wife.” The lie comes out just as smoothly this time because Matt quickly realizes the advantage of the situation. He won’t have to leave you, he’ll be able to stay by your side as you heal, and no one will question it. Watching over you has become his sole focus since the sky first opened up, your strength in the face of your fear nothing short of addicting, like you were a flame that burned only for him, and he isn’t about to leave you now.

Your blood matted hair rests lifelessly on the padding he assumes is white, and something in him is glad he can’t see the red of it staining the sheets, knowing that it’s life leaching out from the gash on your crown.

You’re still as a nurse begins stitching up the back of your head, a thin needle expertly swaying in and out of your flesh as the wound gradually begins to close. His hands hold on to the railing tightly, ears catching the beat of your heart faster than the screen can count it, and he keeps track of every stitch that’s tied off. Slowly, the blood seeping out begins to lessen as the nurse continues her work, and when she walks away, Matt’s overcome with the sudden need to touch you. His hands are dirty with blood and sweat and ash, but he reaches down anyway and pushes a lock of hair behind your ear, resting his forehead against yours in a brief attempt to assure himself of your warmth, before placing a gentle kiss and pulling away.

He’s barely standing up straight before the nurse comes up and informs him they’re ready to take you up for the head scan, and there’s nothing Matt can do except pray while the wheels of the gurney disappear down the hall.

-

[captainsophiestark]

Procrastination

Grant Ward x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Grant Ward and his longtime best friend recently started dating, although the rest of the Bus team doesn't know about it yet. When wading through the drudge work at SHIELD, they're able to be each other's perfect distraction.

Word Count: 1,590

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I huffed in frustration as I worked on coiling one rope after another, putting away all the tactical gear the team had dragged out for our latest pitstop to deal with a situation that almost got us all killed. Of course, I'd been signing on for a life of that stuff when I joined Ops, but nobody had told me about all the work that came afterwards taking care of the gear.

"How're those ropes coming?"

I shot a glare over my shoulder at my boyfriend, Grant Ward, as he passed behind me, his arms full of go-bags. His expression and delivery made me think he was being sincere, but all the same, I wasn't a fan of the question.

"Terrible. Can't you get Skye to do this? You're her SO."

"A good SO doesn't make the person they're training doing all the grunt work just because they can," Grant said, dropping the bags on the table next to me before putting his hands on his hips and raising an his eyebrows at me. "Aren't you the one who first told me that?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Didn't stop you from making me clean our entire jump jet top to bottom."

"That's because it wasn't our jump jet, it was SHIELD's. I didn't want to get called into a supervisor's office because you'd decided to decorate for the month we had use of it."

I paused my work with the ropes, turning to face him with a grin.

"You liked the pictures from our trips being up in the cockpit, though. I know you did."

The corner of Grant's mouth tugged up in a smile, although I could see him fighting to hold it back.

"You'll never get me to admit it."

I just snorted, leaning my shoulder into his. Instead of leaning back, like I'd been expecting, Grant took the opportunity to wrap his arm across my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my temple as he pulled me into his side.

"Grant... the rest of the team's still here..."

Grant hummed like he was thinking, and I bit my lip. We hadn't actually told any of our team on the Bus that we were dating yet, since it had been a somewhat recent development after many years of being best friends. We'd agreed to keep things quiet, at least for a little while, so we didn't have to hear anybody chiming in on our relationship or giving us knowing looks whenever we did something normal together. They were our friends, so we'd have to tell them eventually, but neither of us was ready just yet.

I started to pull away from Grant to get back to our stupid ropes, but he caught my hand before I could.

"Come on. It's been a long day, we're not done."

I raised an eyebrow, but followed as he tugged me along behind him. The plane wasn't very big, so it only took a moment for me to realize we were heading for a storage closet at the back of the gear room. I grinned and shook my head.

"Grant... this feels like a bad idea."

He paused at the door, taking in my grinning face before tugging me a little closer to him, leaning down until his mouth was just inches from mine.

"By all means, feel free to go back to wrapping rope and cleaning gear kits."

I huffed a sigh. "Alright, point taken. But just for a minute."

I turned as I spoke, opening the door to the closet and stepping inside. Grant was right on my heels, pulling the door shut behind us. His hands quickly found my waist, pulling me even closer to him in the already cramped space.

"I can't believe it took us so long to do this," he breathed. I huffed a laugh.

"Me neither."

We shared a breathless smile, then in sync, closed the rest of the distance between us in a long, slow kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck, one hand running up into his hair as he held me tightly to his chest. After a moment, he deepened the kiss and I let him with a sigh.

Grant took a step forward, neither of us breaking apart, until my back hit the far wall of the closet. I let out a breathy laugh, smiling up at him as he pulled back before kissing along my jaw, down towards my neck.

"Grant... I love you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know." He paused, spending a little extra time on my pulse point before straightening up again to meet my eyes. "I love you too."

I smiled, then surged forward to kiss him again, tangling one hand in his hair as I rested the other on his shoulder, pulling him closer to me even though we were already about as close as we could be. His hands ran up and down my sides, and I honestly could've stayed like that with him forever. Unfortunately, we did both still have jobs to do, and we could only escape those jobs together for so long before they called us back.

After another few, long moments, I brought my hand up to Grant's cheek to still him and leaned away. His eyes searched my face, and I sighed.

"We should probably get out of this closet before somebody notices we're gone."

Grant hummed, darting back in for one last peck before pulling more fully away.

"You're probably right. Fortunately, we're scheduled to be on the ground and staying in a hotel to respond to the latest call for SHIELD's mobile unit. I made sure our rooms are far away from the rest of the team's."

"Best of all, nobody'll be suspicious about it because you always do that anyway to avoid forced team-bonding."

"Like it ever actually helped me escape anything. Even before we started dating, you always managed to find me and drag me along."

"You're welcome. Now come on, we both have a bunch of gear kits standing between us and the break we both want once the plane lands."

Grant sighed, giving my waist one last squeeze before he turned to open the door. I moved to follow him, but he stopped dead in the doorway, to the point that I almost bowled into the back of him.

"Grant? What are you doing?"

He didn't so much as turn around, so I made the executive decision to push myself past him, intending to move around to look Grant in the face. About halfway through the move, I stopped in my tracks, frozen probably identically to Grant as I came face to face with Skye, Fitz, and Simmons standing before us. Fitz and Simmons both looked at least a little surprised, but Skye was grinning like a maniac.

"I knew it!" she cried. "How long? At least for the past two months, right? Holy shit, for spies, you guys are bad at hiding a relationship."

I just blinked back at her, honestly not sure how to react. Grant recovered faster, possibly because he'd had a few extra moments to adjust to the shock, and he just draped one arm around my shoulders with a sigh.

"We're good at hiding the important stuff. And this is important, but it wasn't important to hide. We just wanted a few months of peace before announcing it to the peanut gallery."

"That's great," Fitz chimed in, looking between the two of us with a smile. "Congratulations."

"Yes, congratulations! Although I can't believe you were right, Skye!" Simmons continued, turning from us to look at Skye, who now had her hands on her hips and a proud grin on her face. "I really believed them when they said they were just friends."

"Well, point of order, we were just friends until more recently," I said, finally finding my voice again. Simmons turned her attention back to me as Skye raised an eyebrow.

"So? You never answered me, how long exactly? And hold on, who started it? You guys have been acting like idiots around each other since we got on the plane, so who-"

"Alright," Grant said, stepping forward and holding his hands up, the authoritative edge to his voice that I only heard when he was snapping into SO mode. "That's enough with the question and answer. We're dating, that's it. Now everybody get back to work, we have a lot to do before we land at our next stop."

Skye snorted. "Yeah, like making out in closets."

"Unless, of course," Grant continued, talking loudly over Skye's muttering, "you want me to add pushups to your routine tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after."

Skye narrowed her eyes at him, then huffed.

"No."

"Good. Then let's go, all three of you. Get moving."

"You can't make us do pushups," Fitz chimed in. "We're not Ops."

"You don't have to be Ops for me to make you do pushups. Trust me, you don't want to try it."

All three of them grumbled, but after a moment of standing their ground, FitzSimmons decided to join Skye in moving on before any threats of pushups could be enforced. Once they were gone, Grant turned back to me.

"Well, that's handled for now at least. But I doubt that's gonna be the last time we hear about this from the three of them."

"Oh, we're going to be living this down for the rest of our lives. But that's okay," I said, smiling as I stepped closer to Grant again, taking his hand in mine and leaning into his side. "It was worth it."

"Yeah. It was."

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @infinetlyforgotten @sagesmelts @gaychaosgremlin

[poisned]

Diving head first back into Marvel by reading the comics and not watching their newer shittier (imo) movies has reignited my love for both it, and Loki.

Currently reading his comics in whatever order it tells me because finding a starting point that's not from the 1960s was taking too long. So I started with Loki (2019) and I have to say it was such a fun read. He's such a silly guy I love him in every form.

He also has the worst casual Earth fashion I hate this outfit from the bottom of my soul I want to set it on fire and feed it to Frösti.

What's better than the utter lack of drip Loki has with that shirt and those glasses, are the covers. They're so clean and wonderful to look at and I instantly made smug walking Loki my lockscreen and cowboy Loki my wallpaper.

This was short, but very enjoyable. Now I'm reading Loki: Agent of Asgard since there's someone who shows up at the end that's apparently Loki's one and only actual friend and I have no clue who she is since she was introduced way beforehand. It's already turning out to be a very fun read too and I know I'm going to finish the rest of it in one sitting as soon as I get time.

It literally said they were relaxing a page before why are they fully geared lmao

[wisted-twunderland]

TWST boys go to the beach!

Heartslabyul

Ace: Challenges Deuce to a game of beach volleyball that ends up turning into an all out war that lasts the majority of the day

Deuce: He imagined coming to the beach and enjoying the sun and the surf for a relaxing time, but those dreams quickly dissolved when Ace began talking smack and challenged him to beach volleyball.

Cater: Doesn't care about the activities as long as he gets THE PICS. Volleyball shot, a selfie with a watermelon slice, and of course a moving sunset shot. #summer #NRC #nightravens4lyfe

Trey: He's like the dad of the group and everyone who forgot to bring sunscreen and doesn't want to buy it double the normal price from Azul goes to him. He lays on the beach under an umbrella and yells things like "Don't go too far out" every so often.

Riddle: Doesn't know how to swim, so he sits on the beach and hopes no one finds out he can't swim. Eventually Azul can't stand to watch him stew any longer, and gets in the water with him to teach him a few basics.

Savannaclaw

Leona: Naps in the sun on a beach towel until Lillia hovers above him and dumps a bucket of sea water on him. Leona chases him for a while, but eventually it is decided that a game of chicken in the water is the only fair way to settle this.

Ruggie: Once his empty tupperwares have all been filled with edible seaweed (it's nutritious OKAY) he enjoys roughhousing in the water. Sits on Leona's shoulders for the game of chicken.

Jack: Joins Deuce's team for volleyball doubles. Eats an insane amount of watermelon. Everyone asks him how he got such a sweet beach bod and he's very embarrassed.

Octavinelle

Azul: Comes to the beach with zero intention of getting in the water. He walks up and down the beach surveying the area for potential secondary Mostro Lounge locations. Eventually settles under an umbrella with a drink and fields work phone calls. Offers bottled water and suncreen to his classmates at double the store price.

Jade: Comes to the beach not in a swim suit, but in his outdoor gear. He spends the day hiking the hills and cliffs around the beach to "observe the flora and fauna."

Floyd: Changes into his eel form and has a great time popping out of the water to scare people or pulling them under by their ankles.

Scarabia

Kalim: This guy loves a day at the beach and will participate in all of it. Wants to sit on Jamil's shoulders for a chicken fight but Jamil firmly declines, no matter how much Kalim begs and pleads.

Jamil: Brought a speaker to listen to music while soaking up rays. He calls Kalim in every 2 hours or so to reapply his sunscreen. (He also brought extra water if you need some.)

Pomfiore

Vil: It's rare for him to spend a day at the beach outside of a photo or film shoot, and he comes fully protected from the sun with a hat, coverup, parasol, the works (skin cancer and premature aging are no joke, especially in his line of work). All of this goes out the window however when Ace antagonizes him into joining his team for volleyball doubles.

Rook: Marvels at the beauty of the sea, and especially remarks on the glistening beauty of youthful friends together on the beach during a fleeting summer and what a beautiful and treasured memory it will become. (???)

Epel: Really really wants to be part of the manly chicken fight, but Rook and Vil won't pair up with him. Ends up collecting pretty shells on the beach to give to his mom and his meemaw.

Ignihyde

Idia: He comes, but only because he wants it to be just like the beach episode of every anime ever. Brings the watermelon for the watermelon smash (which Jack smashes in one hit, to Idia's great dismay). He keeps going on about a cave down the beach that's haunted and something about a test of courage, but no one really gets what he's talking about.

Ortho: Excited to enjoy the beach, as his latest model of body is completely waterproof! Ends up being the only person going to the cave with Idia at low tide (Idia only goes a few feet in before he gets spooked, but assures Ortho that he will "definitely do it next year").

Diasomnia

Malleus: Arrives to the beach wearing a wetsuit that goes from wrist to ankle (everyone is collectively underwhelmed). Doesn't participate much, but observes all of the various human beach activities. Secretly enjoys himself immensely.

Lillia: After what he did to Leona he ends up on Sebek's shoulders for a chicken fight. Once it's all over he relaxes on the beach with a chilled tomato juice, as befits an older gentleman.

Sebek: He doesn't really understand why or how Lillia ends up on his shoulders, but as soon as Lillia says something about it being to "defend Lord Malleus' honor" Sebek is all in. Really gives it his all to win the fight of chickens so Malleus will see his victory and praise him (he doesn't).

Silver: falls asleep on the beach before applying sun screen and ends up burned (but not completely, as Lillia had written "I <3 my Dad" across his torso in sunscreen at some point).

[doctorstrangereview]

0070: Doctor Strange #175

Cover Date: December 1968 On-Sale Date: September 3, 1968

This issue we kick off the next big arc. This issue Gene Colan abandons any attempt at a traditional panel layout. Heck, he takes two pages to give us the issue's title. This is probably why the story is a page longer than the usual count of this era. He goes hog wild and it's magical. Marvel isn't crediting the colorist yet which is a shame. Colors in this issue pop in all their gaudy wonderfulness. Gene makes it a point to show us lots of contemporary fashion and the colorist makes them impossible to ignore. Despite his extreme overuse of the exclamation point, Roy Thomas gives us tight plotting and great character moments.

After traveling down the sewers of New York City to reach our arc's main villains, the Sons of Satannish, we find them spying on our heroes, Doc and Clea, through their version of Doc's Orb of Agamotto, the Satan Sphere! We finally break the green-coded villain trope of the series. These cultists are wearing wonderful scarlet robes. They are a huge improvement on the plain grey ones we saw Mordo's minions wearing a bunch of months ago. They even have head gear to make The Flying Nun's wimple look modest.

Our voyeuristic cult members follow Doc and Clea in their walk through a park. The narrative doesn't tell us which. My guess is Washington Square Park. It's the closest to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Doc and Clea are having a fairly mundane conversation. While Doc has donned a nice casual suit, forgoing a dress shirt and tie for a turtleneck and medallion that looks like a cross between his cloak's collar and Doctor Who time lord collar. It's eye-catching to say the least. Despite Wong having purchased Clea a new wardrobe last issue, she walks about in her Dark Dimension outfit, still ducking her collar through the Earth dimension's narrow doorways. Clea complains about the sameness she see's everywhere including dress and then this guy crosses their path.

Clea decides she can't take all this mundane walking and decides to give everyone a show of her skintight body suit by flying in the air.

Doc brings her back to Earth and attempts to explain why this is a bad idea. The nearby crowd confirms Doc's explanation. Doc non-consensually wipes their memories of the incident.

Has anyone ever written about superheroes and consent?

Clea starts to feel woozy and Doc decides it's time to grab a cab and go home. Fortunately for them, Herman the cab driver accommodates them even though he usually doesn't pick up those in hippie get ups. (While Clea may be wearing something that could be interpreted as Hippie, Doc is just a bit casual.) This is all being watched the cultists who decide it's time to act and we spend a page and half of them summoning Satannish in a very trippy way. When he arrives, we find that Gene has redesigned Satannish so he no longer looks like flesh cylinder with a face in the middle and arms growing out of the top of his head. To show off the new look Gene uses an entire page to awe us with.

Asmodeus, head of the cultists, pleads for more power in a snobby and elitist way. Satannish bristles when Asmodeus calls himself "supreme among this equals," but gives them the extra mojo anyway. It's immediate turned against Doc and Clea in Herman's cab. Doc senses this. Not wanting to disturb Clea who is resting on him or tip off Herman, he goes ghost for the first time since Gene took over art. And I lied. There are a few panels that are rectangles.

Doc's astral body is surrounded by rings of force which threaten to crush him. Doc is resourceful and manages to free himself. Gene and the mystery colorist give us a wonderfully surreal depiction of the battle.

That looks really cool! I've read that this type of image was a nightmare for the colorist. Doc's mystical feat feeds back into the Satan Sphere causing it to shatter. How will the cultists get their voyeuristic jollies now?

Doc returns to his body just as the cab arrives at Clea's new pad. Doc decides to walk the rest of the way back to his Sanctum. While walking he starts changing into his usual threads to the consternation of the some of the locals. I'm not sure if this was on purpose or if Doc was just being absent-minded.

Doc reaches his Sanctum and, after startling Wong by dropping the last of his illusory street threads right in front of him, he heads to the Book of the Vishanti. After Kaluu kidnapped the book, Doc has been keeping it under something called The Shield of Not-Seeing. Roy, you really could have done better than that. Doc reads up on our devil Satannish. Yup another Faustian bargain! Good thing Clea is safe! Wait, he didn't non-consensually wipe Herman's memory! Uh-oh!

Meanwhile, Clea is brooding in the dark inside her apartment in a delightful Dutch angle.

Miss Clea will be giving us all sorts of melodrama! Her brooding is interrupted by who she thinks is Wong. "Wong" tells her the master has instructed him to bring her to him right away. They set out as Doc finds Herman in his cab, entranced. Clea is in danger.

Switching back to Clea, she suspects there is something up with Wong just as they are attacked by a street gang. Clea tries to fight back even causing one of the attackers to vanish, but her wooziness from earlier has returned and she's out of juice. Just as they close in, Clea is dragged into a nearby alleyway by a scarlet-clad cultist. He tells the weakened and naive Clea he is her friend.

This is a rather exciting start to the next arc. We get some tender moments between Doc and Clea. Doc keeping her at arms length by getting her a separate pad leaves us guessing about the nature of the relationship. Clea is still getting used to this new world that is much more restrictive than where she grew up. Roy weaves in more plot threads with Clea losing her power. How will the confused Clea react to Asmodeus? And most importantly, will Herman be okay? These questions and more will be answered in the next installment!

[frostgears]

perspective

"we think you're important", they'd told her. "you're going to show us where to find what we're looking for."

"i don't know anything!" she'd screamed at them, to no avail; the white cloaks dragged her from the little space she'd cleared for herself near the top of one of the old ruined towers. she'd seen a few others as they carried her down the rust-chewed stairs, but wasn't shocked that none raised a hand in her defense. you didn't interfere with the white cloaks. in their place, she'd have done the same.

there was a quick, quiet journey by sailboat. they didn't even bother to blindfold her. she would have been afraid to be so close to the water, but there wasn't room for any more fear, it seemed.

and then they brought her here. she'd never seen anything like it: a golden mechanical spire, alive and moving where the old towers were dead and static, every beam and step and window slowly turning in an interlocking drive chain that must have been powered by something truly massive. she could have spent days marveling at it, but they never gave her the chance.

in a chamber somewhere inside it, in front of a multi-story column of churning cogs, they tied her down and slit her dress up the back and did something to bind her to the golden gears of this place. she felt the intrusions of foreign machinery into her spinal column and shuddered with the force of it, the driving power of the spire itself turning within her. almost as an afterthought, she noticed that she could no longer move her legs.

"what do you want," she choked out. the machinery's power was undeniable, but surprisingly precise; the linkages to her spine weren't going to tear her to shreds any time soon. she could bear it, if she could find a reason.

"show us what we're looking for," the white cloaks told her again.

"i don't know what you're looking for. i don't even know who you are, really. please," she begged, "let me go home."

"show us the place you came from."

"what…"

one of the white cloaks gestured to the window. there hadn't been a window before. but all she could see through it were clouds.

she craned her neck to look out of it, and the view… changed.

it was as if she was high up in her tower rooms again, looking out over the crumbling city, but she could see everything she'd only wondered at from up there. the angle was unfamiliar, but she thought she recognized a few buildings, and the grey rocks of the headlands where they stuck out into the bay. she tilted her head, and her viewpoint moved over the land like a bird.

there! her building. the great chunk sheared off one side gave it a silhouette that was difficult to miss. she focused her eyes, and the act of focusing entrained the intruding machinery, and she felt the room spin. did she move? did the spire?

and was that her alcove near the top of her building? though the window rippled slightly, it was so clear.

there, those were the grey-green panels of her solar winder, the orange cylinder of the motor itself. so nobody had dared to loot her few possessions yet. but even if she had her freedom right now, if these white cloaks suddenly vanished, if she could somehow steal a sailboat and instantly divine how to pilot it, she'd never make it back in time.

"home," she whispered, but the white cloak closest to her shook its head.

"not that place. show us where you came from!"

"i don't remember."

"you will. you are one of the oldest. you have to remember."

was that a pleading note in its voice?

"i'm just… i'm just me."

"then you will keep looking."

maybe if she found something they thought was important, they'd let her go. she wasn't getting out of here otherwise. so she kept looking, aimlessly scanning the cityscape. her view passed over the sunken columns of something enormous rusting quietly in the bay. she'd only ever seen a corner of the thing from land. whatever it was, it didn't seem to interest her captors.

it had already been late in the day when they'd installed her in this chamber. white cloaks shuffled out. new ones shuffled in. the light outside was fading. maybe they'd let her go, when it was too dark to see.

"keep looking," one of the new ones told her.

another white cloak stepped behind the window to adjust something. not a window, then. the view brightened and glimmered with the colors of moonlight. white cloaks pulled bundles down from the ceiling and fed more into the window's frame.

optical fiber? she'd seen it in a building in the city, bush-like displays that still glowed faintly at night, though their power sources were too weak to be of any real use.

"keep looking outside," the white cloak warned her.

she would have been running down by now, preparing to sleep through the night and save the rest of her energy to catch the sun in the morning, but the rumbling power of the spire was coupled to her, and she felt no need to sleep.

like a bat, her view soared through darkness. she saw glimmers of power and light here and there, old settlements past the edges of the city, but the white cloaks shook their heads as she investigated each one. apparently those were already known to them.

hours later, she asked them: "how much is there left to search?"

"until you remember."

that didn't seem likely.

day returned. white cloaks shuffled out. new ones shuffled in. adjustments were made. she had yet to find the limits of her vision through the spire's window.

her view flitted over ancient bridges and the dull lines of railways and the strange dark ribbons that might have once been roads, over rippling grassland and boxy factories and shattered glass incomprehensibilities fallen to ruin. the white cloaks watched her, but most of them watched the window. she still had no idea what they were looking for.

here and there, sun-glare from water or polished metal swamped the window and flooded the room with harsh light, and the white cloaks told her "move on" and "do not dwell". so she kept her gaze moving. once she caught a muttered "too much, disconnect one", not meant for her.

white cloaks shuffled out. new ones shuffled in. the window was reconfigured for night, and she kept scanning the night landscape by moonlight until the first emanations of daybreak. it was then, as the white cloaks began once more to fuss with the window, that the prisoner of the spire made her move: she opened her eyes wide, and raised her gaze to the dawning sun.

there was searing white, and howling, and heat, and then eventually there was dark.

if the endless searching and the direction of the white cloaks had been torture, there would not be a word left for this. she was alone in the dark. how long, she had no idea. she began to count.

the spire still moved around her. it would not let her go.

—

she'd lost count of the number of times she'd lost count by the time they found her.

the words were banal, and that let her believe them:

"Spin here. think i found something."

"right behind you, Spin, tooth and tooth."

"hold up, Gull, lot of…"

"yeah, i see them. wound down. not in a hurry to wind any back up."

"Gull, one's still moving!"

"after that flare? it's been two days!"

"apparently. somehow. hey. you. are you okay?"

"can't see you," she said to the darkness.

"yeah, i'm not surprised. your poor eyes. i don't think we have any spare, sorry, at least not here. but definitely back at base…"

"Spin, shut it, we don't know if she's—"

"she's linked into this whole mess back here, she's clearly not one of the damned Divergence. i've never seen them do that to their own."

"Divergence," she said.

"the walking problems in the white cloaks. sorry, this gearing is beyond me. Gull, get Fidget, would you?"

"so you're not Divergence. good."

"well," the further voice said, "that's a matter of opinion."

a third voice: "and mine's the only opinion that matters, Gull."

"yes, ma'am, Fidget."

she felt fingers on her back, probing at the intruding hardware.

"might take a few minutes, but i'm sure i can get this out of you. bear with me. and by the by, i must say i'm impressed. whatever you did to this place that burned it up, we saw it from klicks and klicks away. however you did it, there's a dozen Divergence on the floor, which puts you tied with Spin for this week, and she's… excitable. you know, we could use someone like you in the Mechanism…"

—

she returned to the observatory spire eventually, with new eyes, and a squad of four, and the green and gold planetary gears of the Mechanism on her shoulder.

"you holding up all right?"

"not great, but… being linked up isn't so bad for a little while. better company than last time. know what i'm looking for, this time. just let me get oriented."

"no rush."

"hmm. that's funny."

"what's funny?"

"this building. used to live up near the top, here."

"not too bad, huh? airy, certainly. roomy, looks like."

"that's what i used to think. then the damned Divergence grabbed me, and then, well, you were there for most of it. seen a bit of the world, what's left of it. and after all that, the old tower just seems… small." □

[aquilapolariz]

what’s gonna be left of the world of you’re not in it? (reiner braun x reader)

Summary: On the plane to confront the Founding Titan, Reiner thinks about how the cruel world doesn’t deserve you and how you don’t deserve to live in such a cruel world. What more, it's in this state because of his existence. Alternatively, Reiner is ready to die for your sake until he realizes you want him to live.

Warnings: Extremely brief implied/referenced vague mentions of self-harm, minor season four part three spoilers

Word Count: 1.8k | Read on Ao3 here or below the cut!

The hum of the airplane distracted Reiner from his thoughts and prevented the uncomfortable silence from being completely unbearable. He was the only one standing up, knowing if he let himself relax, he’d be stuck in that blissful state forever. So he never once rested, not since he departed Marley with Annie, Bertholdt, and Marcel. Every slumber was sleepless, except for the rare ones spent with you. Sneaking out under the blanket of the night and tiptoeing past your sleeping comrades of the training corps, your only worry in the world was getting caught by Shadis. He wondered how soundly you slept now. 

Reiner turned his head slightly, wanting to get a good look at your face and every emotion it held.

“ Kirei… ” your voice barely above a whisper. Reiner followed your awed gaze out the tiny window of the biplane. It really was beautiful, the flat desert melting away into the endless sky, the earth and the heavens coming together as far as the eye could see, ready to bear witness to an earth-shattering event that would define the future. Reiner marveled at how you could call something beautiful on the way to a bloody battle. Even in the hardest of times you could see beauty. Even in the worst of people you can see the good.

Your gaze turned to Reiner and he felt like you saw right through him. You took in his form, committing it to memory, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you looked at the ODM gear he equipped. Your voice sounded shockingly clear in comparison to the blurred noises of the plane, asking Reiner if he’d be okay operating the updated equipment. He only nodded, saying it wouldn’t be used for that long anyway. He wouldn’t be in his human form for more than mere moments. 

The realization showed on your face and your bitter smile reminded him of sweeter times. When your saccharine words reached his ears, prompting him to play them over and over again in his head. When he’d crack a stupid joke and your honeyed laughter would create the most beautiful melody he’d ever known. When your sugary smile gave him something akin to a toothache just because you’d give it to him every single day without fail.

In those halcyon days, you had reached out for him, and against all of his better judgment (and Bertholdt’s protests) he reached back, grasping for any semblance of his humanity through you, which you gladly bestowed unto him time and time again without even knowing it. He wondered if, now, you knew how much you meant to him. 

In the days spent alongside the Paradisian devils, he found his conviction within your existence.

Like when he first committed his heart to the cause of the Survey Corps and every time thereafter. Reiner knew the words well. Shinzo wo sasageyo , the commanders would yell with unfettered devotion, like they truly believed their cause was worth every resource, every penny, and every life given to it. Hearing these words, Reiner would dutifully place his fist on his chest just like everyone else. He glanced to his side without turning his neck to look at you, whose eyes were solely focused on the commander with a gaze burdened with responsibility and hope for the future. While you offered your heart, totally and willingly, to this godforsaken island, he offered his heart to you, a godforsaken devil. Still, he knew that he would be the one going to hell and that he wasn’t going to see you there.

Since then, it never did bother him to pledge allegiance to the unfounded wings of freedom. He offered up his heart honorably, not lying when he did, because he offered more than that- his mind, body, and soul- to you whenever he saluted. While everyone had their backs straight with pride in their walled country, his back was straight with pride in you.

Back then, he was fighting out of a sense of pride, duty, and responsibility. Now, he only fights out of desperation and contractual obligation, simply waiting for the day he will pass down the armored curse to another child, never even hoping for the ever-unattainable repentance.

He was once a warrior and soldier, but ever since leaving Paradis, he was nothing more than a dead man walking. You gave Reiner the Soldier a reason to keep going, and you gave Reiner the Warrior an escape. What was he to do without you? Without Annie? Without Bertholdt?

You were the anchor that Reiner tied to his brain. An anchor that never rusted no matter how many times it was thrown in the salty ocean of battle. And without you he was lost at sea, completely adrift with no aim. He could blame nobody but himself because it was he who severed the rope that held you two together, cutting it cleanly when he revealed his titan form, his armored face devoid of emotion, forever haunting your dreams. 

He thought maybe you were a figment of his imagination. Too good to be true, too kind to be real. Maybe you were just something his mind made up to stay sane. But being here, hundreds of feet up in the air, working with the people he was taught to hate, he knew this wasn’t something his mind was capable of conceiving. He knew this was real. He knew you were real.

If only you could have stayed within the confines of his imagination! That way he wouldn’t have to feel shame every time he looked at you, everytime he thought of you. But he deserved it. He deserved to feel the bile of guilt rise in his throat, his lungs on fire like he was ready to explode. He deserved what his worst enemies wished upon him and even more. 

Reiner was never worthy of you and never will be. You of all people should hate him more than Eren hated him. You should hate him more than he hated himself. For he had hurt you the most, and everytime he harmed himself an image of you in tears showed up in his mind’s eye. It seemed like every move he made, hurt the world and his world was you. Every mistake he made would cause you pain, even if you didn’t know about it. He wondered what you’d say if he told you how many times he tried to kill his guilt, and with it, his own life.

He wanted to make it up to you, even though he knows it’s impossible. All he can do now is fight. He'd fight against the founding titan for whatever fragmented shards are left of his duty. He'd fight for you so that you can live in a world where you’d no longer be on the front lines of a cruel war.

And ultimately, that is what kept him going in his mission. More than his mother, more than Marley, he knew that no matter what he’d still have you, or rather the haunting memory of you.

Even if he himself had mere years left to live, he wanted to give you an existence that didn’t seem like it would end every single day. A world without him. Surely, that would be salvation for you, right? A world where you didn’t meet Reiner or one where the two both of you wouldn’t get along so damn well.

He felt sorry for you. He felt sorry for anyone who could love a piece of shit like him. His mother, Gaby, Bertholdt. For he was nothing more than the scum of all nations, the bastard son of Marley and Eldia cursed with the power of the Nine. He was the harbinger of calamity to the island paradise you, and thousands of others, called home.

And so he’d fight for you and only you. For your future that didn’t have him in it. For your future where you’d no longer be forced to don a soldier’s uniform and dirty your hands. You were the light that was seeing him through to the end of this war and the collapse of the founding titan. 

The sound of Connie’s strained voice snapped Reiner out of his thoughts. Connie was confessing his sins, speaking on behalf of everyone else around him, finding the common ground between him and Reiner. 

Reiner looked at his own hand, pristine and never marred due to his healing abilities. With no scars, how was he to remember his own sins? How was he to remember each time he bit his hand to transform into a monster? Every person he killed mercilessly just blurred together in his memory, a haze of bones, blood, and bellows. “My sins are irredeemable, I will never forgive myself. But, at least, let’s save what’s left of humanity.”

You were what’s left of Reiner’s humanity. He looked at you and you made him feel as human as he was before inheriting a Titan. 

Everyone nodded, bodies tense and minds shocked at the realization that they are all the same- that the soldiers of Eldia were no worse than the warriors of Marley and they were stuck in the same endless cycle of war and hatred.

You grabbed Reiner’s hand, the one he was examining so intently. He noticed that your hand was the more calloused one out of the two. Your touch burned, permeating his smooth skin and branding it into his memory. You brought Reiner’s hand close to your chest, forcing him to a slight bend at the knees and a curve of his spine as your lips tickled his ear in a whisper, “Please, don’t die today.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. He already had one foot in the grave he dug for himself. Just a couple more steps and it’d be two feet in, completely buried six feet under. He believed it’d be okay for the ground to swallow him up after doing all he can to stop Eren. Then, he’d finally be able to rest in peace with no voices of the dead haunting him because he would become one with them. Surely, it’d be better for you, and all of humanity, if he no longer existed.

His confused expression took you by surprise. You said your words like they were the most obvious thing in the world: “Well, what’s gonna be left of my world if you’re not in it?” 

He remembered how he offered his heart to you many times. Everytime he held his fist over his ribs, he could never feel his heartbeat. But in this moment he could hear the rhythmic thumping of something in his chest, fresh air filling up in his lungs- the same that you breathed- and the blood finally moving through his veins after years of seeming stagnant. A warmth that spread from where you held each other’s hands filled his body and your intent stare stopped him from questioning if he deserved to feel this strange and foreign feeling.

Was this the urge to live?