#he followed all the needed instructions and that's why it's important to learn emergency plans!

[sovamurka]

I need to say one more thing. During the Crocus City Hall terrorist attack a 15 year old named Islam saved over 100 people by guiding them towards emergency and staff exits. No wonder he's already considered a hero among people. Because he is!

[star-going-supernova]

So. Madison Russell. Godzilla vs Kong. Welcome to my ted talk.

From a writing perspective, they totally wasted her character. She, Josh, and Bernie were almost exclusively used just as a method of showing the audience what was happening "behind the scenes" at Apex. Pouring the whiskey on the computer was about the only thing of note they did, and even that didn't do much. Mechagodzilla was only slightly hindered by it, and if they'd just written Kong and Godzilla differently in the fight scene, they could have skipped the whiskey part entirely. They could have done so much with having people "on the inside" but Monarch as a greater organization barely had any presence at all, which negated the need to have people on the inside. 

Maddie's steadfast insistence that Godzilla wasn't a bad guy at the beginning had so much potential, but it became the conspiracy thing instead. It felt less like she wanted to prove Godzilla wasn't turning against humans, and more like she and her new conspiracy friend wanted to crack open a shady organization, which was frustrating. If they wanted to depict her as someone who was forced to become competent at a young age, which was part of the serious, intense vibe I got from her, instead of the inexplicable personality shift, they should have showed her doing something to help. Getting in contact with her dad/Monarch, giving them evidence to begin a city wide evacuation outside the Apex Hong Kong HQ, messing something up or making it harder for the Apex people to get Mechagodzilla up and running—just, anything. 

The fact is, we had Maddie being very proactive in KotM. Stealing the ORCA was the game changer. Instead of taking that to the next level in GvK and giving her an opportunity to continue that aspect of her character—that is, being someone who refuses to sit by when she can do something to help, even if it’s dangerous—they rendered her obsolete. 

The movie wouldn't have significantly changed if you took her character out. If Bernie went by himself and ended up in Hong Kong, nothing would have changed, because Maddie didn't do anything of personal importance. She went from being an active character in KotM to being a passive one here, which are a pet peeve of mine. If you saw my post about what I liked and didn’t like about Godzilla (2014), that might sound very familiar.

It would also have made so much more sense if she developed a love for studying Titans instead of focusing on conspiracy theories. Plot-wise, it would have given her claim to her dad that Godzilla was being provoked more credence, and could’ve opened an interesting dialogue between them to reinforce that she knows what she’s talking about. Monarch was obviously still a big part of their lives, given that Mark had rejoined, so it would’ve been the perfect opportunity for Maddie to pursue a Titan-related future. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. I loved Jia, and wouldn’t want to take her out of the movie or even diminish her presence in it. In fact, I think they should have focused on Jia, and only on Jia. 

Hear me out: Godzilla vs Kong should’ve been split in two. A Part 1 and Part 2 situation. 

For Part 1, we keep a lot of the GvK canon, especially the Kong-centric stuff. Include even more scenes showing us that he’s protective of Jia, don’t just have Dr. Andrews say that he is. Have him defend her from something dangerous, maybe even from some humans. Include their backstory, how he saved her during the storm. And start it even earlier, before Godzilla attacks Apex the first time. Keep the whole Hollow Earth plot, keep the fight scene in the ocean, keep the discovery of the temple and the axe.

And on the Godzilla side of things, start earlier on that as well. Keep the other Titans in, have humanity tentatively believing that a time of great peace is upon them. Their mere presence is restoring the planet. There was an emphasis of nature, particularly in relation to the Titans, in KotM that I really think they should have included more of in GvK to better tie the two movies together, if only they hadn’t swept all the other Titans under the rug. They wanted a movie about a fight, not about the Titans. So, undo that. Show us a little of what Mark does, do a sweep of the other KotM cast (cameos at the very least) to show how they and Monarch are working to uphold that peace post-Boston. I’d also have loved to see Boston itself, too, five years later. 

Instead of giving us a Generic High School scene, show Maddie learning about the Titans alongside the experts. Bring back the wonder and amazement she had when she saw Mothra for the first time, when she reached out and touched her. She’s second generation Monarch, make that mean something. When Maddie took the ORCA to Boston, she had a conviction. She couldn’t not have. She was there in part to lure Ghidorah in, but I can’t even pretend to believe her plan ended with that. She knew Godzilla would come. 

That sort of belief is hard to kill, and if death via Ghidorah wasn’t enough to scare her off, no way anything else in those five years afterwards did. Her belief that Godzilla is good survived to GvK, and should’ve been a main focal point of her character. Godzilla attacks Apex—she and every other Monarch person who has spent years studying the Titans knows something is up. 

Keep Mark’s character development regarding his opinions on Godzilla. He believes Maddie when she says something has to be wrong, not just because he trusts his daughter, but because he looked into Godzilla’s eyes and saw more than just an animal. 

They’re in Part 1 only minimally, just to establish their presence and how they feel about Godzilla destroying Apex. The focus is clearly on Jia and Kong’s side of events. 

Sorry, but I’m leaving Josh out and seriously dialing back Bernie’s role. Instead, the character we follow inside Apex is Ren Serizawa. We see his motivations, his ambitions, and he becomes a character with more than just a few lines. Does he resent Godzilla? Or does he resent his father, too? Serizawa’s sacrifice was willing, after all. He was no accidental casualty. 

Part 1 ends in the Hollow Earth, with Ghidorah taking control of Mechagodzilla on the surface. Alter the timeline just enough so that Godzilla has only just arrived to Hong Kong, and Kong’s still in the Hollow Earth. The final scene is Mechagodzilla emerging into the city as the sun rises. The post-credits scene is our KotM cast in the Argo, location unknown, watching a screen with Mechagodzilla on it. 

Part 2 begins with a reveal: Ren Serizawa isn’t dead. 

Backtrack. This part focuses more on the Godzilla side, and Monarch. It’ll have flashback scenes from the five years between KotM and now, showing exactly why Monarch as a whole firmly believes Godzilla is reacting to something instead of being anti-human all of a sudden. The Titans are not inherently malicious; destruction is a side effect of their size, no more, no less. He earned his title of King in KotM—make it mean more than just trying to make Kong “bow.” Make him a protector, a guardian. He’s nature’s balance. By definition, he must protect humans as well. 

What Monarch needs to figure out is this: what is he trying to protect them from? 

They investigate Apex in search of the answer, but knowing from past experience the sort of things Godzilla gets proactive about—the MUTOs, Ghidorah—Monarch mobilizes. They prepare for another fight, at Mark’s instructions. He witnessed both San Francisco and Boston firsthand, even if the former was from a civilian standpoint. 

Godzilla has more hunt scenes. He targets a second Apex lab after his ocean fight with Kong, telling Monarch that they’re on the right track. 

Maddie, being a minor and not dragged into the thick of things (yet), has to stay home. Remembering the podcast she sometimes listened to, when the topic was focused on the Titans, she tracks Bernie down, and he tells her about what he saw: the eye. 

The two of them go to the ruined Apex building and discover the eye is gone before getting caught. With Monarch currently breathing down their necks, they recognize Maddie to be Mark’s daughter and take her to Hong Kong. Sorry, Bernie, but that’s mostly as far as you’re involved. Timeline-wise, this is roughly when Kong puts the axe in the temple floor and Godzilla blasts a hole to the center of the earth. Monarch is following Godzilla, but they’re behind a bit thanks to the tunnel shortcuts. They’re still unaware that Maddie has been kidnapped and is en route to Hong Kong.

This is also when Mechagodzilla gains a life of its own. Walter Simmons is killed and Ren Serizawa becomes trapped in the link to Mechagodzilla, serving as the bridge between the robot and Ghidorah’s mind. Ghidorah is essentially controlling MG by controlling Ren, who is controlling MG. Make sense? He’s the puppeteer’s puppeteer. 

We reverse some things. Godzilla fights MG first, gets beat around but not as much as in GvK because he isn’t fresh out of a different fight. Kong returns to the surface through the tunnel Godzilla created, having carried the one remaining HEAV out himself, because Nathan Lind has never flown one before and doesn’t know how they work. Kong wants to protect Jia, and Ilene Andrews and Nathan Lind are very lucky that Jia likes them. 

Mechagodzilla sees Kong and takes off, and Kong decides now would be a great time to fight Godzilla, who’s having a pretty bad day. Monarch arrives, and half of them split off to follow MG while the rest stay to try and deescalate the situation. Other than Godzilla faring slightly less well, the fight goes mostly the same as in the movie, except for one big difference: one of the Monarch crafts pick up Jia and Co, and she’s able to get Kong’s attention from the back of an Osprey well enough to tell him to stop fighting. There’s a bigger threat out there, and Godzilla definitely needs to be okay enough to fight it. Either they work together, or they reschedule. 

She’s very stern about it, and though no one’s really sure what the two Titans decide on, they stop fighting. They leave together to go after Mechagodzilla, who is currently being slowed down by Mothra, because she deserves to be in this movie. The other Titans basically hinder Mechagodzilla as much as possible as it rampages, telling Godzilla where it is. Monarch finally figures out that it’s heading for the nearest entrance to the Hollow Earth, right around when they also figure out that Ghidorah is involved. With Dr. Andrews and Nathan Lind’s input, they theorize it intends to take more of the power source down there to further strengthen it. 

They do their best to clear the cities in its path, evacuating as many people as possible. It’s all they can do. As in the past, they must trust Godzilla to do the heavy lifting. Around the same time, an assistant tells Mark that some guy named Bernie called and is asking for him. This is how he finds out Maddie was taken to Apex’s Hong Kong location.

Meanwhile, the Apex guards and Maddie finally arrive to find the facility abandoned and damaged, MG gone, and Simmons dead. The guards more or less split, leaving her there alone. Maddie, being Maddie, goes deeper until she finally discovers Ghidorah’s skull and Ren Serizawa inside, trapped in his own head with Ghidorah. It’s killing him. 

He’s aware enough to have a conversation with her. They argue about the Titans. He wants Godzilla destroyed out of anger over his father’s preference for Titans, rather than his own son. 

(“You’re not the only one with ghosts!” she yells at him. “You’re not the only one who resents a parent for putting Titans ahead of you when you needed them!” He chokes out, “I do not resent my father—” “Coulda fooled me. Why else would you be spitting on his sacrifice like this? Who are you trying to help, huh? All the other kids out there who are losing their moms and dads because you let Ghidorah out? Sorry, mister, but the last time someone did that, your dad paid the price.”) 

Ren is getting worse. He’s going to die if he stays in the link much longer, but he can’t disconnect. Maddie, looking around, gets to work on something. The camera slowly pans around to show that there’s a second pilot seat, back-to-back with Ren’s. It would allow for seamless switching between pilots without MG ever not having someone at the controls. 

Even with the other Titans’ help, Godzilla and Kong are unable to stop MG from going through the tunnel and into the Hollow Earth. Monarch is unable to follow, because of the gravity issue. They’re both tired from the journey and their fight, especially Godzilla. This is their last chance. If Mechagodzilla reaches the power source, it’s all over. 

The fight doesn’t go in their favor. They’re both bad at working together, so their attacks are uncoordinated at best, actively hindering each other at worst. Kong gets flung off a mountain and MG pins Godzilla. Even thought he caught himself, Kong isn’t going to make it up in time to help him. 

Maddie puts on an identical pilot setup, and with Ren’s instructions, switches the link over to herself, freeing Ren. He collapses forward, immediately falling unconscious from the release of the strain. Fighting past the pain and overwhelming presence suddenly in her head, Maddie does what she does best: she causes Ghidorah problems. 

She screams, and it echoes like a roar through his skull. 

In the Hollow Earth, Mechagodzilla stumbles. 

It’s the beginning of the end. She can’t control it or even really stop Ghidorah, but she gets in his way as much as possible, giving Godzilla and Kong the edge they need to finally get their act together and use some teamwork to take Mechagodzilla down. They destroy it and return to the surface before parting on amicable terms. 

After too long, Mark arrives at Apex with a whole team of people. Ren Serizawa is found comatose but alive, and he’s quickly removed for medical attention. Though Maddie’s also alive, there’s something else clearly wrong. She’s still wired into the piloting gear, stiff and unseeing, as if she’s frozen. Her eyes are open but distant, pupils virtually gone from how constricted they are, and her jaw hangs open slightly. Despite how tense her body is, she’s limp. Nothing they do wakes her up, even after getting her out of the skull. 

They wheel her out on a gurney to where a handful of Ospreys landed, but as they leave the building and step out onto the roof, they find Godzilla has returned. He watches them, and he’s exactly as aware as Mark remembers. 

(“She tried to help you,” Mark calls out to him. No one knows exactly what happened in the Hollow Earth, during the fight, but the scene in Ghidorah’s skull was telling. “No, she—she did help you!” For the second time in her life, Maddie put herself in Ghidorah’s path and, ultimately, won. Only this time, her victory came with a price.) 

Godzilla snorts before leaning over the roof’s railing, moving toward the gurney. The humans all back away, even Mark, though he doesn’t go far. Spines humming, eyes flaring blue, Godzilla rumbles deeply. 

On the gurney, Maddie stirs. 

Later, much later, after Maddie and Jia have met—heaven help everyone else, honestly—they sit together on the edge of a pier over the ocean, Jia leaning comfortably against Maddie. It’s quiet. They’re alone, watching the sunset. A heavy footfall behind them, the feel of the vibration trembling through the wood, makes them turn around. Half concealed in the brush at the edge of the island’s foliage, Kong stands, facing them. 

They both wave before standing. They sign goodbye to each other, then part ways. As Maddie walks away to a waiting Osprey, we see behind her as Kong crouches to allow Jia to climb into his palm before vanishing into the forest. 

The Osprey takes off over the calm ocean. It has a different design than most, with a large door set in the side instead of at the back, more like an ordinary helicopter. It’s open as they go, Maddie secure inside as she stares out. A smile spreads across her face as jagged spines slowly breach the ocean’s surface, easily keeping pace with the Osprey, which lowers to be closer to the water.

For just a moment, in the fading light, Maddie’s eyes almost shine blue. The screen goes black to the sound of Godzilla’s roar.

[ladyeliot]

Sergeant Barnes.

Superhero vs Villain!Reader Prompts

Request: @imerdwarf  Ooooh I love your prompt idea!! Could I request #6 with Bucky Barnes please? 💜

Prompt #6:  "Wait, are we supposed to be enemies?"

Pairing: Superhero!Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Villain!Fem!Reader

Summary: You joined the Strategic Scientific Reserve with the sole intention of avenging your father's death.

Warnings: Violence. 💔  Angst. II WW.

Word count: 1761

A/N:  Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

The day a Colt 45 M1911 pistol was pointed at your face, you realised how long the journey to that moment had been. Events in your life had led you to become a Hydra agent, infiltrated as an agent of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, a top-secret US agency during World War II.

The world seemed to have gone mad, war was turning people upside down, people were fighting each other for the honour of their country, and you were in the middle of the chaos.

You were born in the United States, your father had dedicated his entire life to honouring his country, practically gave his life in World War I, and in 1940 he and Chester Phillips founded the Strategic Scientific Reserve. However, all his efforts were in vain when he was sent on a secret life-and-death mission, causing him never to return. Your father was the only thing you had in your life, your guide and your hero, so you wanted to follow in his footsteps, to make him proud of you. Chester Phillips took you under his wing, as his right hand. He was the one who instructed you, who taught you everything you know, who allowed you to complete your first missions as SSR agents and who opened your eyes.

The United States entered the Second World War in 1941. During your third mission in Europe, in which you were to enter the secret Hydra base, Arnim Zola and Johann Schmidt were waiting for your arrival. After hours of suffering, both physical and mental, they made you understand that the mission your father was sent on was a trap, set by Chester Phillips who wanted to take over the supreme command of the SSR. It all made sense to you, everything was connected, your father could not have made such a stupid mistake as the one you had been led to believe he had died for, it must have been a trap.

Having brainwashed you, HYDRA let you return to the United States. You arrived with an idea in mind, an idea that Schmidt himself had introduced to you and that made you change your attitude, thinking of your revenge.

You had been in Italy for two months, where the 107th Infantry Regiment, led by Chester Phillips, was based. The American soldiers were fighting continuous battles against the Germans, managing to extend the frontier line. They were exhausted, hardly had any rest and their spirits were gradually failing, but your thoughts were elsewhere, not far away.

During the little missions you had done in Europe, you had had the occasional encounter again with Johann Schmidt. His level of persuasion was unmatched by any other your mind had ever felt, and inside you let yourself be carried away by his words. No one in the SSR knew anything, no one in the camp had any inkling of the situation and that was a plus for you.

One morning like any other you emerged from Colonel Phillips' tent, having been lectured on the importance of discipline because of his morning moodiness, having encountered two soldiers who had broken the time regulations. You were on your way to the intelligence tent, where, together with the regimental superiors, you would begin to analyse the German army's progress through Italy, but, as it happened, Sergeant Barnes accosted you.

"Lieutenant," he said, coming to your side and giving you the rigorous salute.

"Sergeant," you replied without looking at him and quickening your pace. "I don't have time for your games Sergeant Barnes, I have a lot to do this morning."

Bucky let out a small laugh and continued to stand next to you, combing his hair back with his hands, trying to look as decent as possible in front of you.

"As you know, there's a screening of Casablanca tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like to join me," he said with a crooked smile on his face. "I can pick you up at 8.00 p.m. if that's all right, Lieutenant.

You stopped dead in your tracks and frowned as you turned to face him, Bucky pulled himself upright without removing the half-smile from his face.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Sergeant?" you asked authoritatively, causing the smile on your partner's face to fade.

"Uh..." he hesitated. "That's right lieutenant."

"I don't think it's appropriate for you to ask me out on a date, Sergeant," you said, crossing your arms.

"And why is that, Lieutenant?" he asked amused. "Wait, are we supposed to be enemies?"

You arched an eyebrow in response to his question, and with extreme straightness you inspected every part of the soldier in front of you, and could see the lack of decorum in his uniform.

"And do you plan to come looking for me with the shirt tails out, the gallons askew and the tie not buttoned properly?" you asked, arching your right eyebrow, but your words elicited another smile from Bucky.

"Of course not, my lieutenant," he lifted his chin as he licked his lips.

"All right," you said, nodding. "Don't be late Sergeant Barnes."

With those last words, you made your way towards the intelligence tent, listening to the applause and cheers that the other soldiers offered Sergeant Barnes for getting an affirmative answer from you. The relationship between you and James could be described as one of mutual interest, but much more explicitly on his part, for since your arrival at the camp there had hardly been a day when he had tried to get your attention, and although you did not show it, you liked it.

Over the next few hours you found that the German army was slowly retreating, just as Johann Schmidt had informed you. Your plan was only to get Chester Phillips to him, but you had no intention of anyone else getting hurt in your revenge.  

By late afternoon, the sun was low enough to enjoy the screening. The regiment had not been able to take a break for months and this was their first entertainment, so spirits were high. Your first thought was to put your uniform back on, it wouldn't do to go out without it, but you decided that a night was a night, and you needed to take a break too, even if it was only for a couple of hours at least. In your suitcase you found an evening dress, which you wore during your mission to the French capital, it was discreet, but perfect.

You were just finishing your hair when a voice was heard just outside your tent.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N?" exclaimed Sergeant Barnes' voice.

"I'll be right out Sergeant."

After taking a last look at yourself in a small hand mirror you took a deep breath and headed for the exit. As you pulled back the curtain James Barnes' blue eyes swept over your body, making a sweeping inspection and taking his breath away. You arched an eyebrow in recognition of the event, while at the same time downplaying it due to the situation you were in. You more subtly noticed that he looked completely different from that morning, his uniform was impeccable and there were no longer any locks on his face.

"You're..." his mouth was still open without providing any words.

"Shall we go, Sergeant?" you asked waiting for him to react.

"Of course, Lieutenant," he finally said offering you his arm but not taking his eyes off you. "You look really beautiful."

"Thank you, Sergeant," that was one of the few times you gave him a smile. "You're not bad yourself."

You were both heading towards the central esplanade of the camp, where the film had been set up to be shown. It all happened very quickly, the siren started to sound, the spotlights around the area flashed blinding you and countless shouts from the soldiers filled the air. You looked around you, it was an ambush, James pulled out a weapon he had on him and wrapped his arms around you. It didn't take you long to react, because you quickly pulled out a revolver you had hidden in the garter of your stockings and took aim, looking for a shot. Bucky looked at you a little surprised.

"Don't lose sight of the target, Sergeant," you said, taking him by the arm and hiding behind your tent.

The HYDRA soldiers were numerous, perhaps even double your numbers, and you had to take into account that you were unprepared for this abominable ambush. You pulled a knife from your cleavage and slit the back of your tent so that you could both quickly reach inside and grab the weapons you kept inside. Bucky had your back and you quickly made your way to the boot hidden under your desk.

"Don't you dare take another step," Sergeant Barnes' voice drifted towards the entrance door.

In front of you stood Johann Schmidt with his hands raised and a smile on his lips. 

"I see you have security," he said in a thick German accent. "But don't worry, she doesn't need it."

You stood up slowly and looked at him seriously.

"This is not what we had planned," you said hating yourself that Sergeant Barnes heard those words, making you known as a traitor.

"I was tired of waiting," Schmidt shrugged.

James, completely stunned and lost for words, didn't know what to do or which of the two of you to watch. 

"I told you I would hand you over to Colonel Phillips," you reminded Schmidt, filled with hatred inside you. 

"And I have come for him," he approached you.

"Then take him and go," you spat those words. 

"I will," he said, smiling, slowly walking past you, approaching Bucky.

You stood watching the situation, you knew you were lost, the power you possessed had fallen from your hands, you were in no man's land. James who all that time was pointing his gun at Johann Schmidt suddenly looked into your eyes and changed his aim, you had his gun pointed directly at your face. Your countenance did not change, you kept a serious look on your face, watching him. His hands were shaking and his breathing was rapid, he didn't know what to do. Schmidt looked amused as he watched the situation in silence. 

"Do what you have to do sergeant," you said, clenching your jaw tightly. "My mission is accomplished.

Tag list: @imerdwarf​ @mycosmicparadise​ 

Requests/Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

[justsomewritingblogg]

Avatar:TLA  (Part 19 of many)

Request:  None

Requested By:  Nobody

Pairing:  Zuko x reader

Summary:  Bitter Work

Warnings:  Mild peril

Word Count:  1K+

Last Chapter  -  Next Chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 You were awoken but a weight suddenly landing atop you……again. Your eyes shot open, seeing Sokka on top of you, still in his sleeping bag.

“This keeps happening.”  You muttered, voice groggy.  Sokka leapt up, still in his sleeping bag, and hopped over to Aang, mumbling something about “running around”.  He hopped over to Toph, muttering something about “making noises”.  Frankly, it was incoherent.  Sokka hopped away, still muttering to himself.  Aang jumped, landing next to Toph.

“So, what move are you going to teach me first?”  He asked.  “Rockalance? The trembler?   Ooh!  Maybe I can learn to make a whirlpool out of land!”  Aang exclaimed, doing hand motions for each move.  Toph held an arm out, signaling for him to stop.

“Let’s start with……move a rock.”  She suggested.

The Avatar clapped.  “Sounds good.  Sounds good!”

Toph led him away, going somewhere where you presumed it would be easier to earthbend.  Katara followed, interested.  You on the other hand, were more interested in getting more sleep.  That whole instance with Azula a few nights ago was still taking its toll on you.  You were still exhausted.

You heard a shout and sat up, seeing Aang had crashed into Appa.  A small chuckle was heard moments later. You turned, seeing Sokka still in his sleeping bag, leaning up against the wall as the sleeping bag came over his head.

“Ha!  Rock beats airbender.”  He joked quietly.

“I don’t understand what went wrong.  He did it exactly like you did.”  Katara voiced.

“Maybe if I come at it from a different angle…”  Aang wondered, beginning to move around the boulder. Toph grabbed his sleeve.

“No.  That’s the problem.  You need to stop thinking like an airbender.”  She told him, hitting his forehead lightly.  “There’s no different angle, no clever solution, no trickity-trick that’s going to move that rock.”  She told him, pushing him over.  “You’ve got to face it head on.  And when I say head on, I mean like this!”

Toph jumped into the air, head-butting the boulder.  It smashed into pieces.  Your jaw dropped as your eyes widened in terror.

“Uh…..I don’t think I can do that.”  Aang admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You need to be blunt.  You have to show the rock that you’re the boss, and you’re not afraid.” Toph told him.  “And actually, that gives me an idea.  Wait here.”  She instructed.  You watched as Toph used earthbending to get up the side of the cliff.  She did a few hand and feet movements, creating a sort of slide in the mountain.  She created a boulder, sitting it at the top before sliding down.  She approached Aang.  “This time we’re going to try something a little different.”  Toph informed.  “Instead of moving a rock, you’re going to stop a rock.”  She spun around, facing him.  “Get in your horse stance!”  She demanded. Aang quickly widened his stance, getting lower.  “I’m going to roll that boulder down at you.”  She told him.  “If you have the attitude of an earthbender, you’ll stay in your stance and stop the rock.”

You could see the look of terror settling on Aang’s face as he looked up at the massive boulder.  “Oh boy.” You muttered, placing your head in your hands.

“Like, this.” Toph demonstrated.

“Sorry, Toph.  But are you sure this is really the best way to teach Aang earthbending?”  Katara asked, stepping forward.

“I’m glad you said something.  Actually, there is a better way.”  Toph grabbed Aang’s cloth around his waist, pulling it off and tying it around his eyes.  “This way you’ll really have to sense the vibrations of the boulder to stop it.”

The look of surprise and fear on Aang’s face showed you that he didn’t approve of this method.  Toph continued anyway.  “Thank you, Katara.”  She spoke.

“Yeah.  Thanks, Katara.”  Aang told her, a snappy tone to his voice.  Toph, using earth as a launch-pad, threw herself to the top of the cliff.  She pushed the boulder down.  You watched as the large rock rolled, getting closer and closer to Aang.  You chewed the inside of your cheek in stress.  When the boulder was close, Aang jumped over it, the rock flying into a nearby wall.  Toph came running down, no doubt about to scold him for not standing his ground.

“I don’t want to hear this.”  You told no one in particular, standing and leaving, trying to find Sokka. “I wonder where he could have gotten to.”  You muttered, wandering around a nearby forest.  It wasn’t really a forest, per-say, but there were enough trees that you could get lost in it.  You stopped walking when you heard a voice.

“-didn’t work out that way.  I admit it, you’re cute.”

Silence followed.  You recognized the voice as Sokka’s.  You crept forward, seeing a small, brown creature sitting on your friend’s head.

“Okay….you convinced me.  If I get out of this alive, it’s a comically correct, vegetarian existence for me. No meat.  Even though meat is so tasty.”

The creature hopped off of Sokka’s head, running away.  It was then you noticed that he was stuck in the ground, and couldn’t shoo away a fly that had landed on his head.  You walked forward.

“Wow, did I hear that right?”  You teased, emerging from the trees.  Sokka whipped his head around to face you.  “Sokka’s giving up meat?”  You taunted, crouching down to his level and brushing the fly off of his forehead. The creature came back before he had the chance to respond.

“Hey!  Looks like my karma’s already paying off!”  He exclaimed.  The creature dropped an apple a few feet in front of him.  “It’s okay, I got it.”  Sokka assured.  He tried to pull his arms out of the hole to reach it, only resulting in several pained grunts and his boomerang getting squeezed out of its sheath on Sokka’s back. Sokka pointed at the weapon. “Now, come back, boomerang.”

You chuckled, picking up the apple and wiping it off, holding it up so Sokka’s mouth.  He gratefully took a bite, chewing quickly before taking another bite.  He acted like he hadn’t been fed in weeks.  He finished the apple in record time, looking over at you as you tossed the core away.

“Do you think you could get me out of here?”  He asked.  You looked down at him, observing his predicament.

“I don’t think so.”  You admitted.

“Well, could you please try?”  He pleaded.  You brought water out of your canteen, pouring it into the hole.  “Not to question your methods, but what’s the plan here?”

“Will you wait?”  You asked, looking up at him.  You turned the water into ice.  “Hopefully this will make you more slippery, so you’ll slide out.”  You suggested.  You reached forward, grabbing his hands.  “On three.  One, two, three!”  You tugged, causing him to yelp in pain.

“Ow, ow!!  He complained.  You stopped, looking over at him.  “Wait! I think I budged!”  He exclaimed.  “Try again!”  He instructed.  You reached forward, but hesitated.

“You sure?”  You confirmed.  He nodded. You chewed on your lip, reaching forward and pulling him some more, sliding him further out only slightly. You pulled with all your might.

“It’s starting to get cold!”  He whined.  You opened your eyes, (they were squeezed shut from the strain), seeing that he was slightly blue.  You turned the ice back into water, bringing it back to your canteen.

“It’s getting dark.”  You noticed, looking up at the sky.  The creature, who you now know as Foofoocuddlypoops, was tugging on his ‘warriors wolf’s tail’.  Sokka was getting desperate.

“Okay, karma person, or thing, or whoever’s in charge of this stuff.  If I can just get out of this situation alive, I will give up meat, and sarcasm.”  He pleaded.  You cocked an eyebrow at his antics.  “Ow!” He exclaimed as Foofoo pulled out his hair tie, letting his hair go wild.  “That’s all I got!  That’s pretty much my whole identity.  Sokka: the meat and sarcasm guy.  But I’m willing to be Sokka: the veggies and straight-talk fellow.”

You rolled your eyes.  “That’ll be the day.”  You muttered.

“Aang!  Thank goodness!  Have you got any meat?”  You heard Sokka shout from beside you.  You turned, seeing Aang rush over.

“Sokka!  Are you okay?”  He asked, grabbing Sokka’s hands and pulling.

“Ow!  Stop! Stop!!  You’re gonna pull my fingers off, but I don’t think the rest of me is coming!”

“Hm.  I bet I could airbend you out of here.”  He placed his hands on the ground as air flew out of the crevice Sokka was in.  When the dust cleared, Sokka’s hair was straight up, until his weapons fell on his head, flattening his hair again.

“Seriously Aang, I know you’re new at it, but I could use a little earthbending here.  How about it?”

“I can’t.  I can’t do it.”  Aang admitted softly.

“Well, if you can’t earthbend me out of here, go get Toph.”

“I can’t do that, either.”

“You can’t?  Why not?”

You rolled your eyes, venturing back into the forest to see if you could go find Toph.  If Aang won’t, someone has to get Sokka out of there.  When you finally made your way back to camp, you found Katara.  “Where’s Toph?”  You asked, approaching her quickly.

“I’m not sure.”  Katara replied.  “She said she was going to find Aang.”

You rolled your eyes.  “Fantastic.”  You mumbled. Katara’s eyes lit up, prompting you to raise your eyebrows in confusion.

“You found him!”  Katara exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging Sokka.  You turned, seeing Aang and Toph with him.  You smiled, seeing your friend out of the hole.

“The whole time I was in that hole, not knowing if I would live or die, it makes a man think about what’s really important.”  Sokka began.  You cocked an eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips.  “I realized-”

“Hey, Katara!  Look what I can do!”  Aang interrupted.  He turned to the side, making some movements.  A chunk of rock flew off of a pillar.

“You did it!”  Katara exclaimed.  “I knew you would!”

Appa suddenly roared loudly.  Aang rushed over.  “Appa! I can earthbend now!  The key is to be completely immovable, both mentally and physically.”

The large bison licked Aang, knocking him over.  You chuckled, shaking your head.

“You’ll get the hang of it.”  You assured.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n:   Sorry it’s so short!

Tag List:  @pizzamelon7384, @rissa-doodles, @chewymoustachio, @exo-nova, @90skid018, @hitsugayarose, @samanthadegaro, @casedoina, @bri-brithebumblebeee, @beeposstuff, @lunashaw57, @aamcqueeny, @anactualvelociraptor, @dnarez, @theferretkids, @fancyapricotcalzonepersona, @hyuckcherie, @bitchtits15, @rintheemolion, @panbelle, @littlemsrantsalot, @lovelyfuckingcunt, @h3llbunni​

[sovonight]

(sith exile au)

recruit

potential

approval

rejection

truth (end)

✧ — ✧

When Revan arrives, fashionably late, upon the ruins of Malachor V, Cela does not welcome her.

"You know you made the right call," Revan says.

Cela does not respond. The emptiness within is too great, and she will never be whole again.

"Don't be dramatic," Revan says, reading her accurately as always. "Come on, Pace. We've won. And if you need it..."

Revan puts a gloved hand on her shoulder. She can't help but flinch, still tender from the wound, and knowingly, Revan says, "I'll show you how to fix this."

✧ — ✧

"You're interested in my side projects?" Revan asks, delighted. She grins, pulling up her plans on the display between them, and motioning Cela over to explore them. "Finally, maybe someone around here will appreciate my work."

Cela moves forward but doesn't take the invitation, keeping her hands clasped behind her back, instead.

"Just one of them," Cela says. "Your hunters."

"Oh," Revan says, then, "Oh. You're not still thinking about what I said yesterday, are you? It was just a thought experiment."

"It could happen. You rely too heavily on your ranks to report each other."

"Well, what am I going to do, have someone go in and assess all of them?" Revan says, with a roll of her eyes. She shuts the display down with a wave. "Anyone who's left is sure to have a weak connection to the Force."

"Any weakness can be improved," Cela says. "These are still valuable assets—ones whose potential you may actively be ruining."

"Fine, fine. Let's make that your project, Pace," Revan says. "I didn't know you had so much time to spare from training our fresh recruits, but go ahead."

"There are no fresh recruits," Cela says, quiet but steely. "As I said, you rely too heavily on your ranks to report."

"Then go with my blessing," Revan says, and waves Cela off, ever reticent to admit her oversights.

✧ — ✧

Cela's back within a week. Revan's still enjoying brunch.

"Hey, Pace!" Revan calls, as Cela enters. "You know you're one of the few I let walk in here when I'm busy."

That could change, is the warning that lies beneath those words, but Cela ignores it. She has always won Revan's favor back, and will again.

"I found one. A Force sensitive," Cela says.

"Just one?" Revan says, through a mouthful of bread. Swallowing it, she gives a smug smile, "And what's that you said about my reliance on reporting?"

"I've looked only through your hunters thus far."

Somewhat disappointed that Cela didn't take the bait to banter, Revan sighs.

"Focused as always, Pace. Well, let's hear it."

Cela hands her the datapad. Revan takes one look at it and drops her cutlery, appalled.

"Rand?! No, you can't. Reports say he's one of my best!" Revan Force-pulls a datapad over from half the room away, nearly knocking over a decorative Sith artifact. "Look at this. Performance, skills, kill count—"

"He's Force sensitive."

"He's a prime example of how well my tactics work!"

"I want to take him as an apprentice."

"...What?" Revan breathes, surprise overriding her protest. "You? Cela "I'll never get close to anyone again" Pace?"

Cela looks very much as though she'd rather not be having this conversation. Nevertheless, she presses on.

"If you are right about the effects of his training, and you often are," Cela says, as patiently as she can manage, "Training him in the Force will require a personal touch."

Revan takes another look at Cela's datapad, zooming in on the display.

"I guess he looks nice enough, if you're into that," Revan says. Cela pulls the datapad away with a scandalized expression, and Revan adds, "Come on, Pace. For you do to something like this? You must finally be getting lonely."

"Do I have your approval?" Cela says formally, deliberately ignoring her. Revan takes one last wistful look at her prize hunter's stats, and sighs.

"Sure. But look, Pace, if you need someone to talk to, build a droid," Revan says, getting up and pulling Cela in familiarly by the shoulders as she gestures with her other hand. "They're customizable. Better than people. And if you let any sensitive information slip, they've got a built-in memory wipe."

Cela remains silent, her shoulders stiff under Revan's weight. Revan studies her.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Revan asks. "It's got to be his voice."

"Everything I do," Cela says quietly, "I do for you. I am training him to add another powerful Force user to our ranks. I am trying to meet your goals."

After one last look, Revan lets Cela go.

"Alright! I get it, no more questions," Revan says. "He's officially your responsibility now. Go claim your new apprentice."

✧ — ✧

A Jedi, bruised but very much alive, is shoved to the ground at the General’s feet. Bound tight, and with the barrel of a blaster trained on the back of his head, the Jedi speaks through gritted teeth.

"You will never—"

"Any trouble?" The General asks, ignoring the Jedi in favor of the hunter holding the blaster.

"None," Jaq says. The Jedi on the ground groans, saying something about "the right thing," and Jaq nods towards him. "Want me to shut him up?"

"No need. Leave us; I will be done in a moment."

Outside, two guards already frame the door, so Jaq leans against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway, arms crossed. For all the resources that had gone into this place, the walls still bleed noise from within, and in a few moments, a terrible wail of pain seeps through the cracks of the room he'd just left.

One of the guards winces.

"What do you think she does in there?" The guard asks. "That's not enough time to interrogate."

The other guard, wisely, keeps his mouth shut, and so does Jaq. The first guard tries again.

"Sith lords, they... they thrive off pain—"

"Are you a Jedi?" Jaq interrupts. The guard stutters.

"W-what? No—"

"Then you've got nothing to worry about. She's only interested in Jedi."

The guard falls silent as he mulls that over. Then he says, "But why only—"

"It's not your job to ask questions," Jaq says. He's not sure why he's helping; this guy doesn't seem like he'll last long, anyway. "If you want to last around here, you'll shut up. Like your colleague over there."

The other guard gives the first guard a sidelong glance and furtive nod. The first guard, thankfully, shuts up—and just in time, because the doors slide open, and the General emerges from the room. Beyond the dark sweep of her robes, Jaq can the limp, crumpled body of the Jedi left behind. He's no stranger to death, but lately something about the sight of her work has begun to unnerve him... some quality beyond the physical.

The General walks away without pause, knowing that he'll follow. Ignoring the odd feeling in his gut, Jaq jogs to fall back in step with her.

When he's back by her side, she glances at him.

"You've done everything I've asked of you," the General says.

"I was assigned to you—" Jaq hesitates; he's tested many terms, none of which have felt right. "...Ma'am."

The General sighs, seemingly out of patience for his attempts. "Call me master."

Privately, he rolls his eyes. He guesses he should expect as much, from a former model Jedi—the self-importance just transfers over. He can't believe that, when they'd first met, he'd thought she could prove to be anything different.

"You have not once questioned my instructions," the General continues, oblivious to his detour of thought. "Why is that?"

"You know best," Jaq answers, automatically. It's such a safe answer that he doesn't anticipate when the General comes to a complete halt, leaving him walking a few steps free. When he turns back, confused, she holds him with her stare.

"Do I?" The General asks. "You must have other thoughts. I know your mind is not as empty as you purport it to be."

She steps closer; he can do nothing but stand there, a predator turned prey in her sights, as she tilts his chin down with a gloved hand to look him seriously in the eyes.

"If you are to learn, you will question the world around you," the General says. Her eyes are dark and cold, but not insincere. "Never follow an order you do not trust, or understand."

"I trust your judgment," he offers; another safe, empty answer. The General draws away with something akin to disdain, edged with a touch of disappointment.

"We have your performance to discuss," she says, instead. It seems her tangent is over.

[elliemarchetti]

The Most Macabre of Scenes, The Most Terrible of Nightmares

As I hope the few souls reading this have already guessed, requests are open for anything on LOTR and The Hobbit. However, in this chapter the journey of the Fellowship continues, but various shadows loom over their safety and the hearts of its members.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Words: 2643

The attack was short and violent, but fortunately no one was injured. It was about midnight on their eighth day of travel when the Orcs stroke, a raid planned down to the last detail, one might say, as they had took advantage of the current, the crescent moon that lit up the sky and the abundance of strangely bright stars, reflecting like torches on the River’s surface. Their black-feathered arrows had fallen like lethal rain upon the Fellowship, but except for a few torn cloaks, there had been no damage. Hidden among the ferns of the western shore, as awake as they could be, everyone thought about what they saw in the sky after their enemies had unexpectedly retreated, trying to give a name to the great winged creature, blacker than the pits of the night, which had emerged from the south. Fierce voices rose up to greet it from across the water, and Elva could still feel the chills running through her and clutching at her heart, deadly cold like the memory of an old wound. She had killed it, with a single shot from the bow she had received as a gift in Lorien, but she was sure there were others, and she wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from that irreparably corrupted land. After that vision, Haldir had no longer spoken, but he was frowning and his mind was probably in Lothlorien, lost in calculating how long such a beast would take to reach the ends of the mallorn’s forest. Lying next to him, Elva wished she was able to say out loud that he could return, if he wished, that no one would’ve wanted him any harm for placing his homeland before a mission that didn’t even belonged to him, and that Galadriel herself would’ve probably been grateful for the warning, but selfishly, she couldn’t, so she hugged tighter her knees under the cloak, a reassurance and a way to fight the changing of the weather. When the day came, the mood of the world about them had become soft and sad. Slowly the dawn grew to a pale light, diffused and shadowless. There was mist on the River, and white fog swathed the shore, making the far bank impossible to see.

“I can’t abide fog,” said Sam, “but this seems to be a lucky one: now perhaps we can get away without those cursed goblins seeing us.”

“Perhaps so,” said Aragorn. “But it will be hard to find the path unless the fog lifts a little later on, and we must, if we are to pass Sarn Gebir and come to the Emyn Muil.”

“I don’t see why we should pass the Rapids or follow the River any further,” said Boromir. “If the Emyn Muil lie before us, then we can abandon these cockle-boats and strike westward and southward, until we come to the Entwash and cross into my own land.”

“We can, if we are making for Minas Tirith,” said Aragorn, “but that’s not yet agreed, and such a course may be more perilous than it sounds: the Entwash’s vale is flat and fenny, fog a deadly peril for those on foot and laden. I wouldn’t abandon our boats until we must, for the River is at least a path that cannot be missed.”

“But the Enemy holds the eastern bank,” objected Boromir, “and even if you pass the Gates of Argonath, coming unmolested to the Tindrock, what will you do then? Leap down the Falls and land in the marshes?”

The tones were heating up, and Elva thought it was time to intervene: “It’s not the way of the Men of Minas Tirith to desert their friends at need, and we’ll need your strength, if ever we are to reach the Tindrock.”

The mortal seemed satisfied with those words, and decided he would go as far as the tall isle, but no further.

“There I shall turn to my home,” he announced, “alone if my help hasn’t earned the reward of any companionship.”

Elva prayed that someone had decided to pursue that mission, but in order to keep an army as powerful as that of Boromir's father, if everyone chose to follow Aragorn, she would be the one to separate from the rest of the companions, this decided a long time ago, perhaps at the very moment Gandalf had chosen her for the Quest. That gloomy possibility, which was so far from her ideals, prompted her to wait for the mist to rise in silence, even as she and Haldir went exploring forward along the shore, while the others remained by the boats. She hoped to find some way by which they could carry everything to the smoother water beyond the Rapids, but even if the elven boats wouldn’t sink, that didn’t ensure they could come through Sarn Gebir alive, for none ever done so yet, and no road was made by the Men of Gondor in this region, for even in their great days their realm didn’t reach up Anduin beyond the Emyn Muil.

“There is a portage-way somewhere on the western shore, if I can find it,” revealed Haldir, so softly that for a moment Elva hardly noticed.

"I didn't tell the others," the elf went on, "because I was afraid they wouldn't believe me, after my miscalculations pushed us towards the Orcs attack; besides, I fought those creatures for a good part of my own adult life, and I could’ve imagined their simple but ingenious plan."

"No one was injured, that's the important thing," Elva replied, thinking that if anyone had risked being hit, it would’ve been him, as an arrow had ripped off both the cloak and the skin of the jacket from his shoulders.

"But if that had happened, the fault would’ve been mine alone, and whoever had accused me, even if only in grief, would’ve been right: you have already lost the Istar, and before I should’ve warned Aragorn it wasn’t wise to continue at night as he suggested, but I didn't, and now I don't want to deceive anyone until I’m sure that my memory doesn’t deceive me," he replied, resolute in the bitterness of someone who can't forgive himself.

"Why are you telling me, then?" Elva asked, unable to stop.

"Because I'm sure I can trust you, and I know you’ve faced the guilt, same or not, even if I still don’t know what you’re carrying it for,” he replied, with a naked and vulnerable honesty, which hit right to the point. She didn't like talking about her past, much less what she felt about it, yet he must’ve seen a difficult life in her eyes, a life that perhaps could’ve been more like his, if only she had been born in another realm. Like Lorien, Mirkwood was a wonderful but tricky place, where growing up as a half-breed wasn't easy at all, especially when you needed to do it by yourself. Getting to know Legolas, and later becoming his confidant and friend, had been a blessing, and she kept telling herself that her true life had begun the day a young prince was bewitched by the ability of a simple recruit with a bow and with words. She hadn't treated him well, weary as every orphan is, and perhaps that was precisely what had intrigued him, since at court no one spoke to him as an equal, much less had the courage to say what they really though, too busy trying to win the future king’s favours, since with the one in charge was so hard. Speaking of Thranduil, he had welcomed her as if she were his own daughter, instructing and having her instructed in the best possible way; but the king was a cold and distant father, rigid in his manner and limited in his displays of affection, not exactly what a girl without parents desires most. If loving Legolas as a brother had been simple, as natural as breathing and almost a matter of survival, the same couldn't be said of the oldest of the Greenleafs, but she had learned that too, and with it the art of concealing her heart, although with Haldir it was so difficult.

"And how can I know I should have the same trust in you?" she asked, her heart heavy. She needed to believe that he wouldn’t leave the Fellowship, even if she followed Boromir and everyone else went by water, and she needed to know if he would understand her decision, or if he would end up misinterpreting it.

"You can't, but to convince you otherwise, I'll tell you something that I'm sure should’ve remained a secret: Galadriel's Mirror showed me three visions, three possible futures, I find myself believing. I still don't want to talk about two, because it doesn't seem wise, but the most macabre of scenes, the most terrible of nightmares that I thought I could have, I feel like sharing: I don't know if the Fellowship had failed in its intent, or if it's the fate that awaits my homeland anyway, if events should take that turn, but darkness had fallen over the forest of golden trees when a flock of huge winged creatures, like the one you killed last night, swept over Calas Galadhon. The Lord and the Lady fought side by side with every common citizen, and a shower of arrows capable of obscuring the stars was sent from each talan towards the sky. I don't know how the battle could end, as my vision was limited to that, but I have seen you fight with us, and defend our young and old as if they were your own. I don't pretend to understand what those images meant, and why the Mirror decided to show them to me, but I believe it was the beginning of Lorien's Winter, the first day of a downhill road to inevitable ruin, yet you were there by our side, and I don't think you'd fight for the land of someone you don’t trust,” he concluded, just as enigmatic as his ruler. Did he meant he understood her malfidence towards the Galadhrim, or was it really just his way of assuming that she would always trust him, to the point of risking death for a place that did not belong to her? There was no way of knowing but asking, and it didn't seem appropriate, fearing that he too might ask her what the Mirror had shown her. Death, she might’ve replied, no matter it was the mallorn’s, his people’s or Haldir’s himself, but she didn't want to talk about it anymore, she just wanted to forget his pale skin in the moonlight, the dust, sweat and blood surrounding her like a sea that smelled of the Enemy's wickedness instead of salt, so she fell silent.

“It cannot yet have perished,” muttered Haldir under his breath, after a while. “Light boats used to journey out of Wilderland down to Osgiliath, and still did so until a few years ago, when the Orcs of Mordor began to multiply.”

“Even if we find the path, peril will grow with every mile we go forward, for it lies ahead on every southward road,” replied Elva

They found what they were looking for just before noon, with the head of the Rapids half a mile below them: a track leading to a good landing, a little more than a mile long, was still serviceable, not far beyond the stream clear and smooth again, though running swiftly. The hardest task was to get the boats and baggage to the old portage-way, lying well back from the water-side near which they were camped, and running under the lee of a rock-wall, a furlong or more from the shore. “I fear we must leave the River now, and make for the portage-way as best we can from here,” said Haldir, once back.

“That wouldn’t be easy, even if we were all Men,” said Boromir.

“Yet such as we are we will try it,” Aragorn replied peremptorily.

“We will!” confirmed Gimli, and although the task was difficult, it was nevertheless completed, the goods taken out of the boats and brought to the top of the bank, where there was a level space, and the boats themselves drawn out of the water and carried up, proving to be far less heavy than any had expected; at last, all was removed to be laid on the portage-way and with little further hindrance, save from sprawling briars and many fallen stones, they moved forward all together. Fog still hung in veils upon the crumbling rock-wall, and to their left mist shrouded the River: they could hear it rushing and foaming over the sharp shelves and stony teeth of Sarn Gebir, but they couldn't see it. There the portage-way, turning back to the water-side, ran gently down to the shallow edge of a little pool scooped in the river-side, not by hand, but by the water swirling down from Sarn Gebir against a low pier of rock that jutted out some way into the stream. Beyond it the shore rose sheer into a grey cliff, and there was no further passage for those on foot. Already the short afternoon was past, and a dim cloudy dusk was closing in. Sitting beside the water, they listened to the confused rush and roar of the Rapids hidden in the mist; they were tired and sleepy, and their hearts were as gloomy as the dying day at the thought of spending there another night, even if it seemed inevitable, given the general fatigue. Luckily, nothing worse than a brief drizzle of rain an hour before dawn happened, and as soon as it was fully light and the fog was thinning, they started. Keeping as close as they could to the western side, they saw the dim shapes of the low cliffs rising ever higher, shadowy walls with their feet in the hurrying river. In the mid-morning the clouds drew down lower, and it began to rain heavily, forcing them to drew the skin-covers over their boats to prevent them from being flooded and drifted on; little could be seen before or about them through the grey falling curtains but it didn’t last long, the sky above growing lighter and suddenly opening, dismissing fogs and mists too. Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few trees; as they sped along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever might meet ahead, Elva peered forward, seeing in the distance two great rocks approaching. Like pinnacles or pillars of stone they stood, tall, sheer and ominous, creating a narrow gap among which the boats could only pass one by one. They were the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings, vast grey figures silent but threatening, shaped and fashioned as two great kings of stone with blurred eyes and crannied brows frowning upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning, while in each right hand there was an axe and upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished Kingdom, instilling awe and fear in the Fellowship travelling in boats frail and fleeting as little leaves, under the enduring shadow of the sentinels of Numenor. Passing into the dark chasm of the Gates, sheer rose the dreadful cliffs on either side, while the black waters roared and echoed, and a wind screamed over them. What a horrible place it was, but it must’ve been even worse for Aragorn, a king in exile who was finally returning to his land only to see it filled with the noise of wind, rushing water and echoing stone.

[fandom-necromancer]

Wingcat

This was prompted by a lovely anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: pre-Reed900

Nines didn’t really like gardening. He didn’t hate it either, but he had hoped to get more out of this project after New Jericho had praised it as the perfect relaxation method. No, Nines had enjoyed rebuilding the completely delipidated house he had bought for little money, the garden had been a matter of spite. His neighbours – mostly elderly people – all had absolutely astonishing gardens with meticulously trimmed grass and not a single flower. After a (not at all pleasing) conversation with one of them he had decided to accomplish a beautiful garden while still ensuring functionality. But that meant extensive weeding, laying down vegetable patches and building a composter as well as a shed. But except for the satisfaction of watching his first plants break out of the soil and the envious looks he got over the fence, it was just work for him. Nines was sure that after he was finished, he would search for a different hobby.

But until then, he had to continue caring for it. That was how he ended up digging in the dirt on a Friday evening having turned down Connor for a game-night. A few hours in it started to rain on top of it. Not that Nines really cared. He wore old clothes he wouldn’t put on for any other occasion than gardening and whether he got drenched or not wasn’t his concern. If anything, the muddy ground made weeding much easier. He worked along, finding and ripping out small plants no real task for his soldier program. So, he wasn’t surprised as his sensors effortlessly picked up a grey flash at the edge of his vision. He looked up and played the footage again. A cat? Yes, that was clearly a cat invading his garden and disappearing underneath the shed he had built for his tools. Curiously, he crawled slowly towards it and tried to look underneath it. Only with his heat vision he could see the cat. She was quite small, likely female judging from her build and paw size. But despite her clearly being a stray, her belly was quite huge, unfit for the general fat distribution. No way. Nines sat back and stared into the nothing for a while. A cat. A likely pregnant cat had invaded his garden and likely planned on giving birth to her litter here come time. And Nines knew nothing about cats. At least nothing about caring for them.

He stood up and entered his house to get cleaned up and dressed. All the while he thought about what he could do about the cat. He only saw one possible action, but he played on time specifically to avoid it continuing to be his only choice. He really didn’t want to do that. But after he had successfully wasted away an hour of his time without any new ideas, he sighed and fetched his phone. Reluctantly he pressed the right buttons and grimaced as he saw the name on the display as the line was connected.

Calling Gavin Reed…

-

Plastic Dipshit is calling…

‘Oh, phck no, please…’ Gavin sat – half lied – on his sofa in a completely comfortable position. He had finally found the right spot where the pillows propped up his back and supported his head. On top of that, the blanket covered him perfectly not to make it too hot or too cold. His two cats were sleeping in a cuddle pile between his legs, occasionally twitching in deep sleep. Gavin had been playing some dumb game on his phone to relax and had been about to reach a new highscore. And then his work partner called. Needless to say that had just spoiled a perfectly good evening. He had been contemplating whether to be the better man and just ignore it to continue playing or give the stupid android his fair share. Of course, the latter won.

‘Hey, asshole, I’m not coming to work! And I don’t want to talk to you! You got this number for emergencies. Like if I’m kidnapped levels of emergency. I had just about forgotten today, so phck off, you ruined my night!’ ‘Detective, this is an emergency.’ ‘Yeah, like hell I’m gonna believe that! I don’t care.’ ‘I think you will care, if you would just listen-‘ ‘No!’ ‘It’s much, much more important than you getting kidnapped!’, Nines called through from the other side. ‘Woah, okay, then spit it out.’ ‘What do I do if there is a pregnant cat in my garden?’

Gavin halted, took the phone from his ear to check it was really the android speaking. ‘What?’ ‘It is raining, as you must have noticed, and a pregnant cat found shelter underneath my shed. She is still there. As you have cats, you were the best one to call. I thought you could put our mutual hate for each other aside for a moment.’ ‘A pregnant cat? Are you sure?’ ‘Yes, quite.’ ‘Does she belong to anyone?’ ‘This is the first time I saw her in the neighbourhood. She doesn’t wear a collar. And she is relatively thin for a house cat.’ ‘So a stray?’ Gavin heard the android sigh. ‘I am certain, yes. What should I do about it?’ ‘Leave her be. Don’t disturb her and try to gain her trust.’ ‘And how should I do that.’ ‘Get her food, goddamnit! She needs a safe place. Feed her and gradually make her trust you. Then get her inside, prepare a room. Usually a box with a blanket in a quiet corner suffices.’ ‘I won’t let her into my house!’

‘Oh, no, you will let her into your house!’, Gavin screamed into his phone in anger, waking up his own cats. ‘Else you will have to let me into your house, and you want that even less. You better take care of the precious little thing or I swear, I’ll make your life the living hell!’ That earned him utter silence, but the line was still active. ‘Toaster?’ ‘Y-Yes, I’m still here. I just haven’t heard you this passionate before. ‘Yeah, well no shit! We barely know each other! But don’t worry, we won’t get to know each other. I’ll write you instructions and will come over in a few hours with some food for the beginning.’ ‘What?’ ‘You heard me! Go prepare the box in a quiet place. She won’t follow you inside immediately, but you want to be prepared if it happens! See you in a few hours.’

With that Gavin ended the call and began packing.

-

The human appeared at his door precisely one and a half hours later. Nines had planned to only take the bag, but Gavin had already rushed past him and looked around. ‘Where’s the garden? I want to see her.’ Nines sighed but led him toward the back door. ‘Wow you really like gardening, huh? This shit’s spotless.’ Nines grimaced. ‘I actually don’t. I just keep it this tidy out of spite for my neighbours.’ That made Gavin laugh in surprise. ‘Hah, no, I don’t buy that one. That’s something I would do. Now where’s the- ah, there it is.’ Gavin immediately dove for the small gap he could look through underneath the shed. ‘Oh, she’s so cute! Poor thing.’ Gavin made a gesture towards the bag in Nines’ grip and he handed it over. Quickly, Gavin took out a few snacks and made a little noise to get the cat’s attention, before throwing little pieces of a snack stick into the space.

‘Alright, she’s really skittish. Place the food near the shed for now and don’t disturb her inside. It’s a safe place for now. Then gradually increase the distance and get her near the house. Stay around so she makes the connection that it’s you giving her food. Take good care of her or you’ll regret it, tin-can. And I want regular updates, else I’ll come over and we both know how that’ll end!’ Nines had seldomly been overwhelmed, but seeing the Detective this protective of a feral cat did something to him. ‘Hey, do you understand?’, Gavin asked, hitting him in the chest with the bag. ‘Yes…’, Nines answered. ‘Good.’ ‘Just a question, how long are cats normally pregnant?’ ‘Around sixty days?’, Gavin shrugged. Depends on how long she’s already like that. ‘Why are you asking?’ ‘Hm, just curiosity’, Nines mumbled and led Gavin back towards the door. ‘Thank you for everything.’ ‘Hey, you are… You are welcome’, the man nodded after brief hesitation. ‘Cats are like the one good thing in my life for me. Don’t phck this up!’

‘I won’t’, Nines said as the door was already closed, looking back to his garden. Sixty days, huh? He wasn’t really worried about the cat; he had enough time after work and had searched for a new hobby anyways. What he feared more was that being exposed to Gavin constantly for sixty days after he had just learned that he had a soft spot for cats and actually had some decency in him, even if it was just for animals, would change things. He already felt how his processors were working on re-evaluating the person that was Gavin Reed. He wanted to regret it.

But maybe this side of his work partner actually was likeable.

[duskyskz]

- Erasure - 1

Hwang Hyunjin x Female Reader

With washed out, dyed pastel hair, sea salt and acrylic clinging to his jeans, Hwang Hyunjin expected to find himself many places that night. A jail holding cell. Under the abandoned train station bridge. Maybe even his own bedroom.

Your living room wasn't on the list.

Warnings - Some angst in later chapters, suggestive/smut, minor character death mentions, Hyunjin is an eboy and a little angsty, Changbin is doing his best as a big brother, slow burn (?)

A/N - Finally! Sorry for the delays, my head just hasn’t been with me this week;; I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am excited to write it. 

***

The steady buzzing of your speakers fills the living room as you watched Changbin scroll through the Netflix home page. Both of you settle deep into the sofa, balancing a bowl of popcorn and chocolate between your knees. 

“Endgame? Homecoming, Nightmare on Elm Street?” Binnie flicks through the suggestions, and you shake your head in distaste. “I'm not watching that octopus documentary again!”

“You only hated it because you cried at the end.”

“She died! He had to look after her little babies! Your heart is too cold, too far gone for that level of compassion.” The last part of your brother's grumbles are cut off when you throw a burnt kernel at his forehead, barely missing his ear. 

There’s nobody else home. Nobody else ever comes home, either. It's been just you and Changbin for a while, and it's not all that terrible. He’s a few years older than you, having graduated last summer and now undertaking an apprenticeship at the village police station. It doesn't pay a stellar amount, but Changbin reassures you once he passes the trainee exams he’ll treat you to a new pair of winter boots and you can finally quit the ice cream parlour to focus on college. You tell him that even if he wins the lottery tomorrow, you'll work your own job. For all the support your elder brother gives you, you like having your own thing. It makes you feel a little more involved, a little more even than jsit washing the dishes and doing his laundry on days he’s too tired to move. 

The Thursday evening is reserved for you both, to catch up on the hours together you miss during the week when Changbin doesn't get back till you're fast asleep and you don't have the chance to say good morning. 

He’s been doing that a lot more recently. 

Sighing into his coffee, shaking his head at nobody in particular. It's easy to notice the signs of stress and overwork in his face, sunken and tired even on the weekends when he finishes early. 

“Do you wanna finish Teen Wolf?” The softness in his voice when he addresses you is the same, though. “We have three episodes left of this season, if you wanna binge.”

“Sure.” You want to ask him about the circles under his eyes. What’s got him coming home later and later because nothing ever happens in this town. “I'm still waiting on Derek’s redemption arc.”

You're twenty minutes into the episode when a vibration from your coffee table catches your attention. You glance at Changbin, but he ignores his ringtone, flipping it to silent.

It rings again, no music, but harsh vibrations drumming against the polished wood. 

And again.

Knowing he’s not picking up to make a point of it, you pause the show, nodding at the mobile he’s avoiding glancing at. “Go on. Pick up, it might be an emergency.”

“If it's an emergency they don't need an intern there.” Despite his words, Changbin shifts his position and you know he’s growing hesitant. 

“If it's an emergency all the more reason for you to be there and learn.” You state with more force behind your tone. “Why have your grades been dropping? You're coming home so late but your exams keep getting delayed -”

“My grades are fine!” Changbin never snaps at you, but the frustration in his voice is evident. “I'm fine. There's just - Just one case we're working on and I'm nearly there, I just need time.”

You shut your mouth, letting him speak.

“There’s this kid who keeps tagging the beach houses on Dawning Lane, and that shit  was expensive to put up last year. Some stupid, bored child that thinks a few cans of spraypaint and lung cancer are a good excuse for your adolescence. He’s not even that good… Just scribbles.”

His lips pout in a frustrated whine at the last phrase, and you know he’s more frustrated at the situation than he is at you or himself.

A beat of silence, interrupted by another ringtone - you almost reach for it yourself to check the caller ID and force him to pick up, before Changbin’s arm shoots out past you to snatch the device, slinking out the door and into the hallway. 

You aren't surprised when a few moments later, your brother’s head pokes nervously out the door frame - He's already got his coat on, waving his phone at you as an awkward goodbye. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, y/n.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You salute back, smiling to ease the tension in his shoulders, and it works a minimum. You won’t see him till the late evening at best.

The door clicks shut as soon as he turns around, leaving you surrounded by popcorn and empty space. You really aren't surprised - but it'd be pointless to deny you weren't hurt by another night alone with Teen Wolf playing idly through your TV speakers. Cold popcorn only did so much to soothe your heart, and the distance wedging itself recently between your sibling bond was hard to brush over, between missed calls and texts too often left unanswered. 

You just really miss your big brother.

 You commit yourself to Stiles Stilinsky instead, sighing into the blanket around your shoulders. Autumn rolls in quick by the seaside, making your calves prickle with goosebumps. It's nearing 11pm, you realise, picking up the -

Thump!

Your fingers freeze, hovering over the TV remote. Changbin wouldn’t be back yet, he never comes home the same night he leaves. 

“Bin?” You try it anyway, calling tentatively into the hallway. It’s still entirely black, void of disruption.

Clang!

That definitely came from your kitchen.

Armed with a half empty popcorn bowl and nerves of steel, you tiptoe into the other room. There’s a lump of something or someone crouched behind the dining table, and your grip around the glass dish tightens marginally despite the quivering of your knees, fumbling for the lightswitch without taking your eyes off the rising dark mass as it straightens its back. 

“S-Stay down! I have corn and I know how to use it!” You don’t have a fully formed plan yet, but you’re sure the sharp kernels will be of some importance. Fluorescent white light floods the kitchen, momentarily blinding both you and the intruder who now stands at full height. A steady 12 inches above you. 

“Ouch! Calm down, I’m not going to rob you!” He says, sounding almost exasperated at your defense of your own property. He still has his hands raised in defense, keeping the table between himself and you, and you’re grateful he hasn’t tried to knock your legs out from under you, yet. “I’m not here to steal your stuff.”

“What are you here for, then?” You lower the popcorn bowl, but don’t let it fall out of your grasp. He doesn’t seem dangerous - He doesn’t seem like he could manage clambering through the window you always leave ajar either, but here he clearly is. There’s something sticky and pink in his blonde hair, stains following down his shoulder blades all the way down the cuffs of his jeans. If anything, he looks...a little lost.

“It’s the address on the post-it note.” Your confusion must have been plainly obvious, because the boy elaborates, pulling a crumpled neon-green paper from his jacket. “The post-it note that man gave me. That’s what Changbin gave me.”

Perhaps you lack self preservation instincts, but there’s an uncertain vibration in his voice that makes you give up your weapon and attitude. 

“You know my brother?” 

“He told me if I really need to go somewhere, I can come here.” You watch slim fingers tug at the sleeves of his jacket as he measures with a weight akin to a glare. “He didn’t tell me it was his house, or that somebody else was living here.” 

Bold of him to accuse you of ruining his night plans. 

It really did only click in your head when you looked closer at his tangled hair, dried paint clumping it together at the ends of bleached blonde strands. The  artistic menace haunting your sea-side town was standing right on your tiled kitchen floor, and he looked downright miserable. 

And Changbin had invited him. 

Biting down the discomfort at realising how little Changbin had been telling you recently,  you set the popcorn down on the table, you take in the threat currently three feet before you. A tall, lanky boy, with odd shoelaces and a sharpie sticking out of his trouser pocket. His hair hasn’t been cut in a while, and probably brushed either - it’d be generous to say he ran more than a stressed hand through it anytime recently. Though chapped, his full lips and wide eyes made him look far too innocent for his own good, and you blamed your soft heart for finding the boy kinda cute. 

He did have a leaf stuck above his ear, though. 

You almost reached up to remove it.

“Do you wanna watch Teen Wolf?”  You break the quiet that settled, already shuffling your feet out into the living room. You sincerely hoped he’d follow. You weren’t sure what you could do apart from leaving him standing on cold tile, and he already looked freezing from the night chill. 

Luckily for you, with a hesitant step, your impromptu companion takes after you to the couch where your Netflix and remove still await instruction. Changbin might grumble at you tomorrow at finishing the season without him, but you needed something to lure the boy into comfort. 

“I’m y/n, by the way.” You mention. The boy sits stiffly, clasping his hands in his lap with parted lips, avoiding the decorative pillows. 

“Hyunjin.” Now that he’s actually inside your house, Hyunjin’s confidence seems to have evaporated. The thrill of the break-in, if you can even call is that, has worn off, giving way to the nerves. He’s suddenly too conscious of the paint on his clothes, of sandy shoes still on his feet, of the smudges still on his cheeks. Should he take his jacket off? Or wipe his shoes? 

You press resume, watching him relax after a few minutes as his brain finally has something else to focus on to let his worries ease. Hyunjin doesn't seem to mind you already being halfway through the episode, and you let yourself admit it’s nice having someone around this late at night. 

“How do you know Changbin?” You ask while the topic is still fresh.

“I don’t.” Hyunjin bumps his knees together, fiddling with a loose string on his jeans as he shrugs. “I don’t really know him, he just...saw me around a few times, and I guess he figured I could use a place to crash. So he gave me your address.”

“You’re the mystery kid painting the beach houses, right? On Dawning Lane.” 

At the accusation, Hyunjin’s lips part, flipping to face you with wide, blinking eyes., knowing he’s in no place to try and deny it. You blink back, observing his reactions, in case he suddenly changes his mind about staying. “Are you gonna turn me in?...” 

“No.” You shake your head after a moment of thought, and he visibly untenses. “For whatever reason Changbin didn’t, so I won’t either. If he trusts you then I do too.” 

You’ll never know if it was the murmurs of the TV, or if Hyunjin did whisper a thank you, and you won’t ask. There’s a lot of things you do want to ask, but a tug in your heart tells you now is not the time. Hyunjin looks exhausted, eyes drooping with every slow blink as he does his best to focus on the screen, hands previously tugging at his jeans now still and flat on his lap, slouched forward as if any moment he’ll drift off sitting on your pillows. Flurries of fluorescent light flicker on his cheeks, over barely scrubbed paint smudges and faint cuts from running too fast, you guess. In the delicate, dimmed light of your floor lamp, it’s hard to imagine Hyunjin as a bad kid. Prickly, maybe. On edge is a better word for it, tension clinging to his shoulders like stubborn dust bunnies. Curse your naive little heart, you tell yourself, building up your courage to speak.

“Hyunjin?” He hums in response, straightening his back. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

All you’ve been taught in life sent alarm bells through your skull when you asked a complete stranger (who just two hours ago, broke in through your kitchen window) to sleep in your living room overnight, but Hyunjin didn’t feel  like a stranger. Changbin trusted him enough to lead him right to your house, so that must count for something, right? And no matter how much you tried to keep your guard up around the boy, watching him struggle to stay upright instead of letting his tall, lanky body fall backward and rest comfortably only made you worry a little about him, not the other way around. 

Well, he did say he’s not going to rob you. 

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, I’ll bring you some blankets.” You prompt him again when he doesn’t respond. “Changbin won’t be back for a while still.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” There’s a lilt of doubt in his voice, but he sincerely hopes you’re serious. This couch is warmer than anything he’s slept on in months and he really doesn’t want to crawl outside again with the rain pattering against your roof. 

“Sure, you haven’t tried to stab me yet.” You shrug, getting up to fetch a duvet and looking him over.

“Ah, you probably want to wash your hair from all...that,” Hyunjin’s hand flies to his hair, patting out the tangles as if it’s the first time he’s noticed them. “You can use the bathroom upstairs, there’s towels by the shower already.”

He nods, following your directions with a ‘thank you’. Once his footsteps disappear up the landing, you set about pulling out the couch into a flatbed, rearranging the pillows at its base. Lugging the duvet down from Changbin’s room had been a feat, but you’re determined to make the space welcoming. Satisfied with the cushioned bundle you created, you run back upstairs. 

You invade your brother’s room for the second time that day, tugging open his drawers in search for something acceptably pijama-like. 

“Hyunjin?” You knock tentatively on the bathroom door as the shower head turns off and the shuffling ceases. “I’m leaving some clothes for you to change into outside, okay? Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

You scroll through your timeline as you wait, catching up on the last few hours’ events from your friends until a shuffling to your left prompts you to raise your head. 

Your brother’s sweats hang a little loosely around Hyunjin’s hips, ending just above his ankles, bare feet sliding over the wooden floor of your living room, sinking into the rug as he steps closer to where you sit. His own clothing cradled in his arms close to his chest, you can’t stop your thoughts drifting momentarily to the damp mess of sunshine coloured hair. With his jacket on earlier, it was hard to make out his build under layers of fabric, but now it’s proving a challenge to not focus on the lines of his arms or the curves of his large hands gripping his clothes. Luckily for your dignity, your nerves of steel allow you to drag your gaze away from the collarbones peeking out from under thin white cotton higher to meet his eyes instead and find your voice again.

“I brought down some pillows for you, these are a bit too hard to sleep on.” You note, pointing to the decorative cushions you moved onto the lounge chair. “My room is right opposite the bathroom if you need anything, I’m a light sleeper.” 

“M’okay.” Hyunjin towers above you, yet you’ve never seen a boy so dainty. There really is no other way to describe the delicate line of his nose bridge or the rosy tint of his lips when his tongue pokes out to lick them as he mulls over your words, settling down on the makeshift bed. 

The proximity now feels different than the air between you when Teen Wolf still blared through your speakers, warm quiet heavy on your tongue with dim golden glow tumbling over his cheekbones that’s too much for your heart to take unprepared.

“Goodnight then!” You bounce up from the couch waving Hyunjin a quick goodbye, but a soft hand wrapping around your wrist pauses you. 

“Wait,” Hyunjin brushes his thumb over your palm softly, and you hope he doesn't notice the goosebumps on your skin at the contact. “Thanks for not kicking me out...or calling the police. Y’know, as most people would for a break in.” 

The smile he flashes you is almost teasing, but you can tell he means the words sincerely. You lay your other hand on top of his, patting in what you hope is a reassuring motion.

“Sure, Jinnie. It’s okay.”

[labyrinth-runner]

Hauntober Day 27: Ghost

Summary: When Padmé ends up meeting a ghost in her new palace, she’ll do whatever she can to help him find peace.

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi 

Warnings: Not really a warning. Just an explanation. Young!Obidala AU where Padmé’s age is more like what it was in the concept of TPM, which was a “young adult” according to some various sources.

Word Count:~1800

“Sleep well, my lady,” her handmaiden told her before leaving her in peace. The bed in the lake house was quite large and comfortable, but she had no intention of sleeping. Once the door was closed and she had counted to thirty, she slipped out of bed before slipping on her robe and a pair of slippers. It was an old palace. It was bound to have secret passages. With a grin on her face, she started to tug on every wall sconce she could. Those always opened the secret hatches in the holos. After a successful tug, the wall opened up into a dark hall. Carefully, she took a candle from her dresser, lit it, and continued down the hall. 

Soon, she found herself in a maze of tunnels that spread out in all directions. Saying an old children’s rhyme, she chose a hall to continue down, following its twists and turns into a larger chamber lined with bookshelves. In the middle sat a desk. 

“A secret library!” she said in awe. She browsed the titles on the shelves, finding they were all unfamiliar. Then, she went to head back the way she thought she had come.

She walked further and further to no avail. 

“Great, Padmé,” she sighed to herself. “You’re a queen lost in her own palace.”

“Hello there,” a voice said. 

She jumped, turning to find a blue see-through man. Her eyes widened as she slowly backed away.

“Are you lost?” the man asked, stepping towards her.

“You’re a- you’re a-” she stammered.

He looked down and sighed, almost embarrassed. “Force Ghost.” He held up his hands placatingly, “But I’m not here to hurt you. I wanted to help you find your way back.”

Padmé took a deep breath. Friendly force ghost. Got it. “Alright, I suppose I’ll follow you.”

He offered her his hand. She went to take it, her own passing through it as a shiver went down her spine.

The ghost looked like he was blushing. “Sorry, darling. I forgot. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone down here.”

He started to lead her back.

“What’s your name?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he grinned.

“If you don’t mind my asking... how did you.... you know,” she murmured.

“Die?” he asked softly. When she nodded, he went on, “That’s the problem, truly. I don’t remember. For some reason, I don’t even think I really am dead.”

“Why’s that?” she asked out of curiosity.

“I hear a beating. Like a heart. It’s faint, and it’s slow, but it is steady and it is there,” he explained.

“If you’re not dead, then how can you be here?” she asked.

He thought about if for a moment. “Astral projection, I presume.”

“Only Jedi can-” she trailed off as if noticing his clothes for the first time. “Oh.”

“Enough about me,” he grinned, “Tell me about you.”

“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” she blushed. “My name is Padmé, but everyone around here knows me as Queen Amidala. I was recently elected Queen of Naboo.”

“That’s impressive,” he said. “Certainly more to tell than you think.” He gave her a slight bow, “I am humbled to be in the presence of a monarch.”

“You flatter me,” she chuckled as they got back to her door. It was closed.

“Well, that won’t do. Wait here,” Obi-Wan instructed before passing through the wall. He moved the sconce on the other side, opening the door. “Home, sweet home.”

“Thank you,” she grinned.

“You’re welcome, your highness. I hope I get to show you more of what the palace has to offer,” he murmured, giving her a lopsided grin. He held his hand out to her, and she tried her best to place her hand in it. He leaned forward to kiss her knuckles. She bit her lip. Did she have a crush on a ghost?

“Good night, Obi-Wan,” she murmured as he started to back away towards the wall.

“Good night, Padmé,” he winked before leaving.

Padmé flopped back on her bed and blew her hair out of her face. She was smitten. She also had a new secret mission: To learn as much about the Jedi as possible. If it was true that he was still alive, she’d do everything in her power to help him. With that thought in mind, she went to bed, determined to get answers from the palace’s caretaker in the morning.

She woke before her handmaidens and slipped into the gardens to find the caretaker looking after some roses.

“Your highness,” he said, “You’re up early. Is there something I could do for you?”

“Actually, yes,” she replied. Then, she lowered her voice, “But this stays between us.”

“Of course, you highness.”

“I saw a man last night while I was exploring the tunnels.”

“There shouldn’t have been anyone down there. The tunnels have been deserted for years. Only I and the Captain of the Guard know about their existence in case of emergency,” the caretaker said.

“I know. He wasn’t... he wasn’t alive. At least, not in the sense that we are. My hand went through him. When I was lost, he led me back to my room,” she murmured.

“You saw him,” he said in awe.

“Saw who?” she asked, playing dumb in hopes of getting more answers.

“The Ghost of the Jedi,” he replied. “You’ve never heard the Legend?”

“Legend? What Legend?” Now she truly didn’t know what was going on.

“The Legend of the True Knight,” he replied, “According to the Legend, a Jedi Knight battled a fearsome foe long ago. The foe won, but instead of killing him, his magic was too weak for that, it put the Jedi into a sleep. Neither dead, nor truly alive, the Jedi Knight was in limbo. The Knight’s Master, unable to truly get rid of the body, placed it in a glass coffin and hid it away until the day that he could be set free. Whoever sets him free is to be his ruler for the rest of his life, and he their knight.”

Padmé listened intently, “Has the knight appeared before anyone else?”

“No,” he replied.

“Then how do you know the story is true?” she asked softly.

“Aside from the look in your eyes... I’ve seen the coffin. I was a young man at the time, exploring the tunnels so that I would know which ones were important. I happened upon the crystal coffin in one of the halls. Inside was a Jedi Knight,” the caretaker told her.

“And you didn’t help him?”

“I couldn’t. I’m not meant to be the one that breaks the curse. I couldn’t even open the casket.”

“Do you remember where the room is?” she asked desperately.

“I’m sorry, your highness. It’s been so long,” the caretaker replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more to do in the garden.

Padmé nodded, dismissing him. She walked back to her room, lost in thought. If she was the only one he had ever appeared before... did that mean that she was to break the curse?

That night, she resolved to tell him of her plan, meeting him in the library again..

“So, you think that if you can find my coffin, then you can break this curse?” he asked thoughtfully.

“I do. Could you take me to your coffin?” she asked.

He blushed and looked down. “Well, darling, I’m afraid I don’t know where it is.”

“Well, I have two years to find it, but I’d like to find it sooner rather than later,” she said. “Come on.”

Every night for weeks, they searched the passages, trying to find his coffin. All the while, they were learning more about each other. They swapped childhood stories, hopes and dreams, and a great friendship started to blossom.

Eventually, they found the coffin. The two of them shared a look of excitement as she raced to the side of the crystal casket. Reverently, she ran her hand along it before pushing it open.

“Well, now what?” he asked.

“I... I don’t know,” she admitted. 

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Even if you don’t break the curse, I have had a wonderful time just being with you.”

“But, Obi-Wan, I can break the curse. I don’t know how, but I can feel that this is what I’m meant to do,” she said adamantly. She studied his body closely, noting that he wasn’t breathing. “Perhaps if I breath air into you?” 

He shrugged, “It’s worth a shot.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, but darling, what if it does?” He rested her forehead against hers. “To be your Knight, will be the greatest honor.”

She swallowed, leaning over the casket. Her thumb settled into the cleft of his chin, gently tugging his lips open. Padmé took a deep breath before pressing her lips to his to create a seal. She breathed into him, watching his lungs expand. Then, she pulled back. 

“How will I know if it-?” she trailed off when she noticed the force ghost was no longer with her. 

“Obi-Wan?” No answer. “Obi-Wan!” She sat next to the casket, a silent tear slipping down her cheek. 

“No need to yell,” a voice came from behind her. “I may have been out for force knows how long, but I can assure you that my hearing is perfectly fine.”

Padmé stiffened, turning her head to see the young man in the casket sitting up and giving her the biggest grin.

“It worked,” she murmured in awe.

“I knew you could do it,” he grinned, getting out and offering her his hand to help her up.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his, grinning when skin met skin and a warmth enveloped her hand. In seconds, she was in his arms, hugging him close.

He hugged her back tightly, kissing her forehead. When he pulled back, he smoothed her hair out of her face before cupping her cheek. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Probably for as long as I wanted to do this,” she said softly before tipping up on her toes to kiss him. Her arms encircled his neck as he held her flush against him, returning her kiss with feeling. When they pulled back for air, they were both blushing.

“So you are to be my knight, then?” she asked softly.

“It would be the greatest honor to serve my Queen,” he grinned.

[wickedmilo]

YOU CAN STAY MILO | MILO & HARSH

PLACE: A quiet White Crest street TIMING: 4:00 AM SUMMARY: Upon discovering Milo has only been a vampire for a month, Harsh decides to help him adjust to his new situation WRITING PARTNER: @notsoharsh CONTENT WARNINGS: Heavy talk of addiction, rehab, and drug abuse

Milo’s lack of self control, and inability to say no had always been something he was painfully aware of. It didn’t bother him, for the most part. If he shifted his perspective, or found the perfect high, then he could almost, almost convince himself he had a hand on the wheel, regardless of how true that actually was. It was easy to do, because he was only ever hurting himself. He was the one at risk, he was the one using the substances, venturing to questionable areas of town. Now though, his instability was putting other people in danger. If he gave in, he wasn’t the one getting hurt. It was a sense of responsibility he had never been forced to face before, and that left him terrified.  

Creeping on the outskirts of town, venturing into the forest for his more sinister appetites, he was struggling to find a balance. He needed to avoid people, he didn’t trust himself not to. But he was also very aware of his shaking hands, the cold sweat leaving a sheen on his skin that ironically made him look like the living dead. He was barely scraping by on the hits he had been able to talk out of strangers. The withdrawal was only made worse by the thought of the stash he had waiting for him in his friend’s apartment. He would return for it if he wasn’t so sure a chance encounter could end in bloodshed. He shouldn’t be in town, he knew he shouldn’t be in town. But a quick meeting with a dealer and he could hide again, melt into the shadows. How had his life deteriorated so quickly? It was pitiful. Cuffing his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie, he continued to drag his feet down the quiet high street. His head bowed as he made an effort to go unnoticed, he was entirely unaware of being watched.  

Harsh had started to get used to this whole ‘patrolling’ thing. It was rough at first, finding ways to steer clear of actual slayer and hunter routes, but it made the lies easier whenever there was a hint of truth buried underneath. Still, he tried to avoid killing other vampires when he could help it. A few needed to be dusted here and there to keep up appearances, but better they run into him than a slayer who actually wanted them gone. Hands in his pockets, he strolled casually, keeping to the shadows. Soft footsteps caught his ears… but no heartbeat. Interesting. He moved carefully, keeping his own steps nearly silent. There. Definitely a vampire, but not one he recognized. Harsh watched, eyes narrowed. There was something off. The guy looked young. Might be easier to stake him and go, but… something stopped Harsh going for the stake in his pocket. Something about the guy’s face--he looked rough.  

It wasn’t smart, but Harsh had never been one to plan ahead. He moved quick and quiet, before stepping out of the shadows, not far from the stranger. “Hey man,” he called, voice even, casual, holding up an unlit cigarette. “You got a light? Must’ve left mine at home.” Closer, he could see the vampire’s face better. Yeah, definitely rough. Harsh had seen that look before, too many times. Damn it. Way too late to walk away now. He kept his own expression friendly, smile fixed into place. “It’s nice out, isn’t it? I thought we would never be done with all that snow. Are you from around here?” 

Milo found with his heightened senses that it was far easier to maintain an awareness of his surroundings than it had been before his death. It should be a useful ability, he had certainly used it a few times to avoid crossing paths with humans. But his ability to get lost in his own head, especially when he was struggling, seemed to be entirely unparalleled. He knew he should be smarter, more focused, but it wasn’t quite that simple. Which was why, when a man emerged suddenly from the shadows, he had the rather undignified response of stumbling backwards, a yelp of surprise escaping him. Something wasn’t right, he registered that almost immediately. But tired, and aching, he had far more important things to worry about than why a stranger was potentially weird.  

“Shit- what are you doing?” He demanded. If he needed to breathe, he would have been catching his breath at this point. “Who does that?” It was an instinct to place a hand over his heart as he recovered from the shock, but it only took a few seconds before the lack of a heartbeat made him uncomfortable. He hurried to shake off the sensation. “You- you want a light?” He echoed, distracting himself by fumbling in his pockets. “Fine, whatever- just don’t fucking creep up on me again.” Holding out the lighter, he realised he was shaking, and hurried to force his balled fists back into his pockets. “It’s nice out?” He glanced up at the sky, wrinkling his nose as he struggled to understand the question. “I mean- it’s night? What do you want me to say?” Turning his attention back to his company, he shrugged, playing off his response as casual, despite still feeling shaken, and now just a little suspicious. “Uh… born and raised? Why do you care?”  

Oh a jumpy one. Yeah, this kid was definitely new to the vampire thing. He seemed like he might be scared of his own shadow. If Harsh could feel bad for people, he probably would have. Maybe he did. It was sort of hard to tell. Without much hesitation, he grabbed the lighter. Smoking was more of a pain now that he had to make himself go through the motions of breathing manually, but he had learned how to make it work after a hundred years of practice. He blew out a steady stream of smoke and laughed softly. “You could’ve fooled me. You seem new… scared. I wouldn’t recommend that. This place’ll eat you up and spit you back out if you let it know you’re afraid.” 

He dug through his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering it to the stranger. “Here, might help with your nerves. And you should try to look like you’re still breathing, helps you blend in.” Maybe he was playing too much of his hand, but there wasn’t much point in pretending. This kid seemed shaky. If he went around like that, he was going to get himself staked in no time at all. And that was… kind of sad. Harsh kept his expression even, though there was a knowing lilt to his voice. “I’m like you, man. Just listen for a second, really listen.” It wasn’t the kind of thing new vampires usually thought about, sitting still, actually listening for breath, for a heart beat, but if any of them would slow down for a minute, they could make things so much easier for themselves. “I’m Harsh, by the way. Real name, I swear, trust me, I’ve heard all the smart comments. What’s yours?” 

“What?” Milo demanded, struggling to keep up with the vague nature of the conversation. He was almost ready to turn and leave when the stranger mentioned being chewed up and spit back out again. “Yeah, no shit. I think this place has already done that so you’re wasting your time.” He muttered. The town looked different to him now, it felt different. He had grown up in a place that would eventually be the death of him. It was a sick, and twisted thing to realise. Distracted by the packet of cigarettes, he was halfway through sliding one out of the carton when he realised what the man had said. Freezing instantaneously, his entire body grew tense. But then the comment responsible for terrifying him was followed up by another comment, by a comment he had been desperate to hear for what felt like an eternity. He had been alone for a month. He hadn’t been able to ask anybody questions, or lean on anybody for support. The one friend he could always rely on had tried to kill him, and he was just… lost. He tried to dampen the spark of hope that had managed to ignite within his chest, but it proved to be impossible. He followed his instruction, cautious, and careful, his eyes widening suddenly when he realised he didn’t hear a heartbeat. 

He wasn’t sure what to say in response, his voice stolen by an overwhelming rush of emotion. He didn’t want to assume his struggle was over, was his struggle ever going to be over? But for the first time since waking up, he didn’t feel as though he was on his own. Here was somebody who potentially understood, who knew what he was going through. “You’re- you’re not going to hurt me, are you?” His voice was small, and uncertain. In contrast to the sarcastic edge usually lacing his tone. “I don’t even know how this happened, okay? I woke up like this, you’re the first person I’ve met who’s- who’s the same way.” Abandoning the cigarettes, he shifted uncomfortably on the spot, ready to run if he needed to, despite knowing he would never be able to best this person. They were obviously stronger than him, more capable in every conceivable way. “Your name is Harsh?” He echoed. “I- I’m Milo… Or I was- I mean, I think I still am.” 

Harsh bit back a laugh. Was he going to hurt him? It was a fair question. He hadn’t quite made up his mind. It would be good for the whole slayer reputation he was trying to build. But… if this guy was new, he probably hadn’t made much of a name for himself yet. And that wouldn’t exactly make for a good story, staking some poor, newly turned kid. Honestly, that seemed… pretty lame. Friendly smile still in place, he shook his head. “Wasn’t planning on it. If you want to pick a fight, I’ll punch back, but nope. I just thought you looked… lonely.” He frowned a little as Milo went on. The guy had just been turned and abandoned? Well, that was a whole world of suck right there. “You were turned. A vampire, someone else like us, they must have drained you and forced you to drink some of their blood.” He paused there. Probably not the nicest thing to just tell Milo he was dead. But he might have already known.  

“Good to meet you, Milo. You can still be if you want, or you can change things up. Some people do that. Once they turn… they want to be someone else. It can be sort of a fresh start, if you want it to be.” Harsh had never considered changing his name, though… other things, the rest of him… that hadn’t quite stayed the same. It had been so long, he wasn’t quite sure who he had been when he was human, but he was pretty sure that person was a far cry from whoever he was now. “So… you don’t know who turned you? Or anyone else like us? Seriously? That’s rough, man. How long has it been for you? Have you had any blood recently?” 

Milo frowned, unable to decide whether Harsh was laughing at him, or at the situation. Feeling his shoulders drop when he was assured he wasn’t in any danger, maybe it was stupid to believe a stranger so easily. But he was scared of pushing the man away, of being left alone again. Even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable. “Something tells me I wouldn’t stand a chance.” He admitted, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. His sharp tongue had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. He knew he could take a punch, but he had never been able to successfully throw one. His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared at the mention of looking lonely. The observation was a little too accurate for his liking, it forced him to acknowledge the painful, empty feeling inside his chest. “Yeah…” He muttered, scuffing his shoes against the asphalt. He had never been the type of person to ask for help, or admit he needed it. Then again, he had never felt quite so lost. “I guess I kind of am. S’not like I can go home, y’know?” 

Keeping his head down as Harsh began to explain what he was, he chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. Had he really been made to drink someone’s blood? He couldn’t remember doing so, surely even high he would have questioned that. He had vague recollections of losing consciousness, feeling weak, and dizzy as he tried to push away the person responsible for attacking him. Would he have had any power to refuse? “So it- it wasn’t an accident?” He asked finally, looking back up to watch the expression on his company’s face. “Somebody did this on purpose? And then just… left me?” It was something that had been eating away at him, not knowing what had taken place. The sequence of events that had ended with him waking up in an abandoned building, missing 30 hours of his time. Was he an accident, or had somebody had planned the entire ordeal? He still wasn’t sure which was worse. He had been repressing the thoughts, struggling to focus on the present. But now his mind was racing. He was desperate for answers. 

“No- no.” He hurried to assure Harsh. “I want to be Milo- I don’t want to be anybody else.” The idea of losing his identity, his sense of self, alongside his life… his Humanity. That was as terrifying as anything he had faced over the course of the past month. He couldn’t do that, he would go insane. Averting his gaze, once again, when he was asked another question, he realised how strange it felt to be saying the words out loud. Drinking blood, dying, being turned… these were things only ever talked about in the context of fantasy. And now they had become a part of his life, a part of a serious discussion. For the first time, he was talking about it. “No, I don’t know. I was in a club, someone offered me something…” His voice was slow as he sifted through his memories, trying to pull the important information from the haze of the high. “We shot up… whatever it was. And then they attacked me, but I don’t know who they were, I don’t even think I would recognise them.” Letting out a huff of breath, a decidedly Human habit he had yet to shake, he pushed his hair back away from his face. It was damp with sweat. How was he supposed to explain to Harsh that it wasn’t just blood he was craving? “A month… maybe just over. But I- no, not today.” He was too embarrassed to admit he had been trying, and failing to hunt animals in the woods. His diet consisted entirely of animals he was, by some miracle, able to catch.  

“Aw, c’mon, I’m not as tough as I look. But you’re stronger than you think. One of the perks of the whole blood craving thing.” This kid was going to have to learn to fight whether he liked it or not. Slayers weren’t going to wait for him to figure out how to punch. Harsh had seen that for himself. He nodded. That much he could understand. When he had turned, he had never wanted to go home, he had a new one… until he didn’t. And it was only then that it really sunk in, how he could never put things back the way they were before. “Yeah that’s… one of the major downsides. People don’t really get it if they aren’t like us, they don’t understand. It sucks, losing that. I was never… all that welcome at home, but they were still a safety net… until they weren’t. I know it’s hard, man.”  

Grimacing, Harsh shook his head. “I really doubt it. Most vampires don’t just accidentally let someone drink some of their own blood. They usually stick around for the turn though. It’s this whole… sire thing. You feel sort of connected to people you turn or the one who turned you. Usually that means something to people.” Not that he was really one to talk. On occasion, during his two hundred year rampage, he had turned someone for the hell of it. But even then, at his worst, he had usually stuck around to see if they ate someone five minutes after they woke up. He couldn’t find it in him to be proud of that. It was the bare minimum. And Milo didn’t even have that much. Poor guy. Harsh let his mind drift for a moment, back to those confused, scared faces, his brood… he couldn’t make it up to any of them now. But maybe he could make up for a little of it here.  

He held up a calming hand. “Easy man, it’s okay. You can stay Milo if you want to. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to be a different person just cause you work a little differently now.” Harsh took a small, cautious step forward, hands still up, palms open, like he was approaching a frightened animal almost. Another little step. “So they might have drugged you first? Shit. That’s on them, not you, Milo.” He took another slight step forward, putting a hand lightly on Milo’s shoulder. “You want some? I work at the hospital, I swipe blood bags now and then. I’ve got some extra, if you need it. I know how hard it can be when you first start hunting. But you want to drink regularly. If you don’t… trust me, it’s not pretty.”  

Milo frowned. He didn’t want to be strong, his physical wellbeing had never been much of a concern. If this strength came with so many catches, he would much rather revert to his old self. His weak self. “There are perks?” He asked, skepticism clear in his tone. Even if he wanted to hide it, he wasn’t sure he would be able to. Everything had become so twisted. Even now that he had somebody to explain things to him, somebody to answer his questions, the sense of hopelessness he had grown so used to stubbornly refused to dissipate. “Hm,” He stifled a bitter laugh, scuffing at the asphalt with his battered Converse. “My parents have never been the understanding type.” How many arguments had he suffered through? How many times had he stormed out of the front door, or climbed out of his bedroom window, with the promise of never talking to them again? He had been in the process of cutting them off the night he was attacked. Dying had only made it easier to ignore the never ending phone calls. The texts from his mom demanding to know where he was. “They’ve been threatening me with rehab for years… hardly a safety net.”  

His frown deepening when Harsh confirmed his suspicion, he felt a surge of anger course through his veins. Somebody had done this to him intentionally. So he wasn’t a mistake, he wasn’t the result of a spontaneous accident. Sure, whoever was responsible had been high, but they would have known the consequences of their actions. They would have understood. Clearly they didn’t give a shit about him, so much for a ‘sire’ connection. “Yeah, well… apparently not.” He muttered, blinking away the tears stinging suddenly at his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, he couldn’t afford to look so pathetic. Brushing at them with the sleeve of his hoodie, he looked back up at the man so intent on helping him. Swallowing his emotion, he allowed himself to be comforted by the assurance. You can stay Milo if you want to. There’s nothing wrong with that. He was terrified of losing himself. It felt like all he had left was his identity.  

Tensing when Harsh took a step towards him, he had to fight every instinct telling him to run. Attempting to brush off his discomfort, he offered his company a hesitant shrug. Harsh wasn’t a threat, he was safe. Probably safer than he had been since first waking up. “I mean, s’not exactly like I said no.” He admitted. Maybe if he had, he would still be alive, his heart would still be beating inside his chest. His eyes widening at the unexpected offer of blood, it didn’t take long for him to realise he was being forced to choose, forced to prioritise his cravings. Did he meet his dealer, and then follow Harsh? Was it rude to ask him to wait? Then again, his mouth felt dry, he almost hurt with longing as he imagined the blood bags from the hospital. The hand on his shoulder didn’t ground him, but it allowed him to focus on his answer. “Yes.” He said, a little too quickly. “I mean- I was meeting someone- I need to-” If he stood up his dealer he would be written off, forced to find another. Given his new instability, the last thing he wanted was to be left in suspense, to not know where his next hit might be coming from. “Would you- would you maybe come with me? Make sure I don’t do anything stupid… it’ll take two minutes, I swear.”  

“Oh yeah, tons of them. Some take a little longer to work out, and I know the downsides are… pretty big, but trust me. It’s not all bad.” Though that might have been two hundred years of bias talking. Harsh could barely remember the things he missed about being human. Going out in the sun had been nice… probably. But he had spent far more time out of it than in it. “I’ll show you a couple tricks, if you want.” There were some things that would come in time, learning how to manage the strength, the new power. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a light at the end of a tunnel. Because the tunnel was all there was now. There wasn’t much choice except to learn to love it. He grimaced, nodding faintly. “That’s… shit, man. Rehab shouldn’t be a threat, no one gets to choose that except for you, and only if you even want it.” Though Harsh had dabbled with various substances over the years, he had never messed with anything that could get him hooked. Blood was already a life long addiction, he didn’t need another one. 

Harsh kept his hand gentle on Milo’s shoulder. Empathy wasn’t a thing he could do. The sucking void where his soul should be saw to that. At least, not automatically. But he could try to think back to what his first few months were like. The adjustment hadn’t been that bad, but… he hadn’t done it alone. He cocked an eyebrow. So Milo already had another appointment. Well, he looked… rough. Maybe there was something else he was after, the whole ‘rehab’ thing probably didn’t come out of nowhere. Harsh nodded, smile still easy. “Sure, lead the way. Is this, uh… something that might get a little hairy?” It was that part of town after all. Harsh didn’t come here much if he could help it, but he had heard plenty of rumors. “I’ve got your back, Milo, just need to know what I’ve gotta do to cover it.”  

Milo so desperately wanted to believe what he was hearing. Maybe it wasn’t all bad, maybe he would come to realise that over time. It was very clear Harsh had, which gave him a genuine sense of hope. He had been intentionally dismissing the idea of the future, of time passing and him staying the way that he was. But suddenly the future felt a little less scary, if only for a second. “You- you will?” He asked, surprised by the offer. Harsh was so ready to help him, it was a kindness he was no longer used to. After fending for himself, he had grown to assume nobody was going to notice him, nobody was going to make sure he was okay, or teach him how to deal with the complications of his new life. “Why are you helping me?” The question escaped him before he could contemplate how rude, or dismissive it might sound. “No- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” He trailed off, pushing his hair away from his face where it was clinging to his damp skin. “I just mean… you don’t have to, you know? Nobody else has… but you are.” A grim smile tugging at his lips, it was comforting to hear somebody talk about rehab in the same way he talked about rehab. His parents refused to understand he didn’t want it, he didn’t need it. They continually tried to force it upon him. It only served to strengthen his trust in the man beside him. “They never fucking listen to me.” He admitted. “It’s a choice, it’s not like I have to. Rehab is for addicts...”  

He knew a lot could be said about the fact that he was insisting they visit his dealer before they left. And a lot could be said about the fact he was so panicked by potentially having no reliable source for his substances. But he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. Those were his mother’s words echoing inside his head. Her tone disapproving, almost, almost smug. Sometimes he wondered whether she actually enjoyed looking for loopholes in his logic. Maybe she did it just to spite him. His shoulders dropping with relief when Harsh agreed to follow him, he shook his head with a tired laugh. “No… no, not like that.” He admitted, beginning to walk in the direction he first had been. His hands were still balled in his pockets, nails digging into his palms as he considered the two hungers promised to be sated tonight. “I just- I don’t trust myself.” If he could blush, he knew his face would be glowing red. It was an embarrassing thing to admit. “I guess I’m also scared you might be some kind of hallucination, like if I turn away for a second you’ll just… be gone.” He felt a thousand times more vulnerable after being so honest, but he was smart enough to know it would be counterproductive to lie to somebody who might understand, who might be able to make him feel less ridiculous. “You are real, right? I’m not- I’m not going insane?” Jeez, how far had he fallen to need to ask that question?  

So this was gonna be a thing now. Great. Harsh had gone and volunteered himself to be a babysitter for who knew how fucking long. But that was… fine. This was the kinda shit that would’ve gotten him points for his stupid deal. A deal that was long gone now. But… hell, maybe he could get a new one. Maybe teaching Milo how not to get himself dusted would earn him some brownie points somewhere. And it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to talk to who wasn’t a fucking hunter. He gave Milo a little shrug. “If it was me, I’d want help. Like I said, I’ve been doing this for a while. I know how bad things can go if no one shows a new kid the ropes.” He nodded a little. So, this guy was definitely more than just a blood junkie. But hell, Harsh wasn’t in any spot to judge. Everyone had their vices. It didn’t sound like it was Milo’s fault that he got another one added on top of that. “Right? People get so judgey about that kind of stuff. I gamble a little too much a few times and people start handing me fliers for therapy and counseling. It’s such a drag. It’s my business, y’know? I know what I can handle.” 

This was probably one of the worse choices he had made in a while, following some new vamp he just met to probably go meet someone who was all kinds of shady. But whatever. Not like Harsh had anything better to do with his time. It was either this or pretend to patrol for another couple hours. “Ah, gotcha,” he said, nodding. “I’ll keep an eye on things. I’ll leave it to you, but if you start getting too antsy, I can bail you out.” Better to learn by doing. Harsh was going to help, he’d already agreed and he was a lot of things, but he kept his word. Mostly. When he felt like it. He cocked an eyebrow at the question. “Well, if I was a hallucination, I don’t think that saying I’m not one would help. But if I am one, I’m a pretty self aware hallucination. I can pinch you if you want.” He clapped Milo on the shoulder. Maybe the weight of his hand would at least be sort of reassuring. “Look, lets go talk to this guy, and if he can see me too, you’ll know you’re not imaging things, right?”  

Milo couldn’t argue with that. He had caught a glimpse of how bad things could become, had already taken one life in his struggle to understand what was happening. If he hadn’t been told by a passerby that he was a vampire now, he had no way of knowing how many other people could have gotten hurt. And that had been the bare minimum. Left to fend for himself, he had been longing for so many things. But scared, and confused, and Hell, lonely, somebody to help him had been at the very top of his list. A strange sense of relief washing over him, he could very nearly cry at Harsh’s words. Finally somebody who understood. What were the chances it would be another vampire? A person willing to walk him through this terrifying, disorientating change? “Exactly!” He agreed, maybe with a little too much enthusiasm. He couldn’t help himself. He felt so justified, so validated in his habits. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel judged, or alienated, or patronised. He was just Milo to this man, and that meant more than he could possibly put into words.  

Nodding quietly in thanks when his new friend promised to keep an eye on things, it wasn’t long before they began to near the meeting point his dealer had arranged. Offering Harsh a genuine smile when he tried to assure him he wasn’t a hallucination, the hand on his arm really did help to ground him, to remind him that this wasn’t some crazy, fucked up dream. “I’m pretty sure hallucinations can be self-aware, you know- if you hallucinate them that way.” He replied, if only to make conversation, and brush off how paranoid his previous concern had managed to make him sound. He wanted to apologise, to explain how much of a mess he was, but he had a feeling that might already be painfully clear. “Okay.” He said, figuring the suggestion was a pretty good way to make sure Harsh was definitely real. “Okay, that sounds good.”  

Rounding a corner to appear on a near empty street, he recognised the figure waiting at the end of the road almost immediately. His dealer of two years, Jay, was leaning casually against a lamppost, and he made a point of holding his breath before he could get near enough to catch his scent. No doubt his company would pick up on that, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hurried up to the familiar face, watching Jay as he cautiously eyed Harsh from where he was standing. It had been long enough for Jay to know he could be trusted as a customer, which was probably the only reason he didn’t look annoyed by the unexpected presence of a witness. “He’s cool.” He murmured quietly, overwhelmed with an emotion he couldn’t quite place at the realisation that Harsh wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Slipping his cash into Jay’s hand, it wasn’t long until he was given a small baggie in return. Shoving it into his pocket, he shot him a smile in lieu of thanks before turning on his heel to make his way back over to where Harsh was waiting for him. Not for the first time he found himself grateful that buying drugs had never been considered a social event. You got in, and you got out. Why wasn’t everything that simple? Listening to Jay’s footsteps as they faded into the distance, he suddenly realised he didn’t know what was supposed to happen next. Once again, he was being thrown into the unknown. Or maybe he was choosing to jump… Hopefully, this time, somebody would be waiting to catch him.  

Harsh had been around the block a few times. Though he had kept his addictions to blood and shifty poker games, he knew how they could get their hooks in, even long after death. And it sure as shit wasn’t going to help Milo if some asshole he just met started lecturing him on his habits. Not that Harsh was really the lecture type. He never had been. If Milo wanted to work that shit out, that was on him. But the vampire thing… that was more pressing. Newly turned vamps were always a concern. The more attention they drew, the harder things got for everyone else. Unless he turned them, Harsh tended to keep his distance. Too late for that here. But hell… it didn’t hurt to have someone around to talk to who kept the same hours and wouldn’t be grossed out by blood bags in the fridge.  

So that was definitely Milo’s dealer. Harsh hung back, expression casual, though he made sure to get a good look at the guy. Just in case. Milo was still new at this, and there was a good chance people who he ran into on a bad day could end up face down in a ditch somewhere. Or, if the guy caught on, well… he might have to end up there anyway. Better to wait to make a call there, see how things went. Maybe Harsh would never have to think about this guy again. Ha, as if things were ever that easy here. He clapped Milo on the shoulder as he made his way back over. “Everything good?” 

A stupid thought crossed Harsh’s mind. Just a really, absolute shit idea. But it didn’t go away. He gave Milo a long glance. The guy looked rough, like maybe he had been sleeping on a lot of couches lately. Probably assuming too much, but… fuck it. “So, you got a place to go, man? Y’know, it’s funny running into you, I’ve been looking for a roommate for ages. Not saying that to pressure you or anything. But… if you need a place to crash, I’ve got a new place and a couple extra blood bags in the fridge. Just saying.” 

Milo exhaled the breath he had been holding, doing nothing to hide his sense of relief. It was so much easier when he was with Harsh, he realised. Not just because he felt as though somebody was finally here to support him. But because Harsh smelled differently to other people. There was no heartbeat, no urge to drain him of blood. It was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. He nodded quietly in response to the question, grateful for the concern. “Yeah, I think so… thank you.” It wasn’t lost on him that this man had absolutely no obligation to help. And yet he had followed him to meet his dealer, had made an active effort to ensure his safety. Why? He wasn’t gaining anything in return. As if to make the whole thing even more perplexing, he was hit by an unexpected question. One that embarrassingly had tears blurring his vision. He hurried to blink them away, hoping his company wouldn’t notice.  

“I- no.” He admitted, staring in disbelief. “No… I don’t have anywhere.” Was he really being offered a place to stay? A safe place where he could live, and learn, and ask any questions he might have about his new condition? After so long of being alone, of struggling to find food, this couldn’t be happening. It didn’t make any sense. Even humans weren’t liable to help people like him, people with bad attitudes, and questionable habits. Surely vampires were no different. “I- only if-” He broke off, so overwhelmed that he found himself unable to form a coherent sentence. “Only if you have space- I don’t want you to feel like you have to…” He swallowed, lowering his gaze to the floor. “If you mean it, like really mean it… then that would be… I’d like that.”  

“No problem, man.” It was easy to offer Milo a smile. So far, he didn’t seem like an asshole, just like some confused kid. Harsh wasn’t the best when it came to guessing ages, but he seemed young. That plus scared and nowhere to go was a rough combination. So his guess was pretty dead on. It was probably an offer he should’ve thought about more, letting some random guy he literally found on the street come back to his new slightly less shitty apartment. But hell, he had made worse calls, some of them pretty recently. He slung an arm around Milo’s shoulders. “I mean it. I’ve got room, and… y’know, people like us, we’ve gotta stick together. The world isn’t going to hand you a bunch of blood on a silver platter. I’ve been doing this for a while, got a couple tricks I can teach you.” 

He turned the both of them, the stake in his pocket long forgotten. Harsh’s fake patrols could go on hold tonight. Not like anyone was watching to make sure he stuck to his whole slayer routine. Hell, maybe he could get Milo in on that too, might make things easier for the  both of them. Lightly pulling Milo along, he started back toward his… their apartment. “C’mon, kid, let’s go home.”

[flying-nightwing]

Dark Fox (3/7)

Heyyyy people. I’m finally back with part 3 for y’all. A bit of action, some more mystery ;) ;) Anyway, enjoy! And if you do like it, please don’t hesitate to comment your thoughts and reactions. It’s really encouraging to see support!

Previous - Next 

Pairing: Jason Todd x League!reader

Word count: 4307

Warnings: same as announced in part 1

"We got him, boss"

Jason sighed, knowing he'd have to kill his way out of this one. That meant he'd use his killing allowed wildcard for the rest of the mission and he wasn't particularly thrilled about it. He would already get the lecture about exposing they were on the case, and Batman wouldn't let him hear the end of it. 

"Guys, guys" He tried to buy himself some time to come up with an execution plan. "We're all friends here, aren't we?"

"Shut up" One more gun was pointed at him, this time in his face. 

"Come on man, I'm just a guy who--"

The lights went off. Jason didn't know how, because he hadn't been the one to cut the power, but he certainly didn't waste the small window of opportunity to  get out of the shooting line and disarm the man in front of him. He shot him, then the man behind him who had held him at gunpoint by the neck. He could hear running and screaming, orders being barked and the platoon around him moving. He turned around, ready to shoot whoever was there, but he found… Nothing. He adjusted his night vision lenses and only saw three more bodies around. 

Each ones with a black arrow stuck in their chest. 

Your feet were light when you landed behind him, like a shadow forming out of the darkness in the red emergency light glow. But he had heard you, his hearing was fine enough to detect the subtlest movement. From behind you could see the reflection of his red helmet, a new one that wasn't cracked. He turned slowly to come face to face with you. 

"You couldn't stay away for too long, could you?" 

You gave your answer by shooting an arrow at the provenance of yet another infrared line pointed at him, not looking away the whole time. But you knew you had hit your target, because you heard a body fall down the rail and onto the first floor. 

"We have three squads like this one headed this way" You informed him. "And I'd rather not waste any more arrows"

“Then let’s blow this popsicle stand”

“This way”

You ran through the first doorway to your left, knowing you would have an escape route there. You had learned the blueprint by heart, so you went toward where there were the most exit options. But soon enough, the motion sensor alerts your had configured on your watch vibrated, letting you know the squads were closing in. You stopped at the junction of three hallways, evaluating the situation. Jason practically bumped into you, cursing under his breath.

“Why are you stopping here?” He asked, looking in between the three corridors while you glanced up for a second. Bingo.

“They’re too close, it’ll be easier to get out here” 

“Easier--” He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What the fuck-”

He shut up at the glare you sent him, before going back to your plan. You loaded an explosive in your next arrow and shot the door, knowing it would buy you a few minutes by burning the digital pad. You then stepped in front of Jason and loaded a gas one and waited for the footsteps to arrive, bow drawn and aim locked.

“Hold your fire ready” You instructed, backing up so your back almost touched him. Your eyes never left your target, and soon enough, shadows began to grow in the red lights. His gun aimed over your shoulder. “And activate your smoke vision. When they go blind, cover me”

“You’re insane”

You didn’t have to respond in any other way than an eye roll when the squad rounded the corner. You shot in the crowd, the man fell down and a thick gas was released. You shot the same type of arrow on the other open hallway as you began to hear gunshots on the door you had shut down earlier. Shouts and cough echoed, then a rush to put on gas mask and find a moving target in the smoke.

Jason began shooting, angling his gun with precision. You did not see what he was shooting, since you didn’t have smoke goggles on. Instead, you aimed your next arrow at the glass ceiling and shot. 

“Fuck!” Jason yelled. 

“Stop whining” You bit back as he kept shooting around you. You tied the hook on your belt to an arrow and nocked it, aiming for the wooden structure above you. You shot right through it, then passed the wire through Jason’s belt to clip it on yours. You gave the line a tug with your bow, and it began pulling you up. You wrapped your legs around Jason and under his arms, bringing him up with you. He let out a yelp of surprise, followed by a curse, but you manage to finesse your exit before the smoke cleared. 

He grabbed the ledge of the wood a second after you did, and you pulled yourself up on the beam. You ran across it, away from the bullets and jumped a few buildings away, far enough so they couldn’t see you anymore. You made sure nobody had followed you before removing your mask. Jason did the same, hair sticking everywhere. The wind from the rooftop didn’t make it any better, but he didn’t seem to care. He only looked at you, confused as to what on Earth you could possibly be doing in Gotham alone, and as to how you found him just at the right moment, and probably as to what the hell had just went down. That had been your most dramatic exit so far. But it was the least important question of his that needed answering.

“Why are you here?” He asked, figuring out you wouldn’t speak first. You never spoke first, and that was one of the mysteries about you he had never been able to figure out.

“I need your help”

His eyes widened at your confession. You reached in your jacket and handed him the file, which he silently skimmed through, brows furrowed in concentration. Then, his features morphed into realization. You had been there at the same time as him because you had been sent on the same case he was working on. He should have expecting it, given your connection to the matter, but somehow it had never crossed his mind that you could show up. The only coincidence in this was that he had been investigating this project at the same time and place as you.

“Well, as it turns out” He began, handing you back the file. “I’m working on the same case, and my team could use your help too”

You raised an eyebrow.

“They’re not my team per say” He clarified. “We’re just coming together for the sole purpose of bringing this bio-weapon down”

“How well do you know them?” You asked carefully. “And they you?”

“More than I would care to admit” He sighed. “... Everybody there is keeping secrets. Yours will be fine”

You took a moment to think his offer through. You didn’t trust that said team, but at the same time, you needed them. After what went down tonight, there was no way you could handle it alone, or even only with Jason. And if there was one person that would be willing to cover for you, it was him. It was your opportunity to go through with your plan. You looked up again and gave him a firm nod. 

He combed his hair with his hand and took a deep breath. “They seemed to have found a way to stabilize the weapon and make it work” He said, looking at the city lights on the horizon. It was a surprisingly clear night for Gotham. “They worked quicker than we had anticipated”

You had expected that turnout, since William stamm was the scientist recruited to work on the project. A brilliant mind, but his insanity cost him a nobel prize or two. He would always create monstrosities that impressed, but most of all scared people. No wonder he had been the one to work for Luthor. 

“We should head back and inform the team of the new development…” He trailed off, sending you a glance. “All of them”

“Then let’s go”

---

“Woah what the fuck”

You easily caught mid-air the shuriken thrown your way, barely blinking at the action and the rather loud exclamation. The two men in front of you were on the defensive, even after Jason made a show of sighing and throwing his arms up in annoyance. Their eyes were on you, and you held the staring contest.

“Can everybody please calm the fuck down?” Jason came to stand in the way. “Tim, put that down, jesus”

Tim reluctantly put down his shurikens. “Who’s that?”

“And why is she wearing the league suit?” The other man said, still eyeing you like you’d attack them at any second. You recognized this one, Dick Grayson. 

“It’s help” He replied vaguely. “And it’s--”

“Because I’m from the league” You replied for yourself, taking a step forward. You pushed the shuriken back on the table toward them. “But I’m not after any of you”

“Well that’s good to know” Tim snorted before glancing at Jason. “You still did blow our cover, Jaybird”

“Anyone she can tell either already knows or don’t give a shit about your stupid alter egos” Jason rolled his eyes once more. 

“Still!” 

“I called her here to help, okay?” He lied smoothly. You didn’t react, but you were glad he did cover for you. “Would you just trust me one second?”

“That would be easier if you had asked before bringing a stranger here” 

It wasn’t easy to surprise you, but the fourth person joining the conversation did. You didn’t hear him come at all, and even now that you were aware of his presence, you could barely hear his footsteps. You turned your head to the side to take a look at him; he was tall and built for combat, like everyone else in the room. But his presence occupied a lot more space, and you deducted he was the leader of this little team. 

After all, you doubted Bruce Wayne would do well as second. 

“That stranger is the reason Red Hood got out without revealing you all were involved, and with a peek at their tech” Jason argued. “Which is now very much functional and probably ready to go”

“What?” Dick rejoined the conversation. “That’s not possible”

“It is” You replied. “Stamm is known to work fast and relentlessly until he succeeds. And as your surely know it, he’s got an impressive record of building up bioengineering monsters without a care on how it’s used. I don’t have trouble believing he worked ahead of schedule”

All eyes were on you now. 

“You know him?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“I know of him” You nodded slightly, crossing your arms in front of you. “He wasn’t there at the lab earlier, which means he’s either already long gone, or under Luthor’s protection. He won’t risk him exposing a failsafe, that is most certain”

“How much do you know about this bio weapon?” He asked, and you could not read the intent of his question.

“Close to nothing” You admitted. “I suppose you’re not that much more ahead either”

Jason snorted, while Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Then, he relaxed.

“Well, you did do us a solid by bailing out Jason” He said, a half smile appearing on his face. “I’d be glad to have you and your skills with us on this one”

Tim choked on his coffee and Dick’s eyes went wide. You ignored their reactions, not looking away from Bruce. He offered you his hand, and after a quick glance down, you took it and shook it. There was nothing friendly about the way you felt his muscles tense, it rather was a warning. A warning that although he agreed to work with you, he did not trust you and would take you down if necessary. The message was loud and clear. 

“I am aware of the way of the League, so I must ask” He began when your hand dropped to your side again. “Have you found anywhere to stay in Gotham yet?”

“This city has no shortage of empty warehouses” You answered indirectly, and he hummed. You still weren’t sure of his intent, and you would rather not him find out of some of your lairs. 

“Well, there are also no shortage of empty rooms here” He countered, and it was your turn to narrow your eyes. “You’d be welcome to stay here. It would facilitate relaying information, and since you already know where we operate…”

“Bruce” Dick warned. 

“What do you say?”

You looked at Jason beside you. You didn’t trust Bruce, mostly because of his obvious wariness towards you. He was probably offering that to keep an eye on you, or to have better control over you. But Jason gave you an affirmative nod, and him, you trusted. So you turned your attention back to Bruce and agreed to his proposition. 

“Thank you” 

“We can take care of your things tomorrow, if you have any more than what you have one” He pointed out, knowing you didn’t have any valuable left behind. And he was right. “In the meanwhile, there are some clothes here you can change into. They should fit”

“Come on, you can’t let her wear Steph’s clothes?” Tim whined.

“Shut up Tim” Jason groaned, throwing his head back. “She doesn’t even know it’s still there”

“You shut up--”

“Alright!” He sighed, knowing Tim would never let it go. “We’ll go grab the stuff now, we’ll talk about the plan tomorrow”

“You’ll show her an empty room when you come back?” Bruce asked Jason, and the younger man nodded. “See you tomorrow, then”

“Yeah whatever” 

-----

“That’s it” 

You halted your steps and turned to face Jason, who was panting and affirmatively mad. Heavy snow was resting on his shoulders and head, even on his long eyelashes. His cheeks were red from the cold, making the blue of his eyes pop out. He was glaring at you, but that wasn’t new. 

“You’re doing this on purpose. There is no point in that but to piss me the fuck out” He spat. “I bet you’re liking this uh?”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Are you done?” You asked, your neutral expression ever present on your face. “Nightfall comes soon, and we still have some distance to go”

WInter had come, and you thought it was time to leave the cabin for a while to train in less than ideal conditions. You had decided to trek up the mountain to set camp on higher grounds, where the snow and wind would be a good environment to build up endurance to the elements. But as usual, Jason disagreed. 

He threw his backpack on the ground, still panting. “No, I’m not walking another step. Let’s set camp here”

“This blizzard is coming down strong, and by morning there will be at least a meter of snow more” You informed him. “So we’d be buried alive. So if you want to stop here, be my guest”

You gave him a quick smile and resumed your ascension. You heard him curse under his breath, put his backpack on again and hurry after you. He did not comment for the rest of the journey, not even when you had to climb the iced wall of rocks or take an almost inhumane leap across a fissure on the ground. He could barely stand when you finally reached the cave on the non-exposed side of the mountain, his legs aching and his hands bloody under his gloves. You let him sit down as you prepared the fire and skinned one of the rabbits you had hunted for the trip, knowing he would have to rest for the next part of the training. You remembered too well doing the same thing, biting back your pain as not to show it.

You gave him his food as well as his personal space for a while, before you went to him again. You gestured for him to follow you, and with a groan, he stood up and limped after you. It became warmer and warmer the further you went, and down a small slope laid a round pool of steaming blue water, sculpted in the rocks by time and hydro pressure. 

“Is this a hot spring?” Jason muttered in almost awe and you nodded.

“It’ll be good for your muscles to rest” You replied. “It’ll also warm you. Next time, don’t forget your gloves”

“It would be easier if I had some” He snarked back with a scoff, but you had already walked away. 

You went back to the fire and set a pot of tea, knowing you’d take it alone that night. It was strange, not to have him around. For months you had gotten used to his presence, usually silent but there nevertheless. You liked to think as tea time as neutral ground, where whatever happened during training was put aside for a quarter of hour to decompress in peace. It made you realized you might have felt bad for the blisters on his palms and the almost frost bites he had gotten. But you were glad to see his progress with how he handled it, that being with a minimum of curses and complaining. A few weeks ago only he would have surely taken your head off for that. Granted, this little trip was far from over and there was still time for him to do so, but the worst was behind you.

You went out and cleaned the pot with snow, and put it in a corner with the rest of your stuff. You added some wood to the fire to keep it going and took off your jacket, hood and boots to have them dry nearby. You did the same with your pants and other layers, until all was left was your thermal protection. You went straight in the direction of the hot spring and put your remaining clothes on a rock, before you walked in the water.

Jason’s eyes went wide.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t answer straight away, you only tilted your head slightly to the side. Was he…  Uncomfortable? Unsettled? Nervous, even?

“Enjoying the hot spring” 

“I-- I’m already here” He argued, but he didn’t seem very confident in it. “Naked. And so are you” 

“... And?” You raised an eyebrow, relaxing in the hot water. He went to say something else, but he closed his mouth and sank a bit more in the water. You enjoyed the sound of the cave in silence, the echo of the water reflecting on the rock walls, the creaking and groaning of the ice and snow outside, not oblivious to Jason’s wary eyes on you. It was like he was expecting you to pull a sword out of thin air and attack him. 

“It’s just I’ve never seen you wear any less than three layers of clothing, that’s all” He grumbled under his breath. “It’s weird. You seem smaller”

It was your turn to widen your eyes, slowly. 

“Smaller?” You repeated. He mumbled a whatever, and it was the end of this conversation. Jason seemed to untense gradually in his corner, getting to the idea of you there as well. 

You could see the scars and bruises on his upper body. The gash in his shoulder from your sword had healed nicely, leaving a lightly scabbed red mark. There were a few silver marks around as well, and faded bruises on his chest from various impacts. He was tough, he would have had the potential to get in the league if it hadn’t been for his tendency to disobey any and every order given to him. But he had a huge potential nevertheless, and the more you worked with him, the more you could see what Talia saw in him. 

“I hate the cold” You admitted after taking a deep breath. His eyes snapped up to you in confusion, while yours trailed away on the rocks around you. “I hate the way it seeps through everything. It makes my bones ache”

“A weakness, I’ll be damned” He whistled lowly. “Then why are you doing this, if you hate it so much?”

You met his eyes. “Once you let your limits dictate the path you take, you’ve taken the first step to losing any sense of control on yourself” 

“Is this another lesson on self control?” He tested. 

“No” You shook your head. “I just wanted to let you know I’m not doing this to torture you, but because I know you’ll gain valuable skills from training in extreme conditions, as I did before you”

-----

Nobody was around when you came back from the warehouse. All the lights were turned off, and all that could be heard was the creaking of the wood foundations of the manor. You followed Jason down the hallway and into an almost empty room, beside from the furniture. He invited you to walk in first, and gently closed the door behind him. He turned on the light and waited by the door.

“So, where’s the camera?” You asked, looking around for it. Your eyes set on Jason, who had an eyebrow raised. “Keep your enemies closer, right?”

“There’s no camera in bedrooms” He replied with a small smile. “That’s rule number one. But if you gotta know, there’s one right outside your door that will monitor your every in and out. You can’t escape this one, but you’re welcome to try anyway”

You snorted.

“He’ll be watching you closely for the next days” He hummed. “He’ll be weird about it and not subtle at all. I guess you’re aware of his relation to the league”

“Hard not to” You said, throwing your bag on the floor. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for me to stay here? I’m not sure your brothers are very happy about it either”

“And you care since when?” He mused.

“I don’t” You took a step toward him, looking at him pointedly. “Just don’t blame me for defending myself if they jump me” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be on the sidelines filming it” 

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a playful smile stretched on your lips. However, it disappeared when you remembered the purpose of you being there in the first place. Jason noticed the shadow passing on your face, and leaned on the door behind him. He waited for you to speak, even when you made your way to the window, your back to him.

“Confrontation will be unavoidable” You sighed, looking outside into the night. “What if I give in?”

“You won’t” 

He said it with such certainty it made you turn your head to glance at him. How could he be so sure?

“I’ve never met anyone with as much self control as you” He explained like he had read the question on your face. “It’s fucking annoying. But you won’t be the one who flinch first, trust me. You’re too stubborn for that”

“Thanks, I guess” You mumbled, facing the window again. “But I don’t know how I will react when it goes down. My mother warned me…”

“When you were eight” He pointed out. “You’ve trained your body and your mind for this moment for years. I wouldn’t be so quick to discredit your ability to handle this with a certain detachment”

“Detachment?”

“Mmmm” He hummed, sporting that expression of his he knew had always gotten on your nerves as he stalked toward you. “You’re pretty stone cold” 

“I will beat your ass” You stood your ground, but he only grinned. Maybe because it came out much weaker than you had intended to.

“See? You’re proving my point right now” He stopped right on front of you. “Stone. Cold”

You held his stare, his vibrant blue eyes as expressive as always. He was poking at you, poking at your reaction to him. You were always so composed around anyone else, but he had sneaked inside your walls a long time ago. You didn’t have to keep your guards up around him, but that would be a problem now. You couldn’t let it come in between you and your goal again, not after last time. You’d have to be careful not to let your emotions and feeling for him in again. 

You took a step back, and he hid the hurt well on his face. After all, you did come back to him, and he probably thought it meant you had changed your mind. But while you welcomed his presence at your side on the field, you wouldn’t let it go further. And he’d have to understand that.

You’d have to get it on your head as well, it seemed.

“Thank you, Jason. For helping me” You muttered. 

“You’ve done the same for me” He replied with fondness, despite his disappointment. “Goodnight”

You nodded, watching him walk back to the door. Halfway through the threshold, however, you called to him.

“Wait”

He paused in the door frame, looking back at you.

“Will you stay in the mansion too?”

His eyebrows raised in surprise for a second as your words registered, but a small smile appeared on his lips as he realized what you were asking. You didn’t trust his family, and with him there, you’d have an excuse not to interact directly with them. He wasn’t supposed to stay, but your unspoken request made him think about it again. He wouldn’t oppose to spending more time with you, and frankly, he missed your daily training.

“Three doors down to your right” He said, before gently closing the door behind you.

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 4: Arkngthand

summary After a few days of guild work and running odd jobs around Balmora, Fahjoth’s thirst for adventure continues to grow. On being given an assignment to venture into a Dwemer ruin, he is elated — but is he getting ahead of himself?

content warnings mild threat/violence

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

  —————————————————————————————

“I joined the Mages Guild.”

“You what?”

Fahjoth stood there, knee deep in the Odai River and grinned back at Ribyna, who was sitting on the bank sharpening a chitin dagger. He knew he had the dopiest, silliest smile on his face, but he couldn’t help it; Ribyna’s incredulous expression was tickling him. 

“The fuck have you done that for?” Ribyna asked. “The only thing you can cast is a shadow.” 

“Oi!” Fahjoth laughed, too accustomed to Ribyna’s mean teasing to take offence. “That’s why I joined it. I want to learn! You should join, too.” 

Ribyna grimaced. “Nah, you’re alright. Didn’t you join the Fighters Guild as well?”

“I did! I think that’s where I’ll be most useful,” Fahjoth admitted. “I might not be any good at magic, but turns out I can swing a sword decently.”

In the days that had passed since Fahjoth arrived at Cosades’ house, he had done as advised and set out to build up his strength. In addition to securing membership in — and running a few menial jobs for — the Fighters Guild and Mages Guild, Fahjoth had visited several of Cosades’ recommended trainers to get some practise in moving in armour and using larger weapons than the daggers he was used to. With the gold he had been gifted, he had even purchased a set of chitin armour and a gleaming steel shortsword for himself, which certainly came in handy when exterminating rats from old ladies’ homes. 

Today, he was to meet Cosades at noon to receive his first assignment. Fahjoth was even beginning to feel a little excited; this was the very reason he was here, after all. Who knew what thrilling mission Cosades had lined up for the newest Blades recruit? 

But for now, while the sun was up and basking Balmora in a warm early light, Fahjoth had taken the morning off and met with Ribyna to catch up and relax. She squinted at him, finally paying attention to the fact that he was standing in the shallows of the river. 

“Any particular reason you’re going for a paddle?” she asked, finally setting down her dagger and nodding towards his feet. “It’s not that hot today.” 

“I’m practising a water walking spell I got from the Guild,” Fahjoth answered happily. 

Ribyna raised a brow. “You sure that wasn’t a water sinking spell instead? ‘Cause if it is, you’re doing great.”

“Oh ha ha. It’s a hard spell!” However, Fahjoth was ready to admit defeat for now, emerging from the river and sitting beside his twin to let his feet dry off in the sun. “So, what’ve you got planned for today?”

Ribyna shrugged. “Not much. I’ll see if Habasi wants anything doing. What about you? You off to see this Cosades bloke?”

“In a bit,” Fahjoth said. “He’s got my first job for me today, apparently.”

“Juicy. So are you gonna tell me what it is you’re doing now?”

“You know I can’t.” 

Ribyna turned to Fahjoth, her face falling into a rather petulant frown. “You‘ve never given a shit before. Come on, can’t you just tell me? Not like I’m gonna tell anyone, is it?” 

Fahjoth sighed, trying to look as sincere as possible. “I’d love to tell you, Beebs, honestly. I would. But Cosades made me swear to secrecy. I’m not allowed to tell anyone.”

Ribyna was quiet for a moment. “Is it really that serious?” Then she laughed. “I mean, it’s not like you’re a secret agent for the Emperor, is it?”

Fahjoth forced a laugh, feeling wildly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Hah! Wouldn’t that be mad?” Partly for a distraction, he shielded his eyes and glanced up at the sky. “Anyway, I should probably get going. Don’t wanna be late for Cosades,” he said, as he replaced his boots and hauled himself to his feet. 

“Alright.” Following Fahjoth’s example, Ribyna stood up and stretched with a dramatic groan. “I’ll see you later then. If you’re free, meet me in the South Wall Cornerclub this evening? I’ll get the first round in.” 

“Sounds good!” Fahjoth agreed with a grin, patting his twin on the shoulder as he set off for Cosades’ house. “See you later.” He turned and waved over his shoulder as Ribyna called back to him. 

“Bye, Fahji. Good luck!” 

 —————————————————————————————

As Fahjoth let himself into Cosades’ house, he was unsurprised now to find the older man completely shirtless yet again. In fact, it was a rarer sight to see him actually wearing anything over his chest. 

“You’re early,” Cosades remarked. “Good, that shows eagerness. Are you ready for your first task?”

“Yessir!” Fahjoth confirmed, trying to curb his enthusiasm and resisting the urge to salute. 

“Excellent. Here’s what I need you to do.” Cosades handed over a scrap of parchment, upon which instructions had been neatly scrawled — fairly useless to Fahjoth, as his reading ability was no better now than it had been when he had first arrived. He took it regardless and waited for Cosades to continue. “Go talk to Hasphat Antabolis at the Balmora Fighters Guild. Ask him what he knows about the Nerevarine secret cult and the Sixth House secret cult. You'll have to do him a favour first. Probably an ugly favour. But do it. Then get the information from Antabolis and report back to me.” 

Fahjoth paused, the spark of excitement that had been burning in his chest shrivelling up and dying within seconds. Disappointed didn’t even begin to cover it; he had been expecting daring missions full of adventure and maybe a little bit of danger to get the blood pumping. Instead, he was being sent to... gather intel? 

Well, there’s a bit of glamour in that, in a way, Fahjoth reasoned to himself as he made his way over to the Balmora Fighters Guild. Learning about secret cults was sure to be fascinating — not that he had any idea what the ‘Nerevarine’ or the ‘Sixth House’ even were. Still, it must have been important — to Cosades at least, if nobody else — and Fahjoth was determined to make his first assignment a success.

Hasphat Antabolis was, thankfully, easy to locate, standing in the base of the Guild in discussion with another member. Trying his utmost to seem polite and professional, he approached the Fighters Guild’s Drillmaster and waited for Antabolis’ conversation to end. 

“Good day, Associate,” Antabolis greeted, turning to Fahjoth once he had finished. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, sir. I’m actually here on a job from Caius Cosades,” Fahjoth explained. 

“So you're with Caius, eh? Let me guess, he wants information?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see.” Antabolis didn’t seem overly surprised. “Of course, there's a this-for-that involved here. I’d like to ask a favour first, and then I'll tell you what you want to know.”

Fahjoth had been expecting that. “Of course, sir,” he said, wondering what kind of favour Antabolis was looking for. Maybe to run some shopping errands, or to take some armour to be repaired?

“There are Dwemer ruins nearby called Arkngthand. I need you to run over there and find me a little copper cube. It's called a ‘Dwemer puzzle box’. Bring me back the box, and I'll tell you what you want to know.”

Fahjoth’s smile slipped for a moment as he realised what Antabolis had asked of him. “A Dwemer ruin?” he repeated, beginning to feel that flicker of excitement again — accompanied by apprehension, of course, but he pushed that aside. After the rigorous training he had received, an expedition into some Dwemer ruins was bound to be a breeze!

“Yes.” Antabolis began tracing the approximate shape of the cube in the air with his fingers. “It’s a little cube, about the size of a fist, maybe a little bigger. It will have a circular design, symbols on one side and some lined marks on the others. That's all I want, that little cube. You probably won’t even need to go venturing too deep into the ruins. Can you do that for me, Associate?”

Fahjoth nodded, feeling a wave of hopeful determination flooding his chest. “Yes sir! I’ll head there right now.”

After lingering for long enough to commit the instructions regarding Arkngthand to memory, Fahjoth set off, stopping at Cosades’ to collect his armour and sword before strolling out of Balmora on his next adventure. The sense of trepidation persisted, but it was drowned out by Fahjoth’s overwhelming curiosity and eagerness to explore new places and put his new skills to the test. It was just an old, uninhabited ruin, after all — as long as he was careful, he should be just fine.

Plus, he did have some experience with old ruins; he and Ribyna had ventured through the weathered stone doors of ancient Ayleid ruins back in Cyrodiil, with a group of friends from the Waterfront. Granted, they had barely gone deeper than the entrance hallway, but still! That had to count for something.

Fahjoth’s good mood only continued to grow as he reached the crest of an earthy hill, the vegetation having grown more and more sparse the nearer he got to Caldera. Once he spotted the Dwemer bridge, he couldn’t hold back a jubilant grin. He’d made it! Perhaps it was his euphoria at having successfully followed directions, but even the broad metal bridge itself had a certain rustic charm to it, despite being coated in a layer of dust and dirt built up over the years. Each footstep caused a reverberating clang to echo over the crevasse beneath, which Fahjoth peered down at with interest as he crossed, running his fingertips over the brass handle and feeling its mild, sunkissed warmth against his skin. 

Once he reached the other side, he was plunged into the shadow of Arkngthand. For a few moments, he was struck silent with awe at the sheer scale of it, the surrounding hills dotted by colossal turrets jutting out of the earth — and that was just the part he could see. From his position outside, all seemed still and quiet, but if he strained his ears and listened, he could hear something from deep within the ruins; the soft whisper of steam and a slow, gentle rumble that caused the hairs along his arms to stand on end with anticipation. And here was a scent that hung faintly in the air, growing more potent the closer in proximity he got to the ruins — a strange earthy yet metallic tang that lingered in his nose and even left a hint on his tongue. 

He recalled Antabolis giving him advice, suggesting that there would likely be an external mechanism to power the door. Fortunately, Fahjoth didn’t have to look too far before his eyes fell on a rusted metal wheel protruding out of the ground, which was somewhat stiff but still mobile. And once Fahjoth succeeded in twisting it, he heard the unpleasant groaning of metal and looked up just in time to see the ruin’s spherical entrance gliding open, revealing a door leading into what he assumed was the entrance hall. To his alarm, the rotating sphere began to slowly shut again, and so Fahjoth leapt into action and hurtled in through the entrance before it was sealed once more, assuming — and hoping — there would be some kind of opening mechanism on the other side. 

Once inside, Fahjoth’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. Along the dim hallways, strange elongated lights were fastened to the walls, casting a warm orange glow with which he was able to navigate. It didn’t escape his notice, however, that several wooden boxes and containers lined the halls, upon which candles sat — many flickering with a small flame. That seemed very unusual for somewhere that was supposedly uninhabited…

Then, he froze as it slowly dawned on him that Antabolis had never once claimed that Arkngthand was uninhabited. That was entirely Fahjoth’s own assumption.

And with that his confidence evaporated in an instant, to be replaced with a heavy apprehension that he could not shake. The ambience of the ruins only exacerbated his nervousness; now that he was inside, he could hear the clanking and groaning of ancient Dwemer machinery all too clearly, along with the occasional hiss as a puff of steam escaped from a loose joint in a brass pipe, both of which provided a constant, repetitive backdrop of noise that was impossible to ignore. Every so often, a much louder clunk or creak echoed through the tunnels, and Fahjoth flinched and froze, half-expecting the rusted supports holding up the dense stone walls to finally give way and collapse overhead. But there was no turning back now. He needed that cube.

The air now was stifling; warm, stale and thick with the acrid taste of metal, and only getting worse the further and deeper he delved into the ruins. Fahjoth began to feel beads of sweat gently dripping down his forehead and back, making him cringe with discomfort. With caution he pressed onwards, frequently pausing and straining his senses to listen out for any sign of life. And soon, it reached him; voices, coming from an area just up ahead, chatting amongst themselves and apparently oblivious to his presence. 

Fahjoth soon left the corridor and found himself overlooking a vast chamber, cut into the ground itself with stone slopes leading down to the base and up again on the opposite side to a second floor built into the cavern wall. Neither slope looked particularly structurally sound, and he grimaced at the thought of trying to sneak down undetected. So instead he stopped to listen, hoping to glean any information from the two men — an Imperial and a Redguard — loitering around a collection of boxes on the rough, stony ground beneath him. 

“How long are we staying in this shithole anyway? It’s fucking roasting in here.”

“No idea. Long enough for us to find enough Dwarven shit to make a profit off of, I guess. Since Crito’s found that weird cube, he reckons there’s more lying around that the right people will pay a fortune for.” 

“Really? He’s still holding onto that junk?”

“Yup. Keeping it in the safe room up there. He seems to know his stuff, so maybe he’s right.”

“Maybe. I still think we’d have been better off raiding a tomb, though.” 

As the men continued to debate the merits of sacking an ancestral tomb over looting Dwemer ruins, Fahjoth had his answers at least. The Imperial below had pointed upwards as he spoke, gesturing to a doorway on the upper floor of the chamber across from where he stood, which was as good a hint as he was likely to get. But even armed with this information, he was still faced with the issue of how to actually get himself over there without being noticed. He’d never been a particularly skilled sneak, but just maybe— 

“Come on, I’m sure there’s some flin ‘round here somewhere. I’m sure nobody’ll miss it if we just take one or two bottles.” 

Fahjoth could scarcely believe his luck. As the men began to amble further away and rummage around in some crates in the alcove beneath the second floor, he took his chance. As light-footed as a cat, but with less than half the grace, he scrabbled down the slope to his right, occasionally gasping and half-running as he felt rocks and soil shifting beneath his boots. It was with relief that he reached the ground, but there was no time to hesitate — within seconds he had crossed the chamber and was ascending the second slope, having to use his hands for balance as he clambered up the dilapidated ramp. At last he reached the next floor, where he was faced with another circular bronze door which he fully expected to be locked, but to his surprise, it swung open as enthusiastically as he pushed it with scarcely a creak. Clearly it was in frequent use. 

But as Fahjoth took a single step into the room, he found himself face to face with the largest Imperial he had ever seen in his life, whose broad shoulders were barely contained by the iron cuirass he donned. For a few moments the two simply locked eyes and stood in silence, both rather stunned by the sudden appearance of the other. Then, with a ferocious yell, the Imperial grasped the gleaming handle of a nearby battleaxe and swung it at Fahjoth without hesitation. 

With only a second to react, Fahjoth threw himself to the ground, panic wiping his mind completely blank. His first instinct was to flee, but now the man stood between him and the doorway, and there were no alternative means of escape that he could see. As he scrambled to his feet, Fahjoth leapt back as the man came lunging at him again and again with his axe, horrified by the determination on the Imperial’s face as he made one attempt after another to cleave him in half. 

The room, cluttered as it was with crates and stacks of shelves, was definitely not spacious enough to keep up these kinds of manoeuvres. Fahjoth’s only saving grace was that the man, in his heavy armour and wielding his cumbersome battleaxe, was far slower in comparison to him. But the man also had the advantage of both facing ahead and knowing the layout of the room. Continually driven back by the pendulous momentum of the blade, Fahjoth’s heart leapt into his mouth as his heel suddenly collided with a small box on the floor. With an almighty crash, he plummeted straight to the ground, bashing his shoulders on a brass pipe mounted on the wall behind him.

He risked a glance upwards. The axe blade was poised high in the air once more, ready to come crashing down over his head and split his skull into two. With blood pounding in his ears and adrenalin flooding his system, Fahjoth launched himself into a clumsy barrel-roll, tumbling past the Imperial’s legs a mere heartbeat before the axe fell upon the pipe that he had been leaning against. 

There was an ear-splitting shriek of metal on metal, but that barely measured up to the scream of the Imperial as a scalding jet of steam suddenly erupted from the broken pipe, filling the room with a hot, dense white fog within seconds. Fahjoth didn’t stop to check on the state of the man as he heard the axe fall clattering to the floor — his only goal was to escape. Squinting through the mist, he dashed around the scattered shelves and crates and hurtled towards the door, but as he neared it, something caught his eye. 

A small bronze cube sat innocuously on a row of shelves to his right, and Fahjoth’s heart skipped a beat. Without pausing to examine it, he grasped the little box tightly in his hand and threw his whole body weight against the door to shove it open. 

What he hadn’t been expecting was the door to smack the Redguard from earlier in the face, knocking him back against the wall with a yell and leaving him in a dazed slump, blood already pouring from his now crooked nose. Which meant that—

Sure enough, the first Imperial stood slack-jawed at the top of the slope, flabbergasted by the sudden appearance of a strange Dunmer. It didn’t take long for him to recover, however, and Fahjoth’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the man reaching down to his waist where a dagger hung in its sheath.  Fahjoth didn’t hesitate; driven by sheer desperation, he charged straight ahead like a wild guar, bashing his shoulder hard against the Imperial’s as he legged it haphazardly down the rocky slope. There was a yell and a dull thud from behind him as the Imperial, pushed clean off the edge of the slope by the force of Fahjoth’s bash, collided with the ground, and Fahjoth could hear only too clearly the enraged shouts of a number of men from behind him as they began to give chase. He didn’t look back. 

With his gaze fixed ahead of him and mouth dry, the beating of his heart as well as own footsteps ringing in his ears, his face feeling hot and his lungs cramping as a result of the sweltering atmosphere in the subterranean ruins, Fahjoth put his every ounce of strength into fleeing. With the head start he had secured he was able to bolt up the opposite slope, clambering up into the entrance tunnels and sprinting the length of the dimly lit corridors to the exit. At last, he turned a corner and Arkngthand’s entrance, his passage to the safe haven that was the outside world, suddenly popped into view. He stopped only to twist the copper wheel powering the entrance mechanism, his hands slippery with sweat yet whizzing around faster than they had ever moved in his life until, with a telltale groan, the spherical door ground open and daylight flooded the gloom.

The voices behind him were getting louder, their vicious insults and threats echoing through the tunnels, and though Fahjoth’s muscles were screaming for respite, he didn’t halt. He took off, rushing out into the fresh air, where a cool breeze caressed his clammy skin as his hands worked to spin the outside wheel powering the door machinery. Glancing up, he saw two figures come loping through the darkness of Arkngthand’s tunnels — before the door rasped shut once more, obscuring them from sight completely. 

As dearly as he wished to collapse into an inert heap on the dusty ground, Fahjoth knew he couldn’t relax yet. It would be seconds before the men — looters? bandits? smugglers? — reopened the door and resumed their pursuit of him. So it was with trembling legs that he trotted down the hill back towards the bridge, breathing a sigh of relief as no sound to indicate that he was still being chased reached his ears. 

Finally, he began to feel as if he could slow down. Now, with the adrenalin beginning to subside, he was left acutely aware of the stitch tearing up his midsection and each step felt almost torturous. The fog of panic was beginning to dissipate from his head, leaving him able to think clearly at last.

He glanced down at the cube in his hand, cold and surprisingly heavy now that he really focused on it. He examined the inscriptions donning the sides, feeling a stab of anxiety— what if, after all that trouble, he had picked up the wrong cube? But the more he scrutinised it, he realised it was more or less a perfect match for Antabolis’ description. And then came the overwhelming euphoria. 

He’d done it!

A grin spread across Fahjoth’s features as he gazed at the cube, so wide it almost hurt his cheeks. His first mission had been a rousing success — alright, it had been far from perfect, but besides a few scuff marks on the chitin of his armour, it was near impossible to tell that he’d even faced a struggle at all. And surely his superiors didn’t need to know about his unfortunate encounter. Why, he hadn’t even used his sword—

Suddenly, Fahjoth threw up a hand and slapped his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut in annoyance and embarrassment. Blinded by fear, he’d completely forgotten about the perfectly good weapon that hung in a sheath from his belt. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he and his shortsword may not have been much of a match for the brute of a man wielding a battleaxe anyway. At least, not yet. That was something to focus on in training. 

An echoing clang roused him from his thoughts and announced that he’d set foot on the bridge, but as Fahjoth looked up, he was surprised to see a man standing ahead. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he’d completely failed to realise that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alarmed to see the grey-haired Imperial, but he did wonder what the older gentleman was doing out here in the middle of nowhere. 

“Ah, don’t mind me!” Fahjoth called to announce his presence, holding up a hand to signify that he was not hostile as he began to stride across the bridge. “Just, uh, heading home—”

His words abruptly died in his throat, however, as a pulsating ball of blinding light suddenly erupted from the man’s outstretched hand, hitting Fahjoth square in the chest and flinging him to the ground like a ragdoll. He yowled in pain as the electricity coursed through his body briefly before dissipating, leaving him gasping for breath and struggling to regain full control of his limbs. The Dwemer box had been thrown from his hand as he fell; it lay around two metres away, between himself and the battlemage, whose hand pulsed with a sinister indigo aura as a walking skeleton clutching a war-axe suddenly materialised into thin air beside him. 

“What are you doing—?!” Fahjoth yelled, wheezing after the collision with the hard metal base of the bridge knocked the air out of his lungs. “I’m not— I don’t want to fight you—!”

But the Imperial didn’t seem to be paying any heed. He summoned another spell, a blistering ball of flame that he launched at Fahjoth, who managed to avoid it by a whisker by frantically rolling to one side, although he still felt a scorching wave of heat as the fireball exploded on the spot where he had been lying a mere second prior. Scrambling to his feet, panic building once more, Fahjoth was faced with the man preparing another spell and the skeleton, an actual intact human skeleton, loping towards him, brandishing its rusted blade and its bones creaking as they scraped against each other with every movement. For a split second, Fahjoth’s hand twitched towards his sword — but another convulsing ball of sparks coming his way dissuaded him from that idea completely. This was certainly not a battle he had any chance of winning. 

He lunged for the ground just as the skeleton swung its axe for his head, and Fahjoth felt the blade skimming the top of his hair as he narrowly missed being struck by it. With fumbling fingers he grasped the cube and heaved himself back to his feet, dancing backwards to avoid the spells still being flung in his direction and to put as much distance as possible between himself and the skeleton. Except, now, he had another issue; his opponents were in the middle of the bridge, obstructing the way ahead and preventing his escape. Thinking fast, there was only one thing for it; Fahjoth clambered over the metal railing at the side of the bridge, desperate for an alternative escape route. He was close enough to the start of the bridge, it probably wouldn’t be too far a fall—

But the moment he put both feet on the railing, he felt himself losing his balance on the rounded surface. He had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the side of the crevasse below, the walls of which were much steeper than he had anticipated, before he lost his balance completely and felt himself plummeting down, his stomach lurching up sharply as he descended. With a strangled yelp he hit the rocky sides of the cleft and tumbled down the rest of the way to the base, almost choked by the dense cloud of dust he had disturbed on impact with the soil. Once again adrenalin overtook him, lending him the strength he needed to drag himself to his feet and stagger the width of the crevasse and over to the other side, his grazed fingers still firmly clutching the precious cube. He felt more than heard the crackling of spells as they went whistling past his head, and a scuffing against the ground behind him indicated that the skeleton had followed his path down into the chasm. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself into beginning the arduous climb back to the top of the crevasse, scrambling up the rock face and skidding on loose dirt before finally emerging at the top. From the corner of his eye he could see the battlemage running the length of the bridge, trailing Fahjoth like a hungry wolf while still firing hostile spells at him as he gave chase. 

With one last burst of energy Fahjoth broke into another furious dash, bolting down the hill and sprinting along the path he now found himself on. He didn’t stop to look back, to check if he was being followed. His only objective was to return to Balmora as fast as possible. His lungs screamed with every frantic gasp of air he drew in, his heart hammering against his ribcage and reverberating dully between his ears. It was only once he passed under the arch at the town entrance and fled into the sanctuary of Balmora did he finally stop, and, in a haze of pain, exhaustion and sickening dizziness, he promptly fell to his knees. 

As he kneeled there on the dusty ground, struggling to get his erratic breathing back under control, it was a few moments before Fahjoth could even begin to process his thoughts again. The first thing he noted was that he was safe now; he was back in civilisation at last. Numerous guards patrolled the streets, their helmed faces occasionally turning to look at the outlander collapsed into the dirt — probably with disdain but that was the least of Fahjoth's worries right now. With his chest feeling as though it was on fire, burning up from the inside with every inhalation, he closed his eyes and let the pleasant warmth of the late afternoon sun wash over him, easing the tension in his aching muscles. Finally, his breathing began to slow, allowing for more thoughts to surface in his troubled mind.

The truth had hit Fahjoth like a warhammer to the face. Today had been nothing short of a disaster. It was almost laughable to reminisce on how excited and confident he had been when he initially departed from Balmora. He struggled to believe that mere hours ago, he thought he was prepared for anything. What a ridiculous notion that was. How could he have been so naive? If that was only the first assignment Cosades had given him, he believed wholeheartedly that he needed the blessing of the gods to survive what else might lay in store. 

His eyes fell down to the little cube he still clutched in his bloodied hand, the sight inspiring bitterness in his sore chest. First things first, he needed to return it to Antabolis; truthfully, he would be glad to see the back of it. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of how disastrous his little mission had gone. With embarrassment and misery now settling in his gut and pain racking him with every movement, Fahjoth dragged himself to his feet and finally limped his way back to the Fighters Guild for a less-than-triumphant return. 

[gaylenightingale]

TUMBLR Inu/Sess Mini Bingo

Chapter 2

Chocolate

@redalgaebloom

 (AN-Chocolate wasn’t introduced to Japan until 1797.  However, in this story suspend disbelief.  Please.)

 Inuyasha grew from a cherubic toddler into an energetic, enthusiastic preteen.   He worshipped Sesshomaru and tried to imitate everything he did.  As the only male figure in Inuyasha’s life, Sesshomaru became the one Inuyasha looked up to, the one he wanted to be.    It was not unusual for Inuyasha to hear about something Sesshomaru learned one day then want to try it the next.   When Sesshomaru discussed a reading, Inuyasha would beg his mother to teach him to read.   When Sesshomaru discussed a writing, Inuyasha would ask for her instruction.  When Sesshomaru said “red was beautiful”, Inuyasha wanted to wear it.   Izayoi realized why Inuyasha requested these subjects and was thrilled to provide as much teaching as she could.  She wanted to encourage Inuyasha to learn and grow.  She also wanted to encourage their bond.  She knew Inuyasha would need Sesshomaru when she was gone.  Her human life would be so short compared to his. She didn’t want her son to be lonely.

 Izayoi once mentioned the importance of thanking others when they did something for you.  Inuyasha perked his ears.

 “How do I do that mother?” The preteen inuhanyou inquired, his ears flicking in all directions.

 “Oft times one uses words to thank another; like “Thank you Milord.”  Gifts are another option, things like my embroidery samplers, homemade toys.  Don’t forget thoughtful actions, Inuyasha.  Holding the door open.  Sweeping up after yourself when you track in mud.”

  Inuyasha thought about those ideas and completely ignored the “sweeping up the mud” comment. He was focused on thanking Sesshomaru.

  When he was finished with his lessons with his mother, he took a run through the forest. He had figured out that climbing trees was quite easy and that he could run quickly between the tops of them. He had managed to run as far as a nearby village when he spied a young woman and a young man.  He stopped running to spy on them.

  It was not uncommon for Inuyasha to observe people from a distance.  Afterall the only people he could interact with were his mother and the maid and his half-brother.   The castle employees would point and laugh at his ears and say dreadful things about his mother.  The castle guards would throw rocks at him.  He did not complain to anyone about it though.   He just honed his skills and watched and listened.

He would eaves drop on villagers in the neighboring towns.  They didn’t know him so they wouldn’t throw rocks.  

 It was on this outing that he discovered chocolate.   Inuyasha saw one young woman held something in a wrapping and gave it to a young man. He opened it and took a bite.  The smile on his face was radiant.   Inuyasha became even more curious and watched as the young man dropped the gift and pressed his lips to the young woman’s.  A pleasurable moan followed.  The lovers became so involved in each other that they didn’t notice a puppy eared thief take off with the present.

 Inuyasha resumed his position in the tree and opened the package.  It was a dark bar that smelled good.

 Perhaps Sesshomaru will respond similarly, he thought.  ‘I don’t know what the lips to lips thing was but maybe he would like it.’   Inuyasha raced home with his present.

 That evening at 4:00 PM Sesshomaru stood in the garden awaiting Inuyasha’s visit.   He was excited.  He had many things to share with his baby brother today. Sesshomaru had really enjoyed time with his little brother.  It was the one time of the day that he felt invincible. All the rest of the day people were teaching him, kowtowing to him, annoying him with their pleasantries and fake praise. But at 4:00 PM it was all real. Inuyasha was a breath of fresh air.  He shared that with his mother who just snorted and walked away.

 Inuhime had heard the old witch’s prophecy and kept vigilant because of it.

When Sesshomaru was born an old hag dropped by the castle to leave her prophecy.  It read:

 When the second is born, the unity of the two will be grand.

Any attempts to separate will fail even though well planned.

In time a curse will fall and split the pair, love will slip away like quicksand.

During this time the enemy, he will assail, evil will be at his command.

Long and painful be the time that passes until united they stand

But when they do, faith, hope, love, peace; all will be well in the land.

 At that time Inuhime had thought the old woman a charlatan.  In the back of her mind she wondered if she could keep them apart would the prophecy come true.   The night Izayoi cried because the babe had colic, Inuhime realized it would be easier to stop a tsunami. However, she attempted to keep them apart anyway.   What would people say if her beautiful full blood demon was seen cavorting with a half-blood!  As the two aged it was clear they needed each other. Sesshomaru needed a safe place to be himself and Inuyasha needed a male figure.   Inuhime silently cursed Toga.  ‘Damn him for not being here to help.   Husband, if you are listening, watch over your sons.’

 That afternoon Inuyasha jumped out of the trees and ran to Sesshomaru.

 “I have a gift for you, Big brother!” the hanyou proclaimed joyously.

 Sesshomaru smiled.   ‘A gift from his brother would be a wonderful thing.’   “What is it?” He asked, a true smile on his face.

 “You will like it.  I know you will,” and with that positive cheerful comment Inuyasha thrust the gift to Sesshomaru.

 Sesshomaru smelt the gift even before he opened it.  ‘What a delightful smell’, he thought.    As he opened the package, he saw the dark brown bar.

 “Let us share this together, little brother,” Sesshomaru offered.

 “Okay,” chirped the hanyou.

 The boys split the chocolate, and each took a bite.   The taste exploded in their mouths.  They wanted more.   Before too long the bar had disappeared.   Inuyasha had a ring of brown around his lips.   Sesshomaru noticed it when he finished licking his fingers.  

 “Inuyasha, you have something here,” and he pointed to his brother’s upper lip.

 Inuyasha had seen the two in the forest, so he stood still and waited for his brother to make a move.

 “Inuyasha, all you have to do is wipe it off with the back of your hand.”

 “Oh,” replied the preteen. He wiped his face and smeared some of it.

 “Allow me,” said the older brother and he took his napkin and wiped the boy’s face.

 Inuyasha smiled but still wondered about the lip pressing.  Perhaps he could ask his mom.

 Sesshomaru proceeded to tell Inuyasha of all the things he had learned that day.  It was fascinating, but after about one hour both boys felt their stomachs growl and made their excuses to go to the bathroom.  Diarrhea was followed by increased urination then vomiting and restlessness.  By seven pm Inuyasha lay on the floor rolling back and forth moaning.

 Izayoi was concerned for Inuyasha.  She went to the main house.   A maid met her at the door.

 “Please, may I talk to Inuhime,” Izayoi began but the maid just slammed the door in her face.

 Izayoi tried again.  

 And again, the maid slammed the door.

 After four door slams Izayoi’s desperation led her to call out loud in front the area of the house that she suspected Inuhime resided in.

 “Inuhime, please help me. Inuyasha is sick!” she yelled, panic lacing her voice.

 The castle guards surrounded her and were dragging her off when Inuhime opened the window.

 “Is he vomiting?”

 The guards still held fast but allowed Izayoi to answer.

 “Yes, he is.  I can’t get him to stop.”

 Inuhime nodded and then closed the windows.   The guards remained in position surrounding the helpless frantic mother.

 Soon Inuhime arrived at their location.

 “You,” she pointed to the guards.  “Go! Bring the child to Sesshomaru’s room. Do so carefully or your lives will be forfeit.” The guards moved off but not before Inuhime heard one mutter.   A quick flash of her whip, and the guards doubled their speed.

 Then she turned to Izayoi.

 “Come with me.   Sesshomaru is showing the same illness.   We must get to the bottom of this. It may be a plan to destabilize the kingdom if both sons are ill.   I will call the advisors as well.

 Both boys were placed in the mammoth size bed.  Both rolled back and forth, holding their stomachs and occasionally vomiting.   Izayoi stood watch over them while Inuhime held an emergency council meeting.   Castle healers examined the emesis for any clues to the origin of the poisoning.   Izayoi watched as the healers avoided Inuyasha and cared solely for Sesshomaru.  She just imitated their actions.   After watching them take Sesshomaru’s pulse for the hundredth time Izayoi commented, “Inuyasha’s pulse is 150.  What is Sesshomaru’s?”

 A young apprentice answered. “My Lord’s pulse is 150 as well.”

 An old healer batted him in the ears.

 Izayoi was not discouraged. She pointed her question at the older healer.   “What is the purpose of knowing the pulse?”

 The master healer turned away from the human.  However, the apprentice approached the master and asked in a soft voice.

 “Master?  What is the purpose of knowing the pulse?”

 The master stared at the apprentice.

 “You slow idiot!  I will be looking into your training personal after this.   Vital signs such as pulse, respiration, and temperature are vital for a reason.  They can inform you on the course of your care.   A normal heart rate ranges between 60 and 100 for a grown demon.  Younger children may be a bit higher.   When a body is dehydrated like our princes the heart rate races.  We attempt to get it down with sips of water.  Too much and they throw up.  One half teacup an hour will be enough generally.”

 Izayoi did not miss “our princes”.  She bowed at the old healer.

 The master huffed.  “I did not say these things for you, Human.”

 “Regardless Sir, I am grateful.”

 The young apprentice’s eyes sparkled briefly and then he studied the floor intently.

  Moments later Inuhime entered the room.  

 “The council has met. No sign of sabotage or treason has been found.  We will just have to wait until the boys are able to talk to us to find out how they were poisoned.  In the meantime, the guards are all on alert.   Izayoi, you can stay her and rest on that lounge.  Healers assist her son as you are mine.  I will be available as needed.”

 So Izayoi rested.   The boys stopped vomiting around two am and then rolled into each other.  Sesshomaru clasped onto Inuyasha and brought him close to his body.  The heat helped the stomachache or at least that’s what he told his mother in the morning.  

 The following morning both boys were still exhausted.  They were allowed to sleep late.  When they did wake, they sipped miso soup and returned to sleep.   One more bout of vomiting and diarrhea followed but they were both on the mend.

 The council retreated, reassured by the healers that Prince Sesshomaru was healing.

 Izayoi relaxed and slept.

 Inuhime regarded the scene emotionless.  ‘What could have caused this illness?’

 Word count: 1888

 #inusess#inucest#mini bingo    

@redalgaebloom#Inusessbingo

[this-is-a-love-story-fleabag]

The Wedding Planner (1/4)

An AU in which Fleabag is a wedding planner, and Klare and Claire have found the perfect Catholic church to get hitched in... 2510 words. Also on ao3.

"Do you want some of the communion wine?" he blurted out, wanting her to stick around for a little longer. "I can't throw it away because it's holy," he explained, "and I probably shouldn't finish the bottle by myself. It's a good vintage."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is this the part where I say 'Sorry, Daddy, I've been a bad girl'?"

He coughed and nearly dropped the bottle. "'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned' is more traditional," he managed, fishing out two glasses and pouring them both a liberal serving.

The priest was beginning to think that officiating a wedding for the first time was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

"I realise that there are certain things that are unavoidable in a Catholic wedding ceremony," the bride was saying in clipped tones, "but if you could just tone it down a bit on the... incense."

"Right," said the priest with an uneasy half smile.

"And maybe try to keep the prayers snappy and efficient. These are very busy people, you understand."

"OK." He shifted in his seat. "If you don't mind me asking, is there some reason you've chosen my church in particular?"

"It's the only Catholic church within five minutes' walk of the company's offices," answered Claire without hesitation, sweeping her immaculate dark hair behind one ear and frowning at her Blackberry.

"And it's beautiful!" beamed her effusive fiancé, who was inexplicably also named Klare. He seemed to have a positive opinion on everything he encountered, so the priest didn't judge the compliment as holding much weight.

"Oh," said Claire, clearly not having considered the attractiveness of the venue in her calculations. She smiled warmly at Klare, her brusque exterior melting away for a moment. "Yes, of course, it's..." she looked around the chapel as though she hadn't paid it any attention before. "It is beautiful," she said more softly, taking a private moment with Klare as she met his eye.

It was this, more than anything else, that convinced the priest to go ahead with the planning. To be able to celebrate love and to mark the key occasions in people's lives were the shining bright points in his quiet, peaceful career, and the love between these two was easy to see.

"I'm sure we can create a lovely ceremony together," he said with his most winning smile. "Are your family Catholic?"

She scoffed in a way that he was fairly sure she didn't mean to be offensive. "God, no."

"My family are old Catholic, very old," said Klare delightedly. "Many, too!"

"Yes, there are so very many of them," said Claire tightly, giving the priest a significant look that her blithe fiancé entirely failed to notice.

"The whole Korhonen family!" rhapsodised Klare. "So much blond hair that it will look like the sun!"

Suddenly, a matching his-and-hers cacophony of phone alerts began to chime. Claire and Klare both consulted their PDAs.

"It was so wonderful to meet you," said Klare earnestly, shaking the priest's hand in both of his as he rose to his feet. "I am so sorry that we have to leave!"

"Yes, right," said Claire briskly, pulling a small business card from her pocket. "I'm too busy and important to deal with this at the moment so you'll mostly be dealing with my sister," she said, handing it to him.

The card was emblazoned with the name "Hillary's Events", some contact information and, incongruously, an illustration of a guinea pig.

"She has my explicit instructions, so she should be able to handle it," continued Claire, pulling more cards from her purse, "but if anything goes wrong here's my work number, and here's my mobile, and this one's for my secretary."

"Oh, your sister's a wedding planner?"

"Yes, she is wonderful!" said Klare.

"She's good enough," said Claire with a tight smile. It was impossible to tell whether that was the highest praise that she was capable of giving or if her reticence betrayed genuine misgivings. "If she tells you anything about the hen do, it's not true."

"Well, congratulations on your engagement," said the priest politely, following them to the front door. "You must be excited to begin your marriage."

"It's a vestigial patriarchal tradition based on the handing down of women as property from father to husband," said Claire vaguely, looking at her phone again, "but it's what you do."

She flashed him another smile and they left. The priest managed to summon up a dazed smile in response to Klare's effusive waving, and then repaired back inside to find a stiff drink.

The CEO, customer service representative, creative director, office manager, head of human resources, tsar of morale, and sole employee of Hillary's Events was hiding under the desk in her office.

"M'lady!" hollered the lawyer through the keyhole. She burrowed further underneath the table, pushing a pair of shoes, a surprising amount of paperwork, and half a Mars bar out of her way.

A lunchtime quickie had seemed like an excellent idea at 3am when she'd sent him the original text, but the cold harsh light of day and one rapid but effective wank had dispelled the urge, and the prospect of trading half an hour of his loathsome company for some admittedly excellent sex no longer appealed.

A better adult, she reflected as she gave the Mars bar a sniff and began to eat it, would probably have simply cancelled their meeting and apologised, but if a successful businesswoman who ate a salad earlier couldn't do something grossly immature, who could?

Her desk phone began to ring and she groped blindly above her head to grab the receiver.

"Hillary's Events," she hissed into the phone. The lawyer continued his relentless pounding at the door.

"Uh, hi," said a voice on the other end, sounding confused. "I'm, uh, I'm calling about Claire's wedding? I'm the priest?"

Fantastic timing. "Great, thanks for calling," she whispered. "I'd like to send you over some bits about the ceremony to go over when you've got a moment."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry, but why the fuck are you whispering and what the fuck is that noise?"

"Get back out here, you little minx!" shouted the lawyer at possibly the worst moment.

"If you're in the middle of something, I can call back some other time," said the priest, radiating discomfort over the phone.

"That's just a... colleague," she breezed, settling more comfortably in her hideout. "He usually tires himself out in a couple of minutes."

"Do you need me to call someone? The police, or..."

"No, Father, it's fine." She scrabbled around on her desk again and retrieved a pen. "What's your email address?" She uncapped the pen with her mouth and made assenting noises as she scribbled it down. Thankfully, the lawyer got bored at this point and left.

"AOL?" she teased gently, reading the address back to him. "I thought the Catholics were stuck in the 1690s, not the 1990s."

"Oh, fuck you," he laughed.

"I hope you're going to swear this much during the ceremony. It would certainly liven things up."

"I'll try to keep a lid on it. I get the impression your sister wants it to be... efficient."

"Yes, she was very specific. Brides don't usually give me binders that are colour-coded and have bullet points and subheadings."

The main instructions that Claire had left her with, other than the binder, were "don't fuck this up," and "the priest is quite hot, don't make it weird." She had to admit, he did have a nice voice.

"How long have you been in the wedding planning business?"

"A few years. I started it with my best friend, but she's... it's just me now." She paused for a minute and let the wave of grief hit her and then recede. "I need to come and check out the space sometime," she said, businesslike. "When's good for you?"

"I've some time this afternoon after Mass?"

"Great, I'll meet you there at four."

It was a few moments after she hung up the phone that it occurred to her that she could emerge from under her desk and sit in a real chair. Hillary and Stephanie had the run of her desk at the moment while she refreshed the sawdust in their cage, and they were enthusiastically nibbling on Mr. and Mrs. Dollner's silver wedding anniversary invitations.

"Let's put you back," she murmured to them, brushing some tiny rodent poops off a stack of place cards. "Mama's got to get to work."

The priest was just saying his farewells to the last few stragglers when Claire's sister walked through the door. She was easily recognisable, both due to family resemblance and the fact that, strangely, she looked exactly how she sounded on the phone.

"You must be the wedding planner," he said, greeting her with a handshake.

"You must be the priest."

"I guess this is a bit of a give-away," he said, gesturing to his robes.

"You're either a member of the clergy or you've got a very specific fetish," she breezed, walking past him to survey the church. He gaped at her for a moment and then shook his head and let out a laugh. She looked back at him over her shoulder, a pleased twinkle in her eye.

She strode along the aisle, gesturing around with an assessing air. "It's a pretty straightforward set-up. Flowers at the ends of the pews, videographer here, photographers here and here, string quartet up here. One bridesmaid, one groomsman."

"You've got this down to a science, wow."

"I've learned through trial and error that you can half-ass up to 80% of a wedding before anyone notices."

"That's... good to know."

"Do you have any of these," - she gestured up and down at his robes - "in some other colours? The scheme has a lot of purple in it."

"I have just the thing," he said, ushering her through into his office. He pulled his favourite purple robes out of the wardrobe and held them up for inspection. Drawing a card of swatches from her handbag, she squinted at them and then gave an assenting nod.

"Right, I think that's all I-"

"Do you want some of the communion wine?" he blurted out, wanting her to stick around for a little longer. "I can't throw it away because it's holy," he explained, "and I probably shouldn't finish the bottle by myself. It's a good vintage."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is this the part where I say 'Sorry, Daddy, I've been a bad girl'?"

He coughed and nearly dropped the bottle. "'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned' is more traditional," he managed, fishing out two glasses and pouring them both a liberal serving.

"I defy you to tell me the difference."

Sitting down on an ancient chair and gesturing for her to do the same, he chuckled. "Well, fuck, you've got me there. You only have to say that if you want to confess your sins to me, anyway. Which you're welcome to do, if it helps."

"Can't," she said wryly, taking a sip and relaxing onto a chair. "I've sworn a blood oath to never reveal what happened on Claire's hen do."

"Lots of sinning?"

"Tons." She swirled the wine in her glass and held it up to the light. "The blood of our lord and saviour is pretty tasty."

"I take it you're not religious."

"Afraid not. I won't burst into flames, will I?"

"I don't think He would mind," said the priest, making a vague gesture at the ceiling. "You're doing God's work, after all."

"Wedding planning?"

"He's quite into marriage, on the whole."

She snorted. "Makes one of us."

He leaned back in his chair and stifled a laugh, enjoying the enigma of this contradictory woman. "You made a fucking strange choice in profession, then."

"I find that the fact that I don't believe at all in the institution of marriage really helps calm people down."

"You know, the Bible says that-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Yes, the Bible is very clear that marriage is a sacred and beautiful union between a man and one or many women."

"So cynical!" he crowed, throwing his head back in laughter. "I was going to say that it says that a cord of three strands is not easily broken."

"Are you inviting me to a threesome, Father?" she smirked, her lips stained a tempting red from the wine. "Because I'm not saying no."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm saying that the way you help to join people together makes them stronger."

"On average, marriage knocks 1.4 years from a woman's lifespan, and adds 1.7 years to a man's."

"So that's a net gain of," he waved a hand vaguely, "0.3 years!"

"That's one way to look at it."

"Don't you see anything wonderful in what you do? You're helping people to celebrate their love!"

"In the most meaningful and legally binding way. Tell me, why do people choose to make the most significant expression of their love predicated on a legal construct that the government can take away from them at the drop of a hat?"

"The protections that marriage can afford are-"

"If I fell in love with a woman and wanted to marry her, there are only 28 countries in which that marriage would be legally recognised. If I'd fallen in love with someone of a different race, that marriage would have been illegal in some countries until the late 20th Century."

"You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

She put a foot up on the wooden chest in front of her, really getting into her stride. "That's not even taking into account the children who are forcibly married off to men twice their age, the women killed for not being virgins on their wedding night, and the fact that spousal rape was technically legal in this country until 1991." She took a gulp of her drink. "This isn't some abstract philosophical problem from the past, this is something that's happening to real people right now."

"So why-"

"I guess... I grew up thinking that marriage was some bizarre thing from the olden days that we didn't have to do any more, but then when I was an adult all my friends started getting married, and it meant something to them."

She looked down at her hands, clasped around the glass. "I think the thing that it means to them is beautiful."

"So you do believe in love."

"Absolutely, it's just that it sometimes feels like I'm shoving a princess into a white dress so I can send her off to live in a dragon-guarded castle."

"That sounds fucking amazing."

"Sorry, that was a bad example."

"Don't you find it beautiful that for thousands of years, people have chosen to celebrate their commitment to each other in front of their community?"

"If you think it's so beautiful, why have you chosen a profession which forbids you from getting married yourself?"

"I am married... to God," he mumbled, aware of just how that sentence sounded.

She screwed up her face. "Ugh."

He buried his face in his hands. "I know!"

"Just... ugh."

"Fuck, I can't believe I said that out loud. I really wanted you to think I was cool."

"Sorry, Father, I think that train has sailed."

"No, no, no, no, the wedding's not for another few weeks, I have time to convince you."

"I'll drink to that," she murmured, and then she did.

[blackdragon-selfships]

1 with Aaravos? ^^

Sure thing! ^^

Selfship Drabble Asks

1. First Meeting

This is actually something I wrote a while ago, but it seemed appropriate. It’s Canon-divergent and any TDP fans reading, it takes place during the episodes surrounding Viren and the Pentarchy as he tries convincing them to fight back against Xadia with Katolis. It’s thanks to a collective discussion between true-Neutral-earth-elf and beautifulterriblequeen, two really cool blogs that have a lot of interesting theories and discussions, where they were talking about a “what if” scenario. If Viren successfully convinced all the monarchs to go through with his plan of fighting Xadia, what would happen?

To summarize their discussion, Duren (Queen Aanya’s kingdom) would suffer the most either way. Either the elves or Katolis would take control of it. In this story, Katolis takes over.

Viren becomes busy preparing for war on Xadia. I can’t really see how he’d get around Opeli’s wrath from him going behind her back, but that isn’t the point. He’s got everyone on board and they’re going to war (eventually). This leaves Aaravos’ mirror covered. Viren has no need to risk whatever the mysterious elf had started with him, so he doesn’t bother with the mirror for the time being.

Enter Meg, his quiet assistant (in this storyline) that mostly documented the creatures used in his and his apprentice daughter’s (Claudia) spells. She isn’t important enough to know what he’s up to but she has seen him going down into the secret storeroom quite a few times. She knew there was an elf locked up down there...a Moonshadow elf who assassinated the king. She had never seen an elf before and thought now would be a good time to see one with her own eyes...

(Story snippet/chapter starts here)

Meg navigated the tunnels with little difficulty after climbing into the secret passage behind the portrait before pushing the right stones into the wall to open the door. Thinking no one would be down there (except the elf, of course) she made her way down the stairs without pause. Only to freeze in her tracks when she spotted the man chained to the wall in the main chamber.

It was Commander Gren. They weren’t exactly friends, but she knew him and that he was General Amaya’s interpreter. What was he doing down here?

“Oh, hey! Meg right?” He smiled good naturedly at her as she just stared, “Viren’s assistant?”

She nodded.

“I thought so! Well good to see you.”

She blinked.

“...what are you doing down here?” She finally asked.

“Me? Well...Lord Viren’s orders.” He grinned sheepishly, “he took me off my mission then had me locked up. But don’t worry! I’m sure I’ll get out of here any day now! Uh, what day is it, by the way?”

“...Saturday?”

“Oh. It feels longer.”

“...yeah...”

An awkward silence.

“Well good talk.” Gren smiled again then went back to sitting against the wall. Meg didn’t know what to say so just...walked past him to the cell door. She presses her ear to the wood, listening for breathing or chains shifting. Anything.

She then took a deep breath and pushed open the door to find-

An empty room.

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. Where was the elf? This was the only closed cell in the dungeon. She pouted, arms crossed, then looked around the room with her eyes for clues. What she saw didn’t give any further ideas of the elf’s whereabouts, but she did notice several odd things.

A velvet cushioned armchair was positioned in the middle of the room facing something with a sheet covering it. That was strange...what was a perfectly good chair doing down here? The sheet was also suspicious. It could be covering something interesting. Why else would it be down here?

Making up her mind, Meg walked over to the sheet and after stopping to listen for footsteps but hearing nothing but Gren whistling a simple tune, she pulled it down...

...and revealed a beautiful glass mirror, decorated in runes she couldn’t decipher and carved from a wood she couldn’t identify. That wasn’t the most interesting part, however. The mirror was giving off a light that didn’t reflect the dungeon. It was showing an ornate, but small, library it seemed. Bookcases and a crackling fireplace as well as an empty desk in the background. She stared in awe at the beautiful room, wondering where this was.

The door on the left then opened and she gasped. A cloaked figure emerged, walking gracefully down a two-step platform and into the main room. She watched as they walked a little ways in before turning rather swiftly and looking right at her. Could they see her? Apparently so, because they turned fully and walked toward her.

Her eyes widened slightly and she found herself backing up toward the door. Something about this figure intimidated her but she didn’t know what. They stopped and she noticed the table in front of them on what she could only guess was their side of the mirror. Not only that but they didn’t reach toward her or anything. Could they be inside it and unable to get out? Like in the Soul Transfer spell?

It was a little known secret...but Meg had taken a peek at Viren’s book of spells. She was curious to at least understand the idea but not practice it. Maybe it would help her connect with him and Claudia a bit better (or just Claudia, more likely...) The spell to trap someone’s Soul in an object was one of those she found and couldn’t bring herself to believe Viren or Claudia would use. It was highly advanced and...evil.

Wait...was that what happened here? Did Lord Viren punish the elf assassin by transferring his Soul to a mirror?! Her eyes widened and she clamped a hand to her mouth in horror at the thought. Something that must have been misinterpreted as a scream by the cloaked stranger whose own eyes widened. He raised a hand that glittered like stars, in a placating manner as another went to his lips in a shushing gesture.

She stood there, frozen, as the figure watched her. She then lowered her hand and willed her tension to fade as she moved toward the mirror again. Only to stop and look back at the door. Would it be a stupid idea to close it? The elf didn’t seem to be in a position to attack...

She made up her mind and turned, carefully pushing the door shut, then turned back to the mirror. The elf had lowered his hands and was now watching her with a curious head tilt. She took a deep breath then walked back over to him and he followed her with his eyes.

“Are you the elf assassin?” She looked up at him. He was...quite tall. Was that normal for elves?

He looked down at her but said nothing. She frowned slightly.

“Are you the elf who assassinated the king?” She repeated a bit louder. He continued to look at her, but his eyes were on her lips now. She blinked when she noticed this, realizing he was reading her lips.

“Wait...can you even hear me? Just a nod yes or no will do.”

A pause. A very long pause. Then a slight shake of the head. No.

“No? Are you deaf then? I know someone that’s deaf...but I don’t know sign language...or how to read it.”

Again his eyes returned to her mouth.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She cleared her throat and tried again more slowly, “are you deaf? Is that why you can’t hear me?”

Another pause before he shook his head again.

“Not deaf? Then is it...this? The glass?” She rapped the mirror with a finger. His eyes and head followed her movement. He then looked her in the eye and smirked.

A chill went up her back when she saw that smirk. It gave her mixed feelings she couldn’t place and she wasn’t sure how to process it.

“I-I’ll take that as a yes...” She gulped. He tilted his head down in an agreeing nod.

“That must not be fun...” she frowned pityingly at the mirror, “who did this to you?”

Another pause. This time he frowned but it seemed to be in thought. He then shook his head.

“You don’t know?” She guessed but didn’t get a straight response, “is there some way to communicate then? Paper and quill maybe?”

He read her lips again then smirked. She didn’t understand what that meant until he gestured to the spread on his table. She looked down at it, at the broken geode next to a silver goblet and the red cloth depicting a symbol sewn with golden thread...and a curved knife resting next to an empty bowl.

She raised an eyebrow at him. He gestured to the spread again, then nodded his head to the right. Her right. She then realized he was telling her to look to her right, and when she did she found the same spread.

“...that looks like stuff for a magic spell of some sort.” She walked over to it for a closer look. Like the table in the mirror, this one had a broken geode next to one of the castle goblets, an embroidered rune on cloth, and a knife stabbed into the wood of the table. Who could this belong to? Lord Viren? Was this what put the elf in the mirror?

She looked back over at him and he nodded slightly. To what she couldn’t tell, but she hoped he hadn’t just read her mind. He then picked up the knife and showed it to her. She felt another shiver, this time of nervous dread, when she saw it. He then held it up to his palm over the pot in front of him and looked her in the eye. As though daring her to do the same.

“...I-I dunno...” she held her hand to her chest worriedly but faced him so he read her lips, “I’m not really comfortable with all that Dark Magic stuff Viren and Claudia do.”

He continued to hold his hands out. Knife to palm with what she could only assume was an encouraging expression.

“Isn’t there another way?” She almost pleaded. The thought of cutting herself made her skin crawl. He shook his head, fingers flexing slightly and palm nudging toward her. Pressing the knife just a bit deeper but not cutting skin yet.

She must be crazy to actually do this. To follow the instructions of an unknown elf just for some answers to personal curiosities. She sighed, then reached for the knife and yanked it from the wood. If this killed her then lesson learned. Damn her curiosity!

She turned her head to watch the elf. He smiled, then curled his hand around the knife until it pierced skin and bled into the pot. There was a puff of purple smoke before it glowed red. Meg then did the same, gritting her teeth at the sharp prick of the steel against her flesh before a trickle of blood fell from her palm into her own pot. The same effect happening.

She then turned as she saw the elf open his mouth. Was he going to speak? She turned fully and waited. Only for him to lift his tongue and for a purple caterpillar of unknown nature to crawl out of his mouth and onto his raised hand. She should be disgusted by this...but found herself only fascinated.

He then lowered his hand to the pot, finger barely touching the swirling purple and red liquid within. The caterpillar then descended and with a purple puff of flame appeared in her pot. Circling the inside a few times. She stared at it, then glanced at the elf. He nodded his head for her to proceed, smirking again. She then took a deep breath and carefully lowered her hand toward the caterpillar.

This wasn’t the first time she had done this. As a wildlife researcher she dealt with them all the time, including picking them up for closer examination. The caterpillar immediately crawled up her hand and along her arm. She watched its progress until it went up her neck and stopped at the shell of her ear. What?

She tried glancing sideways at the caterpillar and waited. Then raised a hand as though to pick it up before it crawled inside her ear. It could-

“Speak.” A raspy, deep voice commanded right next to her ear. She whipped around, eyes wide. The door was still closed and the room was empty. Which meant...she slowly turned back toward the mirror and this time saw his lips move as the voice spoke again.

“Speak so that I may hear you.”

“...” she swallowed, “h-hello?”

“Ah...” He sighed, his expression one of bliss, “how long it has been since I’ve waited to hear the sound of another voice...” He then smirked. “How may I serve you?”

She stared, unsure how to respond. First of all...she did not expect that voice to come out of that mouth. Second, was the caterpillar how they were talking? Third...what did he mean serve?

“E-excuse me?”

“You wished to speak.” He smirked, “which means you have need of my services, correct?”

“Uh...I think there’s a misunderstanding. I was just wondering if you were the elf that killed King Harrow?”

A pause.

“I do not know a King Harrow.” He tilted his head slightly, “who are you looking for? Perhaps I can help.”

“Oh, no I wasn’t looking for anyone. I was just wondering if it was you...but apparently not.”

“Do you know anything of this elf?”

“A bit? I only know he was a Moonshadow elf, but nothing else.”

A contemplative look came over the mirror-elf’s face.

“A Moonshadow...I see.”

“I thought he would be here. I just wanted to see him with my own eyes, since I’ve only ever seen elves in books and...well mostly books.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to mention what Viren did with the other assassins’ remains, “but he isn’t...if you aren’t him.”

“The one you speak of must be the Moonshadow elf I saw in here a while ago. He is long gone now.”

“I figured that...but thanks for confirming....” She smiled slightly before it fell, “what about you? Were you captured too?”

“No. I have been here for much longer.”

“How long?”

“The passage of time is all but irrelevant here.”

“...where is here? In the mirror?”

“...I don’t know.” He admitted. He looked a bit...confused. Concerned maybe?

“You mean you don’t know where you are in there?” She pointed to the surrounding scenery behind him, “or where the mirror is?”

“The former I think. Though the place you are in is also unfamiliar.”

“That’s weird... So you don’t know where you are. Do you know how you got there? Was it a Dark Mage?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. His gaze fell on the door behind her. Eyes sharp.

“Someone is coming.”

“What?” She whipped around and heard footsteps, “oh no...it’s probably Viren!”

She turned back to the mirror and grabbed the sheet.

“What are you doing?” His tone carried a slightly panicked note and she stopped to look at him. His eyes now on the sheet.

“I have to cover the mirror or he’ll know someone’s been down here.” She explained, “and if he traces it back to me I’ll be in a lot of trouble probably!”

“Then do so quickly and hide. There is not enough time to flee.” He commanded and she found herself obeying without hesitation. She tossed the sheet back over the mirror and jabbed the knife back into the wood, then looked around for somewhere to hide. The room was empty aside from the table, chair, and the mirror.

The chair was a horrible hiding place. Too small a gap and in plain sight. The table was a better option but the door was still positioned where someone would see if they looked down far enough. Mirror it was. It was big and tall enough to hide behind and the sheet made it denser.

She squeezed behind it as she heard the footsteps grow louder and closer. Commander Gren’s cheerful greeting carrying through the wooden door but the visitor ignoring him. She slid to a sitting position behind the mirror finally, and just in time because the door was pushed open soon after. The clack of a walking staff followed by footfalls echoing in the small room and leaving no doubt in her mind it was Lord Viren.

He stopped in front of the mirror and there was silence. Then the sheet was yanked down and the pale blue light from the mirror room flooded the dungeon cell. Meg froze, not daring to shift even an inch for fear of his sharp eyes catching it. He stood in front of the mirror then and she waited.

“I know you understand what I am saying, so pay attention. I may not know why you were so important to the king of the dragons, but that will change eventually. Without you.” She could hear his smug smirk from where she sat, “there is bound to be another elf that will tell me all I need to know. In the meantime I am keeping this down here. Away from prying eyes.”

He then turned and left the room. Meg listening until she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore.

“He is gone.” She jumped. That was not going to be easy to get used to...

“What was that all about?” She grunted as she pushed herself up and shimmied our from behind the mirror to face the elf again.

“That was my previous Mage before you finished the spell.”

“Oh, so it was Viren-Wait. Previous Mage?”

“I could tell immediately he was a mage.” He looked from the door to her.

“Well yeah, he doesn’t really hide it...but what do you mean your previous Mage?”

“Nothing as elaborate as you think. Just that he started the spell, but you finished it.”

“...but I’m not a mage. I don’t have anything to do with magic usually.”

“Really? Hm...well you are now. Congratulations.” He smirked.

“But I didn’t do anything? I just cut my palm...which I should probably bandage up before it gets infected.” She grimaced down at it, “I should also get going...if I’m gone too long someone will eventually notice.”

This wasn’t even remotely true, but she didn’t want to get caught like this. The elf in the mirror frowned and she couldn’t help but think it was a bit disappointed. Maybe even lonely.

“I’ll try to come back some other time though.” She offered, “if you want.”

“If that is what you wish.” He replied a bit cryptically.

“Ok...well see you later then, uh...what’s your name?”

He smirked again.

“It is irrelevant.”

“...ok, Irrelevant, see you later.” She smirked back before pulling the caterpillar from her ear and putting it in a glass jar, which she then put behind the mirror where she had hidden. She then turned to leave. His slightly surprised expression at her words the last she saw before shutting the door behind her.

-to be continued... (or not)-

That would have been a chapter for the “what if” story if I ever decided to keep working on it. I liked the idea of exploring Viren in power without the help and guidance of Aaravos, and how Ezran then Callum and Rayla will eventually have to deal with that. Aaravos entering the picture seems to have made a lot of the fans forget Viren IS a genius and just as manipulative. His reasons for his actions are different, but he’s always had the skills to get to this point. If just one or two things happened differently for him, he would have been victorious.

But that said, I chose this story because the exchange between Meg and Aaravos has always been enjoyable to reread for me. So, why not share it? It was this or the maybe-canon version of the story, but that one is more boring since their first meeting isn’t very eventful. They don’t start communicating until the second or third.

[lovemesomerafael]

Destroying the Planet to Save It    Chapter 2:  Another Damn Emergency

                                Chapter 1         Read it on AO3

“A what now?”  Bucky cried.

Everyone in the back of the panel truck, including three Avengers, four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, seven Secret Service agents, two Presidents of the United States and a First Lady, started shouting.  Tornadoes were rare enough in Washington D.C., and if Clint Barton’s eyes were to be believed, this one was a monster.  As a result, Steve found himself amid a large group of people simultaneously and collectively losing their shit in an enclosed space.  The cacophony went on for several minutes before the assault on his supersoldier hearing finally overcame his innate politeness and respect for authority.  Bigtime.

“SHUT UP!”  

Steve’s enhanced strength and lung capacity ensured that the ears of everyone else in the truck now hurt as much as his did.  It didn’t even occur to him to be sorry.  In the stunned silence that followed, each person heard whatever Natasha whispered in Russian over the comms.  

“What is it, Natasha?”  Steve asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

“Uh, I see it, Rogers.  The tornado. It’s…  Huh.  Not sure I want to be here right now.”

Former President Lattimore whimpered.  

Current President Everett Burke scoffed at him, his voice quiet but clearly heard by all.  “Oh, for the love of…  Pull yourself together, Adam.  At least pretend you got a sack on you.”

Lattimore, an ostentatiously church-going Christian, gasped.  Everyone else in the truck tried to look somewhere else.

“Natasha,” Steve said.  “The tornado, is it between us and the jet?”

“No, and it’s not heading that way.  No reason to deviate from the plan.”

“Then don’t.”

“Listen,” President Burke said to Steve, “There’s going to be a lot of damage. I need to get somewhere where I can do my job.”

“Sir, right now the best thing you can do is make sure you remain able to do your job.  And that means letting me get you to safety.”  Bucky hid a smile at the heavy dose of Captain America Steve pumped into his voice. “You can do anything you need to from where we’re going.”

“Which is where?”

“I’ll tell you once we’re in the air.”

Tony spoke up.  “Sir, I can assure you, you’ll have everything you need.”

“I am the President of the United States!  I can’t just haul ass when the Capital’s in trouble!”

“With all due respect, Sir, that’s exactly what the President should do in this situation.”  This was Craig Thomas, the senior Secret Service agent in charge of security at the event they’d just fled.  “I have to agree with Captain Rogers.  Only difference between what we’re doing now and what we’d be doing otherwise is, the decoys will be on Air Force One.”

“And us?  Where will we be?”

“I admit yours is bigger, Sir,” Tony smirked, “But I do know how to kit out a plane.”

President Burke grinned, giving in to the wisdom of the plan.  “I’ll just bet you do, Stark.  What kind of scotch you got on board?”

“You won’t be disappointed.  I promise.”

*****

Sam looked around at what he could only describe as a bunker.  The limousine they’d arrived in had pulled into what appeared to be an industrial park, but as soon as they passed the roll-up door from the outside, all resemblance to a normal building ended.  The driver crossed the garage-like first room to enter a steeply-angled tunnel that took them what Sam estimated was at least two stories underground.  He wondered how far away from the actual entrance the tunnel took them.  It was impossible to know, but he guessed they had to have driven at least two blocks from the building they’d entered.  

“The fuck?”  He whispered to himself.  

There were a number of vehicles in the cavernous space that opened up at the end of the tunnel.  Sam saw another limo, two mid-range sports cars, at least five utility trucks of various types, and probably a dozen ordinary sedans.  

“What, exactly, is this place?”  Sam asked.

Jarman Arias swished a hand dismissively through the air. “Washington is a dangerous city. I like to have a place of safety. Just in case.”

Sam and Agent Herrera were all eyes as they were guided from the limousine to a door nearby, and Sam had time to wonder how wise it was to follow when he saw that the door was made of metal and wouldn’t have been out of place on a bank vault except for its industrial ugliness.  The door was set into the thick concrete of the walls.  Sam noticed other doors and a few concrete hallways leading off of the massive garage space.  He had no idea what to think, and Herrera didn’t appear any less confounded. He swallowed his misgivings and stepped through the door into what, surprisingly, appeared to be a fairly ordinary conference room.  Luxurious, but not quite so evil-villian’s-lair as the space they’d just left.

Once the group had shuffled in and Arias had taken a place at the large, mahogany table that dominated the room, he offered Sam a cigar.  Sam wanted to refuse.  He meant to.  Had he chosen to, he could have rattled off half a dozen reasons why he should, without even having to engage his brain.  But Sam knew a little about cigars, and when he saw what was in the small humidor Arias was holding, he found himself absolutely incapable of declining.  Fuck it.  The dude was either a crazed megalomaniac who could manufacture a tornado, or he wasn’t.  Whether Sam accepted a once-in-a-lifetime cigar wasn’t going to change that.  He saw Anita Herrera’s raised eyebrow and shrugged.  “I’m sure he’ll give you one, if you want.”

She smiled at him again, and Sam thought he might be a little in love already.

The room had five doors, including the one through which they’d entered.  A couple were open, and another was ajar.  Again, they were all metal, and all fitted into the concrete walls in a way that let Sam know how thick those walls were.  He was interested in the fact that this place was underground, just where you were supposed to go in a tornado.  Had Arias known there would be one?  From what Barton had said, the tornado was massive. Sam wondered how well the huge hotel they’d left would have withstood something like that.  He scowled, deep in thought, as one of Arias’s lackeys lit Sam’s cigar for him.  Shit, he thought as he inhaled a mouthful of delicious smoke.  Arias may have been a complete choad, but damn, that was a nice stogie.  He looked around and indicated the room with a sweep of his arm.

“So you’re seriously tellin’ me this fucking doomsday silo is just you tryna keep from gettin’ mugged?  I don’t think so.”

“Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe I have to answer to you,” Arias said smoothly, putting his cigar back in his mouth.

“I ain’t say you do.  I’m just… interested.”

Arias smirked around his cigar, but said nothing.  

“You got cable or somethin’ down here?”  Sam asked, seeing he wasn’t to get anywhere with straight-up questions. “I’d like to see what’s going on outside.”

The worst of the destruction was north of the city, around Bethesda and Chevy Chase, although as tornadoes do, this one had skipped across the landscape, done some heavy damage in Rock Creek Park and even touched down as far south as Adams Morgan.  So far, there were only three deaths reported, but it was early.  The tornado itself had been accompanied by serious winds which had damaged a lot of buildings, including the National Cathedral and a number of historical sites.

*****

Stark’s Gulfstream G450 was at capacity, even though Pepper Potts and three of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had stayed behind in Washington to deal with the threat.  They’d put out the word that there had been a bomb scare, because that was the most plausible and the least surprising story.  Tell people what they expect to hear, and they won’t ask questions.  But Steve, Tony, and Bucky knew that nobody had any idea what had happened in D.C.  Not really.  Bruce Banner was still hard at work trying to make sense of the data.  He would meet them in New York with Clint and Natasha as soon as they could get there.  

In the meantime, President Burke was already talking on several phone lines at once, even as he sipped Tony Stark’s fine scotch.  He was aboard with only eight Secret Service agents and the First Lady, which meant a fucking horde of functionaries were pissing their pants right now.  The President simply did not get to leave Washington without months of planning and a 747 full of people with him.

“It’s the damn twenty-first century, Clive,” the President was saying.  “You don’t need to see my face for us to get work done.  But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll text you a fucking selfie when we get off the phone here.  Spine up, would you?”

Tony, sitting across from him at the small galley table, smiled and nodded, amused.

At the front of the cabin, Former President Lattimore and Agent Emerson sat in seats facing one another, with two of Lattimore’s usual Secret Service detail in seats across a little aisle from them.  A healthy slug of very expensive gin had helped Lattimore calm himself, although the real reason he wasn’t as put out as he had been initially was the realization that he had been whisked away with the current President.  Although Joss Emerson seriously doubted that was anything more than circumstance, she’d been the one to point that out, and encourage Lattimore to think that was due to his own continued importance, because it kept him pacified.  She’d learned very well how to keep President Lattimore happy over the four long years of his administration.  She’d voted for Burke more to make her work life better than for any political reason, and she had to stifle a groan at finding herself here, again, babysitting Lattimore.  Thank God Mrs. Lattimore was basically a cipher.  Her husband was enough work.

Joss’s mind was whirling.  Of course, she’d known that S.H.I.E.L.D. was worried about something, and that whatever it was, it was serious enough, and strange enough, to warrant the unheard-of move to actually use the Avengers for security at tonight’s event.  She had been well-briefed on the bizarre plan to evacuate if that threat emerged, and clearly instructed not to ask questions. Joss had been Air Force; she knew how to keep her head down and her mouth shut.  But they couldn’t keep her from seeing, or thinking.

So Joss knew some things.  She knew that this was no bomb threat.  You didn’t need the Avengers to deal with something like that.  She also knew that, like President Lattimore, she was only here on this plane through coincidence.  Joss knew enough about the Avengers to know that, ever since they’d been back from Wakanda, Steve Rogers never went far without Bucky Barnes.  If Captain America was tasked with protecting the President, he wasn’t going to do it without his Sergeant.  Which meant that, when the threat they feared had emerged, Barnes had instructions to just bundle Lattimore and his entourage up and bring them along so he’d be on hand to help Rogers with the real mission.

She shivered a little.  Although she would die rather than let him know it, Joss had always kind of had a thing for Bucky Barnes, ever since Captain America had defied the whole world to rescue his lifelong friend from Hydra.  Sure, Steve Rogers was a gorgeous hunk of heroic muscle, the personification of bravery and patriotism and all that crap.  She wouldn’t kick him out of bed.  But Bucky Barnes?  That man was an absolute filthy-hot badass.  Joss’s kryptonite.  She’d spent more time on YouTube than was perhaps entirely normal, watching video of him making impossible shots and fighting with that stupid-sexy metal arm of his, pulling knives out of God knows where and flipping them around too fast for her to follow with her eyes, let alone try to emulate.  Joss found the whole package so ridiculously erotic that she was, at this moment, squirming in her seat.  And it wasn’t only because of the damn wildly uncomfortable thong she’d worn because she’d known she was going to meet him tonight and fuck if she was going to do it wearing granny panties.  

She didn’t fool herself that The Avengers would let her help save the world, whatever the threat was this time.  But she was here with them in an enclosed space, and this was her one chance to be close to them, so she decided to find out what, if anything, they’d tell her. And maybe, just maybe, get a chance to see if Bucky Barnes really smelled as good as she’d always imagined he would.

Making her way back through the jet, Joss saw him standing with Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter in the little galley at the rear of the jet’s cabin.  Both Steve and Bucky had shed their tuxedo jackets and their bow ties hung down their chests from unbuttoned collars.  As she approached, she saw Bucky look up and notice her, and felt a dirty roll low in her body, accompanied by a shocking jolt of nerves as he grinned at her.  

 As soon as Bucky moved a little forward to talk quietly with the Secret Service agent he’d been partnered with, Steve moved a little closer to Sharon.  

“You all right?”  He asked quietly.

“Of course,” she smiled.  “Plan worked flawlessly.  The President’s safe, and we even got a bonus President.  What’s not to like?”

Steve frowned a little.  “A lot. It’s getting a little hard to imagine that the energy signature we’re seeing, whatever it is, isn’t causing these phenomena.”

“You’re saying you’re afraid somebody’s figured out how to cause natural disasters.”

“I’m trying not to say that.  But after this...”

“Well, if it’s true, then Captain America will stop them.  Like always.”  Sharon smiled up at Steve, and he felt the thrill he always did when she looked at him.  He was getting very fond of the seemingly unshakable confidence she always showed in him. At the same time, Steve wished he shared that confidence.  Or that the responsibility to stop somebody with the power to cause earthquakes and tornadoes rested on somebody else’s shoulders.  That kind of power was terrifying.  Steve sometimes wished he could afford to be terrified.

“What’s that look for?”  She asked.

“Ask me again when we get to New York.  Or maybe when this is over.”

Sharon’s eyes clouded a little.  “I will. You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know.  Just… not now.”

“OK. Can I kiss you, though?  You look like a man who needs a kiss.”

“I am most definitely a man in need of a kiss.”  His half-shy smile gave Sharon delicious chills down her spine.

She stepped into Steve’s arms, noticing as always how warm he was with that supersoldier metabolism, and reveling in the feeling of his rock-hard body against hers.  Sharon was sometimes overwhelmed by how absolutely, spectacularly beautiful he was. But it was so much more than that.

Sharon knew what the look on Steve’s face had been about.  It was about the crushing weight of responsibility Steve carried with him every moment of every day.  Steve did everything he could to keep anyone from seeing how exhausting that was.  But Sharon could see it.  It was why she had come back to S.H.I.E.L.D.  Sure, she’d responded to Director Coulson’s request, and understood his need for Agents around him he could trust implicitly.  But she hadn’t come back for Director Coulson.  She’d come back because she was in love with Steve Rogers, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was where she could be of the most help to him. She’d come back because, with the seemingly unhealable rift between the Avengers, Steve had needed all the friends he could get, and Sharon Carter was damn well going to be there for him.

She made no secret of her attraction to him.  Hell, she was kissing him at this very moment.  But Steve kept a wall around him that might as well have been made of vibranium.  Theirs was the most casual possible dating relationship.  Sharon had become Steve’s go-to when he needed a plus one for some event or other, but that was basically it.  They had never even been on a real date.  They’d certainly never slept together.  They had meals together when they were both working in the same place. They talked, sometimes even about actual feelings and experiences and shit.  But it was all so superficial.  

She hated it, and not only because it was damn cold in the fucking friend zone. Sharon ached for how lonely and encumbered with his sense of obligation Steve Rogers was, knowing that he thought no one could see.  That maybe he would be angry that she could see.  She craved the chance to just hold him, run her hands through his hair and tell him it was OK to lay it all down for a while.  To kiss him and caress him and make him forget, at least for a little while.

Sure, Steve had Bucky, and they were closer than brothers.  But right now, Bucky was just beginning to integrate into the team, and even though his mind was clean again, his wounds weren’t something that were going to heal anytime soon.  Steve would never burden Bucky with his own pain at a time like that. No, Steve would be there for him, lending him his own strength and doing whatever he could to help Bucky recover and build a life for himself, without any regard to what Steve needed.  

Sharon wasn’t sure whether he would ever let her in, but she knew that whatever he needed from her, she would give.  Steve was an icon of strength and bravery to the world, but to Sharon, he was a bruised, overtaxed man, trapped and tormented in a prison of his own making, feeling responsible for the safety of the whole world, and everyone in it.  It frightened her, how much she loved him.  She would give anything to be able to ease his pain, if only a little.

As she held back all the feelings she was so afraid to share with him, settling for a tender caress of his lower lip with hers, Sharon tried to will some of her confidence into Steve.  She tried to pour some of her strength into him through the hands she splayed on his back under his jacket, sliding them across his bunched muscles with a little thrill.  OK, maybe a larger-than-average thrill.  Not that Steve needed strength, exactly.  What he needed was the will to keep taking the fate of the world onto himself, crisis after crisis, day after day.  Like today. Another damn emergency, Sharon thought.  When he was already exhausted.  When would he get a break?

 “You get him settled?”  Bucky asked Agent Emerson as he slid lazily onto the credenza just outside the galley where Steve and Sharon were having a moment.  Joss sat next to him, willing herself not to lean in and press her nose to his neck.  Because damn it, he did smell as good as she’d always imagined.  Shit.

“He’s fine.  Got a drink into him, started him telling Agent Thomas stories of his glory days.”

Bucky grinned.  “You’re good with him, Agent Emerson.”

“Joss.  Please.”

“Joss.”  Ok, now she was wet.  Bucky Barnes had said her name, just said her name, and that was all it took before her idiotic, miserable thong was soaked and she was ready to lay him out on the floor in front of the President of the United States.  Two, in fact.

“So. What can you tell me?”  She asked, taking a breath she hoped would stop the hormones flooding into her system.

“Not much.  We don’t know much.  Just enough to be concerned about the President at that event.  What we were afraid of happened, so here we are.”

“And what was that?  What were you afraid of?”

Bucky hesitated over his next words.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t say.” He watched Joss Emerson absorb that. She didn’t look any happier about it than he’d be in her place.  

“Right.”  She nodded stiffly.  “Just… I know whatever the threat is, it’s not a bomb.  And I know that I’m no Avenger.  I’m not even S.H.I.E.L.D.  But I am Secret Service, which means I’m trained and I know how to keep my mouth shut.  It also means I’m sworn to protect him.”  She indicated the President over her shoulder.  “Just don’t forget I’m here.  We, I mean.  We’re here.”  She blushed and indicated the other Secret Service agents on the plane with an embarrassed flick of her hand.  

“Don’t worry.  You’ll get him back to yourselves quick enough.”  Bucky grinned.  He could relate to her wanting to get these interlopers out of the way of her job. He’d have felt the same way.  

“It’s more than that.  I’m offering to help.  With… whatever this is.”

“Well, I hope we won’t need it.  But if we do, I know where to find you.  And your two guns and five knives.”  

“Three and seven, actually,” she said with a smirk that Bucky could feel in his chest.  “I picked up a few on the way out of the ballroom.”

“Huh. I saw the MP5.  What else?”

She looked at him for a second, then apparently decided he was serious and poked two fingers down into the thick French twist at the back of her head.  And pulled a Gerber 06 from inside it.

Bucky broke into an intrigued smile as she handed it to him but, rather than look down at the folding knife, he watched her smooth out her dark hair again. He realized he really liked it.  The way she was wearing it right now was all business, but he could tell there was a lot of it and he kind of wanted to pull out whatever was holding it and let it fall around her shoulders.  In fact, now that he really looked at her, Bucky was suddenly struck by the fact that Agent Joss Emerson was actually a bombshell.  And the way her brown eyes sparkled as she pulled a tac knife from her hair – a Gerber 06 switchblade, no less – suggested that she had a wild streak.   Interesting.

But it was when she pulled a Benchmade Infidel from one of the cutouts at her waist that Bucky started to think this was a girl he’d like to get to know. He whistled low and took it from her, flicking the long, thin blade out the front.  “Sweet,” he breathed.

“Yeah.  It’s my favorite, actually.”

“The President know you have one of these?  They’re illegal in some states.”

“You kidding?  I’m sitting like this so he won’t see it.  If he does, he’s gonna want to play with it some more.”

“I guess he was a SEAL.  Probably isn’t afraid of a little steel.”

“Just the opposite.  The press gives him a hard time about his guns, calls him ammosexual.  Uh-uh.  Man’s all about knives.”

“Speaking of SEALs, I just got this,” Bucky said, pulling his new SOG Seal Strike from a sheath at the small of his back.

Joss’s eyes went wide.  “Oh, that is nice…”  She took it from him and he watched her test the weight and balance.  Just the way she handled it showed Bucky that this was a woman who knew knives.

“Wanna see the best one?”

“Yeah,” she gushed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Joss could feel a point pressing against her ribs. She looked down to see that Bucky was holding an evil-looking, matte black push dagger against her.  She wasn’t sure whether it was the fact that she hadn’t even seen him move, or the wicked grin on his face that made her heart stutter.  Either way, she was pretty sure somewhere a cardiologist was feeling a disturbance in the Force.  

“You think my switch is illegal?  I’m pretty sure I’m not even supposed to be looking at that.”

Bucky liked her reaction.  A lot. For the next ten minutes, they admired the small knife, meant to be held in a fist and punched into the body. Bucky had designed this one, and had a lot to say about it.  

Aft of them, in the galley, Sharon bumped a hip against Steve and pointed at the weapons show and tell happening a few feet away.  Turning, Steve took in the scene and raised an eyebrow, then laughed quietly.  He was shaking his head when he turned back to Sharon, but his fond grin and the warm note in his voice belied his attempt to appear to disapprove.  “Believe it or not, that’s flirtation for Bucky.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve chuckled.  “Buck’s got a very particular type.”

The way Bucky’s grey-blue eyes looked at her over his wide, easy smile made Joss wonder whether they’d lost cabin pressure.  She actually thought she might lose consciousness, the way her head was spinning.  She realized suddenly that this might have been a mistake.  Maybe she shouldn’t be sitting here, her leg actually touching Bucky Barnes’s knee, their hands touching repeatedly as they examined the custom push dagger.  It was one thing to do a little bit of – OK, a not unobsessive amount of – fangirling over a good-looking famous dude.  But this was The Job.  She started to question the wisdom of offering her services in this situation, because she couldn’t be sure she would be able to concentrate the way she needed to with Bucky Barnes around.  

When he saw her face change, Bucky figured the reason was fairly obvious.

“Listen,” he said, sliding the knife back into wherever he’d pulled it from. “I understand you wantin’ to be in the loop.  Believe me. Nobody’s tryin’ to cut you out of anything; we got nothing but respect for you guys.  It’s just…  shit tends to get weird around us.  Well, that’s not exactly right.  We go where shit’s already weird.  Anyway, the point is, you don’t want any of this.”

Joss nodded.  “I don’t want anybody to fuck with my President, either, but if they do, I’ll be there.  That’s all I’m saying.  I’m here.”

“With an O6 in your hair,” he grinned.  “Got it.  If there’s a role for you, I won’t hesitate.  Promise.”  Huh, Bucky thought, realizing he actually meant that.  

*****

Sam Wilson could be a charming guy.  An entertaining guy.  A guy who could catch the attention of a roomful of thugs and keep it, if the need arose.

The need arose.

He could see Agent Herrera looking around whatever this place was, and it was obvious from the way her eyes took in everything that she knew what she was doing. Twice now, one of Arias’s goons had noticed her basically casing the joint and rudely barked at her to sit back down at the table.  

She never did.  She’d stand there for a while, but Sam watched her in his peripheral vision and recognized her gradual, inevitable drift away again, always toward one of the doors.  He decided to help her, launching into a long, somewhat fact-based series of stories about his early days testing the EXO-7 for the Air Force.  The more Sam crashed, the more they laughed.  Even Arias was diverted for a while.  It wasn’t until he saw Herrera glide silently back into the room from one of the open doors that Sam finally stopped spinning tales.  Her timing was good; he was running out of lies.  But the look Herrera gave him told Sam that she’d found what she’d been looking for.

Two hours after arriving at Arias’s bunker, or whatever it was, Sam and Agent Herrera were chauffeured back to the hotel where the Presidential event was to have taken place.  They sat next to one another on the back seat, saying little, and nothing important. Sam had no doubt that whatever they said would be recorded, or at least reported back to Arias.  He also had no doubt that Herrera had seen something. She was almost bursting out of her skin, vibrating with excitement even as she schooled her expression to seem bland.

The hotel was unscathed by the night’s events, other than the unholy mess left behind by the herd of overgroomed assholes trying to push their way out when the evacuation began.  Sam led Agent Herrera past the doors to the ballroom and down an out-of-the-way hall to a small conference room where a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they both knew stood guard.  They all nodded to each other, and the guard stepped aside to allow Sam to guide Agent Herrera in with a hand on the small of her back.

Sam didn’t even wait long enough to acknowledge anyone in the room.  The second the door closed, he had a hand around Herrera’s upper arm and pulled her around to face him.

“What?”  He asked, standing too close to her in his eagerness to hear what she had to say. She didn’t seem to notice, because she was just as eager to tell him what she’d seen.  She was actually panting a little, her deep brown eyes shining with excitement.  Sam’s body noticed.  He was a professional, sure, but he was still a man, and…  Holy shit.

“That place,” Herrera began.  “Arias’s lair, or whatever you want to call it.  It’s got an insane amount of power running to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you notice all the pipes and tubes running along the ceiling in that underground garage?  Some of them were for water, steam, whatever, but a lot of them – most of them, were conduits for electrical wires.  There were way too many of them, and some of them had to have high-voltage electrical wiring in them.  And those doors from that… conference room or whatever.  Two of them led to corridors, just basically concrete hallways with more pipes and conduits running along them.  It’s underground, and it’s concrete, right?  So there’s no way to hide them, and why would you in a place like that?  So I got a good look at them, and I’m telling you, that place has more power running into it than most skyscrapers.  There’s something big and power-hungry down there to need that much electricity feeding it.”

As she was speaking, Natasha and Bruce had come over to listen.  They both had questions that began general and very quickly got technical enough that they left Sam in their dust.  He looked over at Clint, who was squatting on a table watching something on a monitor.  Strolling closer, Sam saw that it was video of the tornado.  He gasped.

“Mother of-  Is that the one here?”

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited.  As tornadoes go, it’s kind of a piece of shit.  Only an EF-2, and it wasn’t on the ground for more than ten minutes.”

“Well, you sure sounded excited when you saw it,” Sam noted.

“I know, and it’s kinda buggin’ me.  It looked big.  I mean, it was dark and all, but with the city lights illuminating the clouds, I could still see it pretty good, and it seemed…  I don’t know. Something’s off about it. Something about the whole storm just doesn’t look right.  Bruce has some fancy-ass meteorologist working on it.  She’s meeting us in New York.”

Sam watched the video, thinking that if this tornado didn’t impress Clint, he definitely wouldn’t want to see one that did.  It looked wicked.  

“Hey,” Clint said quietly, nudging Sam with his elbow and sliding his eyes over toward the group who were excitedly discussing the power lines Agent Herrera had seen in the underground facility Arias had called “Site B.”

“What’s she like?”  Clint asked in an amused undertone, indicating Agent Herrera.

“She’s a professional woman doin’ a job, is what she’s like, you sexist shithead.”

“Uh-huh,” Clint grinned.  “You got nowhere with her.”

“I wasn’t tryna…  Man, shut the hell up,” Sam screeched, trying to stay quiet.  He gave Clint the dirtiest look he could manage, then stalked back over to the group to rejoin the discussion of what Herrera had seen.

Clint just laughed.  

*****

The flight from Washington D.C. to New York was just over an hour long, but the general atmosphere among those who piled into the obscenely luxurious vehicle for the drive from the private airfield to Stark Tower was one of exhaustion. Joss wasn’t sure what to call this thing; the closest thing she could come up with was “Limo Bus”.   Everyone from the plane sat on the plush, curvy seats that lined both sides of the vehicle, while Tony Stark offered them a variety of drinks from the semicircular bar – an actual damn bar - that curved out between two of the long seats on one side.  Everything that wasn’t black was red and gold, including the neon light that poured out from under the seats and across the ceiling.

Joss must have shaken her head, or made a face, because Tony stopped his manic bartending and pointed at her accusingly.  

“You don’t like my bus,” he snapped, keeping his finger in the air, directed at her, as he scowled.

“I’m expecting strippers any moment,” she blurted before she could think better of it.

President Lattimore, on her left, sucked in his breath in disapproval. “Joss, for heaven’s sake.  The man is our host.”

Joss, appalled and mortified, began to sputter.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.  I didn’t mean to…  I just…  It’s… a lot.”

“I’m a lot, Miss Secret Service.  And just for that, no cocktail for you.”  

With that, he turned his head and began taking drink orders from those on the other side of the bar, dismissing her entirely.

Joss suddenly liked the red neon light very much, because it hid the deep blush she knew was the reason her entire face was burning.  It didn’t help that she could hear Bucky Barnes snickering on the other side of President Lattimore.

The former President held his drink out to her, leaning in too close.  “I’d be happy to share mine with you.”

“Thank you, Sir, but I’m on duty anyway.”  

Joss didn’t say another word for the rest of the way to Stark Tower.