#healing from that is so hard man... i hate her shes so well written

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Danny and Ellie are forced to flee Amity Park. And find themselves in Coast City.

I started writing this with the intention of only writing a short prompt, but then I just kept going until I felt like I’d written enough.

Danny gets caught up in yet another fight with Skulker, only this time it wasn’t because Skulker had come for Danny. No. He’d come for Ellie. And she was already weak from fleeing the GIW who had shot at her the moment she arrived in Amity Park.

Whether Skulker is after Ellie for Vlad, or because he wants her pelt can be up to you.

Either way, he manages to beat Skulker and captures him in the thermos. Just as he lets out a long sigh of relief he hears the sound of an ecto-gun being fired and then his side is burning and he’s falling. He’s falling too fast and it hurts and he can’t stop-

Danny guys the ground hard. His head is spinning, his skin feels like it’s burning, and he can hear the stomping of feet as someone runs towards him.

He needs to get up. He needs to get away. Find Ellie and make sure she’s safe. He’s needs to MOVE- but he can’t. Black spots for his vision as he manages to stand up and his eyes meet the end of his mother’s gun.

Before anyone can speak, he’s falling again, handing face first in the dirt. And the familiar feeling of de-transforming washes over him.

The last thing he hears before loosing consciousness is the grief stricken sound of his parent’s voice as three voices shout in unison.

“OH MY GOD DANNY!”

“DANNY ARE YOU OKAY?!”

“NO, GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

When Danny wakes up again, he’s in his room, the curtains are drawn but he can see the sliver of sunlight pouring in through the gap underneath. He notes that his body aches, but not as much as usual after a fight like that. And there’s a warmth enveloping his hand. It’s soothing, and he almost considers going back to sleep when he notices that there’s a ghost in the room. And all too fast he’s sitting up and staring into the exhausted, red, puffy eyes of his mother looking back at him from where she’s sitting holding his hand in hers.

Just behind her he sees Ellie floating just above the ground talking quietly with his dad.

“Danny,” his mother’s voice draws his attention along with Jack and Ellie’s. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you in any pain?”

He didn’t notice when she’d helped him to lay back down again. “Do you need anything? Ellie here was just telling us about how regular pain medication doesn’t work as well for the two of you. But I’m sure we could find something for you that might-”

“Mom,” Danny rasps. Man his throat was dry.

As if reading him mind Ellie appears by his mother’s side holding out a glass of water with a straw in it. Maddie helps Danny to sit up a little more so he can drink.

“Mom,” he tries again, sounding better this time, “I’m okay. I promise. It’s not that bad!” He starts to lie as the panic sets in. He de-transformed in front of them. He knows he did. And the fear shows on his face, it must, because before he can even begin trying to think up an excuse his mother is crying.

“Oh Danny, it’s okay. We know. And we’re not angry at you. We love you. So much.”

And Danny’s heart swells at hearing it. “You don’t hate me for being Phantom?” He asks quietly.

“No! We could never hate you Dann-o!” His dad’s cheery tone doesn’t disguise the sadness and guilt etched into his face. “We’re just…so sorry that we never noticed before. And that we…” he can’t finish his sentence but he doesn’t need to. Danny already knows what he’s apologise for.

“I’m okay. I promise. I heal fast!” Danny tied to reassure them.

It seems to help a little, though his parents still have a grim look in their eyes. As they make connections in just how Danny would know that about himself.

And Ellie, with perfect timing to cut the tension, announces happily, “Danny! Good news! Your parents said I could stay with you!”

Ellie had told his parents while Danny was unconscious about being his clone. She saw how they fretted over Danny, cleaning and dressing his injuries with the love and care she only imagined from a parent that truly loves you. And they had accepted her almost right away. Jack even crying as he proudly declared himself a father of three.

Jack soon excused himself, saying he’ll go see if Jazz needs any help with cooking lunch. Danny and his mother share a look, and with a final kiss to his head says she’ll go make sure nothing gets brought back to life. And she asks Ellie to please make sure Danny stays in bed and rests.

Danny and Ellie are left alone in his room, and it gives Danny the chance to really revel in everything. His parents accept him. They love him, both sides of him. And they accepted Ellie too! And said she can stay! She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Now, a lot can happen in the span of a few seconds, let alone minutes. In the time it took for Maddie to reach the kitchen, their front door was kicked down and a group of GIW agents had stormed in demanding they hand over the ectoplasmic scum they were harbouring.

Jack and Maddie drew their weapons and planted themselves directly in front of the GIW agents. The agents state that a ghost shield was put up around the house to prevent any ghosts from escaping, and by law any ghosts within the premises were ti be handed over for destruction immediately. Jazz runs upstairs to Danny’s room to warn them that the GIW were inside the house and that they needed to run. They need to get to the portal NOW.

With all the authority of an older sister Jazz tells Ellie to grab the go bag Danny had insisted on having prepared, and picks Danny up despite his protests that he could walk. Or well, fly. Ellie turns them all invisible and intangible and takes them down to the lab.

They can hear the sound of shouting, and something breaking and a gun being fired all coming from upstairs as Jazz opens the portal for Danny and Ellie.

Another shot rings out. And then another, and more shouting.

“Quickly you two need to go!”

Another shot.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Danny, now Phantom, asks suddenly as he and Ellie are preparing to enter the Ghost Zone.

Two more shots.

“Someone needs to be here to deactivate the portal in case the guys in white make it down here. I’ll be fine. Mom and dad will be okay, they’re not here for us so you two need to go. Now!” There’s banging on the lab’s door and Jazz shoves both Danny and Ellie into the portal. The last thing Danny hears before the portal closes behind them is another shot being fired.

Danny is scared and angry as he and Ellie are forced to fly through the zone with no currently known way to get back to his family. He needs to make sure they’re okay. He needs to protect them.

But right now Danny is still hurt, and he needs to get himself and Ellie somewhere safe. They begin to slowly make their way through the zone, looking for somewhere to rest and avoiding any ghosts that might want to pick a fight.

Ellie isn’t sure how long she and Danny have been moving for. It feels like it could have been days, or hours, or even minutes. But Danny can’t fly as quickly right now. He’s trying to keep a brave face for Ellie’s sake but she can see the exhaustion beginning to take hold of him.

So Ellie makes the executive decision to touch down somewhere to rest. She tells Danny she’s tired. Danny knows she isn’t and it’s only because she’s worried and wants him to rest. So he goes along with it and they make their way to the next floating island they come across and thank the ancients it’s empty. The two halfas touch down and Danny slumps over as he sits against a nearby rock. Ellie pulls out some energy bars that were tucked away in the go bag and hands one over to Danny.

They do this a few times, stopping to rest, as they gradually make their way to the Far Frozen. Ellie had insisted on going there, Frostbite would know what to do, and he would be able to help Danny with his injuries that had started bleeding again in all the commotion of escaping, and then flying and hiding from ghosts known to attack Danny regularly.

But unfortunately luck is not on their side yet again as a natural portal rips open directly in front of them, and closes behind them after spitting them out in a city they didn’t recognise.

That’s how Danny and Ellie find themselves in Coast City, hiding out in an old warehouse by the docs while Danny heals and they figure out how they’re going to get back home.

That is, until now.

Danny stares up at his little sister and sighs with the resigned tone of an exasperated older sibling.

“Ellie,” he takes a breath, “what did you do?”

“I’m my defence,” Ellie glares up at Green Lantern, who has Ellie scruffed by the back of her hoodie, before looking back at Danny, “I simply do not vibe with the law.”

[dinogoofymutated]

Uhhh, so can I request something about Wolverine where both he and reader have a crush on each other but he won't show it and she is too afraid of rejection to confess, however, when Xavier sends reader to talk to Wolverine about their mission, she walks into his room and finds him top topless which only frustrates her more and leads to Logan noticing that and taking his chances to check her feelings 😓 Ahem you can make it NSFW according to the last thing I implied to 👀 hopefully this is not too out of character but I really crave any content about this man 😓😓😓

Also excuse my language if there are any mistakes, English us not my first language 🫡

SFW! Wolverine/GN!Reader

This is such a good prompt!! I hope this does justice for your vision!! Also- don't worry, your English is very good!! Hope it's okay that I implied NSFW instead of wrote it out explicitly. I didn't quite have the energy to get that far 😭

TWs: not many. Miscommunication. Reader written while picturing Fem! But no pronouns mentioned.

Anyone around the mansion could tell that something weird was going on between you and Logan.

You were always really jumpy and nervous around him. You'd squirm and fiddle with your hands when sat next to him, looking like you'd rather be anywhere else. You could be quick to lose your temper at him sometimes and you clearly dreaded training sessions with him. Most people just thought you hated the man, but the one time Jean had seen a peak into your mind she certainly knew the truth. The professor probably knew too, to be honest.

You were hopelessly pining for the man- But you'd never, ever confess to him. He was in love with Jean. He had been in love with Jean for years. There was no chance he ever had feelings for you. So- instead of facing these feelings, you had a bad tendency to run from them. Being around him made you jittery and nervous, sitting next to him made your heart beat crazily and you had a short temper with him because he was always running headfirst into danger. It didn't matter that he had a healing factor, you didn't like that he was endangering himself like that.

Logan, on the other hand, was always stoic. He treated you like any other X-man or friend. It didn't matter how his heart fluttered around you or the heat that rose to his cheeks every time you did something particularly attractive, he wasn't exactly an expert in love. He certainly had a hard time showing it. What he did notice though, was the change in your demeanor lately. You had been acting so strange, and it's gotten to the point where you'd straight up leave the room when he would enter, and he was frustrated. Logan was starting to get fed up with your newfound attitude, and despite Jean's gentle nudging, he certainly wasn't going to tell you what he felt for you. What he thought about you. If anything, It would give you more of a reason to hate him.

You had been successfully avoiding Logan for a while, having been in a particularly good mood today. That was until the professor pulled you aside and asked- well, told you to brief Logan about the upcoming mission. Your heart immediately dropped into your stomach. You, alone with him? In the same room? The professor was tasking you to dive into your own personal hell- and there was no way he didn't know that! All he did when you began to complain and make excuses was smile knowingly at you.

You swore that you had dissociated the entire time you had been walking to his room. You didn't want to do this. You didn't want to be here, you didn't want to talk to him. Nope! You were absolutely dreading it.

You Knock three times. After a second of silence, you already find yourself overthinking your knock. Was it too loud? Too quiet? Maybe he could already smell it was you, and is just ignoring the knock so he doesn't have to look at your stupid flushed face-

"Come in." Okay, So, not that. You open his door slowly, not wanting to seem too eager to enter. You're looking down at the paperwork the entire time, mouth already running with the time of day everyone would be leaving, Which suits to wear, where you were going. You don't even look up until after the door has already been shut.

"There's a few more factors that need to be taken account of when we manage to get a better survey of the location but-" You yelp when you look up, greeted by a shirtless Logan, clothed only by a low-hanging pair of gray sweatpants. You're quick to cover your eyes, face burning from a mixture of embarrassment and... well, something else.

"For the love of god, Logan!" You gasp. You can hear Logan chuckle at your reaction, and the action lights a spark of anger inside of you.

"The least you can do is be decent when you invite me in!" You snap at him. He huffs a little at the change of tone, meanwhile you're trying your absolute best to forget how you practically saw everything in those sweatpants. You hear him take a few steps forwards until he's standing so close you can feel the heat from his body.

"So what? You've patched me up before. It's not like you've never seen me naked." Logan sounds annoyed, and you feel guilty for your reaction for a moment. You sigh, shaking your head.

"That's different." You say. Logan hums.

"Is it really?" His tone is teasing, and you almost feel humiliated. He's making fun of you. Of course he was. You were absolutely hopeless.

"Look, Just forget it. Take the damn papers and read the brief yourself." Your eyes are still closed as you slam the papers into what you think is his chest and try to turn to leave, but Logan grabs your arm. He doesn't even try to pick them up as he grabs the top of your arms, keeping you from running away as he walks you backwards.

"Look, I get that I'm not the easiest guy to get along with, but ya' never had a problem with me before. What's happened?" Logan's words start out rough, but if you didn't know any better you'd think that there was a little vulnerability leaking into his tone. You gasp as the surface of the cold door hits your back. You keep your eyes firmly shut, still not willing to open them and look at him. You didn't want to see his face, worried that you'd blush even more or he'd manage to figure it out- if he hadn't already. He'd just make fun of you. He wouldn't take you seriously. Would he?

"Nothing. Nothing has happened, happy?" You say, nerves creeping into your unsteady voice. It's hardly a lie, nothing really happened, but Logan had a habit of stiffing out dishonesty. He growls, and the sound makes your skin prickle.

"Don't lie to me. You can hardly look me in the eye." Logan growls. You scoff at him.

"That's not true!" A blatant lie, and you were sure it was obvious. Still, part of you was hoping he'd simply let it go. You should have known better, because everyone under the sun knew that Logan was one of the most stubborn men on the planet

"Prove it. Look at me." His words make you hesitate. You frown, not wanting to give in. Unstoppable force meets unmovable object- but with every push you feel your nerves start to go shot. You were anxious, flustered, worried- you just wanted it to all be over. If you just opened your eyes, it would all be over.

"Open your eyes, doll." You can feel Logan's breath fan across your face, and in the mix of shock, you finally open your eyes. Logan is so close to your face you can feel his breathing. You hardly know where to look, face flushing red as you blush as the close-contact. You get nervous when you make eye contact, gaze flittering about from his nose, to his ears, his sideburns, and to his lips. You must have let your eyes linger there for a little too long, because Logan starts to chuckle at you. You feel the sting of embarrassment. Logan sees something in your face shift, and knowing you'd just pull away again, he takes a shot in the dark.

Logan kisses you, and you have no clue how to respond to that at first. You go wide-eyed for a moment, but his hands let go of your arms and wrap around you and you cant help but melt into the kiss. He's a good kisser. I mean, with years of experience, you knew he would be. But getting to experience that yourself gave you a whole new perspective to it. He cups the back of your neck as he draws you in for another kiss, again and again. You're breathing hard when the two of you finally separate, Logan being mostly unbothered besides a small smile and a red tint to his cheeks.

"All that drama, and it's because you had feelings f'me. Heh." -is the first thing he says. You gasp, offended.

"Oh-shut up. S'not like you're any better than I am." You frown, sliding a hand around the back of his neck to yank him closer. "Seriously, you weren't exactly dropping hints." Logan chuckles again, Before hooking his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up and against him. You yelp as he does so, getting flustered when you realize that you could now feel everything that you had been trying to forget seeing earlier.

"I'm kissing you now, aren't I?"

[dj-spiderman]

Request: Hey! So Miguel is my new obsession and I would just love to request this: So Miguel x male reader where the male reader reminds miguel of his daughter so he's overprotective and take son a fatherly role. I was thinking either that the reader gets hurt and Miguel accidentally calls him Gabriella so angst, or it's just a second chance for Miguel to be a father for a kid that needs it

ARAÑITO

- Miguel O’Hara & Child!reader

- Genre: Platonic fluff

- Synopsis: Jessica and Miguel decide to take you back to HQ for recovery, but with the slow process, Miguel grows a bit too attached to allow for you to leave his sight. Talk about fatherly instincts.

- A/N: Reader can be depicted as any age, though is written to be relatively in his teenage years. The Spanish used is from google translate, my apologies for any mistakes! If any Spanish users would like to correct anything, please do!

Jessica was the one to find you. Up against a vulture far from your own. Grotesque teeth exposed by an uncanny snarl. A thick substance, that could possibly be identified as saliva, dripping down onto his face as he was pinned beneath heavy talons.

Hushed and rapid wheezes and curses slipping past busted lips. The taste of metal heavy on your tongue as you grasp onto the heavy ankle, desperately trying to remove it from your collapsing chest. Weak pleas being spat, no clue as to whether they were aloud or echoing throughout your thoughts.

Vision spotting and a sense of doom filling your gut, your body gave out and you lied limp. So close to death that you simply accepted it.. until…

A large blur of blue and red tackled the man off of yourself. Leaving you to jolt up wheezing and coughing. Tears welling up in your eyes as the pregnant woman soothed you. “Sh, sh, shh.. we’ve got you now. Gonna be alright.”

Miguel works hard to take down the vulture, pinning him down with large claws and an open jaw. A similar state as to what the creature had you into before, only less patience as he locks his jaw down in a venomous bite.

Of course, by the time he’s finished, you’re unconscious after having the adrenaline wear off. Slack body held in Jessica’s motherly hold as she gives a knowing look towards the larger man.

“You can’t be serious,” he groans, walking past her and opening a portal.

“He’s injured Miguel! We can’t just leave him here.” She argues in turn, scolding the man. “He’s just a kid..”

The man pauses, slouched over and running hands through his hair as he groans. “Fine, but only for recovery.” He mutters, to which Jessica happily carries your unconscious form through the portal.

════════════════

The moment you wake up, you’re disoriented and blinded by bright lights. It’s all overstimulating; the lights, the constant beeping, and the static like touch all over your body.

It takes a moment to gather your surroundings, whining softly as you anxiously look around. Shaky hands lift up to try and remove the nasal cannula, only to be stopped by a much larger and warmer hand.

“I don’t suggest removing that, it’s helping you breathe.” You don’t know who this man is, but his words are gentle and you simply relax back and leave the tube alone, it’s better that way. “You fractured a few ribs in your fight, bruised a lung, but nothing aggressively serious.” The stranger huffs, seemingly checking the bandages that wrapped around your torso.

“W-who…” Your throat is sore and dry, it hurts to speak with the conditions. Your words puffed out with a wheeze and wince.

“Miguel O’Hara, head of the spider-society.” The stranger introduces himself, sitting back with a grunt. “You’re only being kept here because of your injuries. As soon as you’re healed, you’re gone.”

Such manners he had, you thought with a small glare. You didn’t need someone to take care of you, let alone someone who hated you from the start.

This was already the worst thing you’ve ever dealt with.

════════════════

It had been a couple days now, your recovery going slow as you remained bed rested with little movement. Today was Jessica’s day to check on you, but rather the warm woman, you were met with two younger men.

“So you’re the mystery spider!” The smaller of the two cheers, eagerly rushing up to you. “Miguel refuses to let anyone see you!” His energy big, like that of a puppy’s.

The taller, more punk-themed man stepped forwards, tinkering around with some of the many machines. “‘Course, we’re not ‘onna listen to that old bloke.” He mumbles, finally making his way over. “‘m Hobie, Hobie Brown.”

You only watch, eyes drifting over to the former man. “Pavitr Prabhakar!” He cheerfully informs, poking around at your IV’s and breathing support.

Eventually the nimble fingers cause your IV to slip out, causing a wince of pain from yourself. And as scary as it was, Miguel himself appears in the doorway. A nasty scowl on his face as he glares down to the younger men. “Pavitr, Hobie, our.” He practically snarls.

For someone without a spider-sense, he was scarily good at sensing when something was wrong. Perhaps his AI, you thought, glancing towards his watch as though it’s where she was kept.

With the two strangers gone, it’s just you and Miguel. He’s pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose as he goes on about something. “¡Le dije a Jessica, le dije que no los dejara acercarse a ti! ahora estas herido..”

You’re not quite sure what he’s on about, but he seems upset with himself. He spares an apologetic glance your way, walking over and gently caressing the skin from which your IV was pulled.

“This is going to sting, arañita.” He coos in a tone you’ve never heard before, holding down on your arm as he slips the IV back in. Hushing and coddling you as you whine in pain. The flinch you give only causes more pain from your ribs. Tears welling up as a bodily reaction to the pain. “I know, I know.. hurts, doesn’t it, arañito?”

You’ve never seen this side to him. It almost feels like trap. Luring you into a false sense of trust only to tear you apart..

Your small cries cause him to hold you close against his chest, whispering about how brave you were. It felt fatherly, almost. Something bitterly familiar. You never did have a good relationship with your own father.. maybe this was a second chance?

════════════════

Days turned into weeks. Your recovery a slow process, but you were improving. You were allowed to walk within the medical room, though Miguel refused to let you leave his sight. You were only allowed to explore alongside him, told you that he had to “keep you safe”.

You usually obeyed his wishes, but the boredom was just so aggravating.. it wasn’t like he would know either way. So, you left the room, stumbling along halls and bridges in search for something fun to do.

You near scream, as though you could in your condition, as a masked horse mindlessly knocks you to the ground. The cowboy atop seemingly panicked as he begins anxiously apologizing, but it’s not you he’s speaking to.

An all too familiar shadow peers over your small, ‘fragile’ form. Above you, Miguel stands with a menacing glare. He does not at all seem happy about the incident, or your little ‘escape’.

“Get that damn horse under control, cabron.” He practically snarls, immediately pulling you into the comfort of his large arms. It’s no surprise when he begins coddling you and checking for injury. He was always this overprotective of you.

“Are you okay, arañito? He didn’t hurt you did he? Why are you out of your room..? Were you hungry? Cold? Lonely even?” He continues to question you, holding you to his chest. “You know you can just call for papa, I’ll be there as soon as you need me.”

That was another thing, Miguel had taken it upon himself to have you call him papa. He was constantly spoiling you or doting on you. It was.. strange.

You hadn’t even noticed when the man began dragging you back to your bedroom, scolding you softly. “You know better than to leave, you could get hurt.. scared me so bad arañita…” he’s lying you in your bed, tucking you in and taking a seat on the edge.

“You know I’m just trying to protect you… trying to be a good father.” He seems so genuine, it makes you feel guilty.

“Lo lamento, papa…” He seems genuinely shocked to hear you speak, let alone in Spanish. Supposed you had picked up on a few words within your stay.

A small smile plays at his lips, glancing your way as he speaks. “It’s alright arañita, I know you didn’t mean to scare me..” he reaches over, gently stroking your hair back. “Just promise me you won’t leave me… please don’t leave me..” he seems to be upset with the idea, and so you agree to his terms.

Nodding softly as you take hold of his large hand, gently playing with the rough, yet warm, flesh. “Sí.. won’t leave… never..”

And it was true. You didn’t have plans to leave, not when he was such a good father. Not when he gave you reason to trust him. He offered you safety and love, and in turn, you’d be his arañito.

[valhalla-awaitsfor-us]

Hi! I hope you don't mind I take your reply to my post to talk a little bit about script writing as a scriptwriter.

This is in no way an attack, I just saw an opportunity to explain something as someone who works writing scripts.

At this point I think it's becoming clear that live action only exists because Netflix wants to have its own Game of Thrones, but that they are not going to respect the core of the original series, because their goal is different. Having said this, I want to review why the changes that are being made are incorrect (if the idea is to respect the story and the characters) focusing on the 3 protagonists: Sokka, Katara and Aang.

Let's start with Sokka, whose changes are perhaps the most "controversial."

As I said in my original post, The core of Sokkas character is that he is a boy who grew up trying to be a man since his father left for war. In that attempt, as someone immature and unguided, he had sexist attitudes, only to later mature and become a real man. Great example for young boys.

No, his sexism comments didn't last long, but they changed at a key moment in the plot: When Suki appears. Avatar is a special series because it was one of the first of its time to so explicitly touch on the topic of feminism. Rebelling in every sense of the word is a recurring theme in ATLA. Sexism was literally knocked out of Sokka when he met the Kyoshi warriors. That's why the scene of him wearing the warriors' clothes is so significant and why it's so important that at the end of the season Sokka has learned his lesson, because there is a direct comparison between him and Pakku. Sokka, on his path to becoming a man, was able to deconstruct his misogynistic mentality at his young age and without an adult guidance, while a man of Paku's age, admired and respected, was still rooted in his sexist beliefs.

It was Katara's act of rebelling against Sokka's sexism that freed Aang from the icerberg. Because, again, an act of rebellion, of standing firm in the face of injustice, along with redemption, are the pillars of Avatar. Sokka's journey encompasses all of those topics, and the fact that he is 16 and not 19 is essential to his character arc.

Is not that we want him to be sexist. We want him to be flawed. Because each flaw are unique to each character. It talks about their development and also about the themes of the show.

Also "Toned down" it sounds weird because as a kid I always knew Sokka was an idiot when being sexist. But it wasn't that bad that I was afraid of him or so angry that I hated his character. Because Avatar is a kid shows even if people from all ages can enjoy it. So when they said "toned down" I was really confused. It made me feel that for them, the only way to show him being sexist way to make him do some unredeemable thing.

Katara

So. Im gonna start saying that Im not a fan of Katara. I think her character is written incredibly well, but it just not for me. In fact, i do feel like we needed an scene between Sokka and her where they can clear the air about their mom. The things she said to her brother and to Aang, the only survivor of a genocide, were too hard to not have a talk after that.

NOW, After saying that, Katara is Katara because of her backstory. Seeing her mother die in front of her and being the only waterbender in her tribe lead her to feel the need to take care of everyone, especially her brother, to be overprotective, to be compassionate. To be Katara.

Sokka himself admits that sometimes when he tries to remember his mother he only remembers Katara. While Aang is a boy who must mature faster than normal, Katara is a girl who has already grown faster than normal and her journey not only includes rebelling and protecting others, but also recovering some of that lost childhood.

Katara is the representation of water. Healing and destructive at the same time. Turbulent but benevolent. I feel the live action writers, and even the actors and actresses, do not understand that the feminist message was already perfectly captured in the original material. The creators of Avatar created complex female characters and just because Katara's story is influenced by the concept of motherhood does not mean that she is not a strong character. She is a strong character because her story is influenced by that concept. Not because motherhood in itself makes us women strong, but because motherhood, specifically for her character, puts her at crossroads and forces her to go through an arc of transformation.

Aang

I'm going to be concise and short with Aang. The decision to have so many "distractions" in his mission is because Aang is 12 years old and does not want to face a war. I think it's something so basic that it seems dumb not to understand that a young boy doesn't want the responsibility of saving the world and seeing his friends die again. I think, maybe, just maybe, understanding that is not that hard.

If they wanted to write a story of wars, blood and darkness, they should not have chosen Avatar, whose protagonist is a little boy.

[call-sign-shark]

I’m listening to Ultraviolence by Lana Del Ray and I can’t shake the feeling of a fic with Arthur based off this song. I feel like it fits him so well! I can just imagine a toxic relationship between him and the reader where he hits her or harms her in some way (intentional or not) but she keeps going back to him

“He hit me and it felt like a kiss..”

Plssss lmao the way this works so well

No need to do anything with it, just wanted to share because I know you’re a slut for Arthur like I am

“Because I know you’re a slut for Arthur” SIS YOU’RE SO RIIIIIGHT. HE’S MY SOFT KITTEN. 😩

Ultraviolence || Dark!Arthur Shelby x Reader

TW: angst ++, abusive husband, toxic relationship, depiction of domestic violence, alcoholism, if you think this trope have a good ending you should not read it, no proof reading: this is raw, unedited and prolly super badly written??

Words: 1k

Each inch gained by the clock’s needle, your heart raced more as if it feared to be pierced by its the sharp steel. Nibbling on your fingers’ skin compulsively, you sat on the large luggage you prepared one hour ago because you knew that when Arthur came home after midnight, he was not the man you fell in love with anymore. His gruff voice, usually lavishing you with the sweetest pet names he could find, would call you deadly nightshade — because when you looked at him with fear and fury in your oh-so- beautiful but teary eyes, it felt like a caustic poison was running through his veins, burning him from within and dissolving his sanity.

The door opened, your soul wept.

“Oi Y/N, where the fook are ye?” The gravel in his tone, who used to make you shiver with desire, sent shivers of fright down your spine. You took a deep breath, struggling to keep composure: this night would be the last you suffered from his violent love. After months of hesitating, coming back to him almost crawling, you decided that this nightmare had to stop. Somehow, you knew you had to flee from his claws before you ended up dead and cold — either by suicide or by his hands.

He stumbled in the living room, an empty bottom of whisky hanging from his hand. His steel blue eyes, half closed due to the amount of alcool he drank and cocaine he snorted, were looking for you, “Bloody hell Y/N, a good wife always welcome her husband when he comes back home. So be a good fookin’ woman and come greet your ol’ Arthur with the warmth he fucking deserve.” He grunted, before his frightening gaze fell on you.

He looked at you, and you could hear the sirens howling in the back of your head.

“What the hell?” He whispered at the sight of your packed stuff, slowly understanding your intentions, “Are you fucking serious?”

“I can’t do this anymore Arthur,” words left your mouth, falling from your quivering lips, “This is going to kill me… I’m sorry.”

“You wanna leave me?” He asked, bewildered. The sound of the bottle shattering on the wooden floor echoed in the living room, answering to the screams of his own heart breaking. You hated yourself at the idea of hurting him but you could not do it anymore, loving him was really hard. At first your thought it would be enough to save him, to heal his soul and mind, but love was not enough— your love was never enough.

“I’m sorry.” You got up and grabbed your luggage, before making your way to the door. Yet, Arthur firmly grabbed your wrist as you passed by, his grip so sharp it bruised your skin almost instantly.

“You’re not going anywhere, love.”

“Let me go. Please Arthur, if you love me you have to let me go.”

“I said you’re not. Going. Any-fookin-where.” He retorted, his hoarse voice growling with more hatred as anger boiled within him.

“Let me go you fucking bastard!” You bursted out, panic overwhelming your aching soul as you felt his nails digging into your skin.

The horrific sound of the blow that followed made the skies shook with sorrow. Pain stung your cheek, its burning sensation spreading on all the left side of your face. You let out a woeful whimper, tears flowing from your eyes almost instantly. He hit you, and it felt like a kiss, because it was his way of loving you when he was drunk.

“YOU AIN’T LEAVING ME, YOU POISON. I’M ARTHUR FUCKING SHELBY RIGHT?” He barked.

His hand grabbed you a second time — but it was not to make you dance anymore, like he used to do when you were kids.

Pain rain down on you,

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence.

“I’m … Im so sorry…” Arthur kept saying over and over again, his hands on both side of his head as he pulled his own hair, devastated with the view of crimson stains on your face.

Panicking, he then grabbed your chin and almost suffocated you with his lips, assaulting your bleeding mouth with desperate kisses, “I’m so sorry Y/N, it won’t happen again. I just don’t know what crossed my mind, it wasn’t me… it was the fucking whisky! The bloody snow! I won’t do it again, I swear doll I will never hurt you anymore… I— I love you… God I love you so much I’ll die without you.”

His blue eyes overflowed with tears of gold, like lemonade.

“Arthur… I —“ Words choked in your throat as you saw him cry. The monster had left, leaving him sobbing like a beaten child. He raised your gaze toward yours when you called him, and you knew he was your gentle Arthur again.

But you could not forgive him again and again.

Could you?

He would be the death of you.

“Please, I’ll do anything for you. Please, Y/N.”

The cacophony of your mind almost made you wince, for your thoughts crashed against your skull in a messy bacchanalia. Run away, you had to run away… so why did your body remained petrified? Why did you gently stroke his hair, looking at him, desperately in love?

It was stronger than you, stronger than reason, you hated to see him cry. You despised the way he was hating himself, genuinely guilty.

But you had to go.

To go.

But you stayed.

Don’t beg, stop telling me you love me. Please.

Please I can’t. It’s never enough.

Give me all of that ultraviolence.

“I love you too, Arthur. I love you forever.” Your voice was merely a whisper as warm blood ran from your nostrils, tainting your lips and dying on your chin. Your fingers gently grazed his neck as you knew he loved — all you wanted was to stop his pain. To see him smile with that stupid, irresistible grin that made you fall for him.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N.” His lips laid a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth, the tip of his tongue tasting the blood. His voice was filled with sincere love, “I’ll change. I swear to God I’ll change for you,” Somehow he really believed in what he said, but the truth was he would never change… And you knew it.

“You won’t lose me — maybe you could — help me putting my stuff back where they belong?” You stuttered, your whole body about to collapse in his arms for it just wanted to feel his touch.

“Of course I’ll do.”

Arthur smiled.

You did too.

But Angels cried,

for they knew that he hurt you and it felt like true love.

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me honey, know that you can make yourself at home in my ask box, especially when it’s about babyboy Arthur.

I love this Lana’s song so much, and I completely understand the vibes you felt. It would suit so well in a Dark!Arthur fic — in fact I loved it so much I could not help but write a little something for ya! Even though I do feel in-character Arthur would be far too terrified to hurt Reader and would not physically harm . Maybe being rougher, bruising her with his grip without doing it on purpose. But he would not hit her (cf: office scene with Linda in S5). Yet — I decided to go dark with this one because, as you said, “he hit me and it felt like a kiss” is just perfect for this sad trope.

[selene-moonie]

Reiner Braun is one of the best written characters I've watched in years, and this is the tale of how I fell in love with him.

It started with his crush on Historia. Sis brought their horses back during the Female Titan arc and he was like, "I'm gonna marry her." We love a man who knows what he wants. He found out she and Ymir were in love and he was still talking about how he wanted to marry her. And he kept that going till the end, talking about, "Her letter smells so nice," like SIR YOU HAVEN'T SEEN HER IN 4 YEARS and she's married. That was so stinking cute.

To be fair, most of the time he was kinda annoying. All that happy yet serious energy and, "Wow this is the third time I've almost been eaten by a titan," dude stfu. I do not want to hear you after the adult soldier's dying wish was to drink the alcohol Historia just wasted on your auto healing arm. You don't need to be that happy or grateful. It's ok to be grim given the circumstances.

His cognitive dissonance is what I found really interesting. I do love seeing a character lose their mind and have to restructure their belief system. There was no way he was just a titan. He trained, ate, slept, and fought with these people, but he's also the reason why some of their families are dead? There had to be more to him than what I was seeing.

I knew he was insane when he told Eren about his titan. I carried back the episode more than once to make sure I heard correctly when he said, "I'm Armoured, and Banana is Colossal." I think I got up, ran away, screamed, told my brother and sister, watched it again, then continued the episode. I was like, there's no way you just told your greatest threat about your titan. But he had.

Seeing him flip between his two identities, like when he was making racist comments about his Paradis cohorts like he didn't just train with them for the last three years made me realise that he was fighting his own demons. How he damn near lost his mind by asking Eren to come along with him, then realising he had to take him by force - yeah I saw that cognitive dissonance dissonate.

I connected to him a lot because while I wasn't fighting to improve my family status or risk further discrimination for failure, I grew up believing that people who didn't believe in my religion deserved to die, and I definitely projected that toxicity onto others when I was a teenager. I obviously, did not give that to myself, it came from the authority figures in my life, similarly to how Reiner's decisions were actively shaped by the adults around him, turning him into a child soldier.

(I call it soldier, because I feel like warriors have more free will than soldiers ever will, and ironically, he was the warrior with the least amount of free will despite having all the context while his friends had more freedom than he, they just didn't know the truth.)

So even before s4, he was one of my favorite characters because I knew his actions and thoughts were eating him alive. I loved him because I knew how hard all that was.

But when adult Reiner debuted, I was in love with him. The first reason was that he had finally seen how problematic everything was. He knew he'd just been a child when he'd committed his life to being a Marleyan warrior and improving his family's status. He knew his decisions were wrong, and there was so much blood on his hands. He knew he'd been stuck between a rock and a hard place, but he still hated himself for it.

And, my friends, is what we call a self-aware man. That is a hard smash. All that rah-rah about how weird Sasha was for eating a potato on their first day at cadet training - he just thought she was weird, which is true. That's not hatred, that's an observation.

The second reason I fell in love with adult Reiner was his looks. I'm an adult, so watching a bunch of teenagers run around being angsty is entertaining because I was one as well, but I'd never considered that attractive or relationship material. They don't know jack shit or understand how consent works, which is why Reiner being a 'warrior' is such bullshit because he wasn't old enough to understand what that life commitment really meant.

But yeah. Isayama put crack into that man's visuals and I have not recovered since. While I do have a thing for fictional blonds (a la Erwin Smith, Sanji and Chat Noir), Reiner looking like a tired dad in s4 is all I've ever needed and wanted in life. Heck, I'd have his kids and I don't even want kids. Also, I just know he wants kids. And he'd make a great dad. I can't explain why I know this, but that's just the vibe he gives off.

Reiner Braun was the second man I fell in love with in this series, and he's probably the one I love the most because of the depth of his character and the fact that he moved forward even after everything he had done.

I could do an actual critical analysis of this man, not just the things I thought were hella cute/attractive about him. Or someone else could. I'd love a deep dive on his character because he was so beautifully written.

[aspoonofsugar]

Hi,.....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from Hazbin Hotel? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the series? Sorry if you've answered this question before....Thanks....

Hi!

Thank you for this fun ask :D

FAVOURITE CHARACTERS

1- Lucifer

He's a disaster and I love him :''') He is very well written so far. He has a strong characterization, which combines a comedic side (bumbling dad + airhead) with more serious traits (depression). He is also set up to have a wonderful arc, which ties with important themes for the series, as a whole. Dreams, redemption, freedom and love. His relationship with Charlie is especially sweet: he is very very flawed as a parent, but through his daughter he finds hope again and makes some steps to grow. Plus, he is a mix between Barnum (the greatest show) and Walt Disney, which is very meta when it comes to the themes of creativity and enterteinment.

2- Charlie

Charlie is one of the rare protagonists I adore! She feels both classic (she is a Disney Princess) and original (she is the Princess of Hell). The premise to have such an idealistic character as a high profile demon is both hilarious and very strong thematically. Not only that, but Charlie's conflict is actually pretty deep and layered. On the one hand she genuinelly wants to help Sinners and is right about redemption. On the other hand she is also using her dream to run away from her problems and hide her self-issues. Charlie is deep down a child, who felt abandoned by her parents and who doesn't fit in her own Kingdom. The Hazbin Hotel is a home for both Sinners and herself. A place where she can stay for a while, find familial bonds and grow. On a writing note, I like how active she is. She drives the conflict beautifully in a way which is almost refreshing.

3- Alastor

Here comes another disaster! Alastor is clearly the key character of the series, both when it comes to plot and to theme. He is clearly linked to Lilith's mystery somehow (either because he made a pact with her or because the reason of Lilith's disappearence ties with whoever Alastor made the pact with). He is also a challenge to Charlie in how she believes everyone can be redeemed, but Alastor will try very very hard not to be LOL. And he will probably fail :''') Apart from it, he is very well used in the first season. His mystery is built up and he manages to stay active and move the plot without taking central stage. In a sense, he stays in the shadows, which is fitting for a shadow character.

3- Angel Dust

Angel is a sweetheart, who hides his feelings and goodness out of fear. I like his sibling bond with Charlie and how selfless he is towards his loved ones. His stay at the hotel isn't really about redemption, as Charlie thinks. Rather, it is more about healing, finding a stable environment and escaping a toxic relationship. I like his small step towards independence. His story is just beginning and his arc is just set up, but it has already the potential to be great.

5 - Adam, Sir Pentious, Vaggie, Sera (basically a bunch of characters LOL)

Adam is a villain I enjoyed immensely. He is just fun to hate LOL and I am curious to see if he will gain some depth. Either through coming back or post-mortem. I also like he is a play with School of Rock's Dewey Finn. He is in love with rock and metal and even uses rock rhetoric, like "Stick it to the man". Except that he embodies everything rock isn't. He himself is the man. He is a mediocre authority figure who uses his power against the weakest. Sorry Adam, but Charlie is way more punk rock than you :P

Sir Pentious is adorable <3 His arc is simple, but well done. I love how he slowly opens up to others and his crush for Cherri Bomb is adorable. I am curious to see where his story will go.

Vaggie has a very interesting premise in how she foils Lucifer as a fallen angel (and will probably foil Lilith, as well). The reveal of her background was great and I love her design and her focus in Hello Rosie, where she finds a mentor in Carmilla. Still, I want more of her and feel like her arc is just set-up as for now. It ties with trust, which is a great theme for a love story.

Sera has only appeared once, but I like her characterization. She is sympathetic, but also very clearly in the wrong and the main responsible for the whole conflict (yes, even more than Adam as she wields more power and could have stopped him). I like her bond with Emily and I am curious about her relationship with Lucifer, since what happened to him seems to have scarred her.

FAVOURITE MOMENTS (IN NO ORDER)

More than Anything - Charlie and Lucifer's confrontation

Charlie and Lucifer discovering each other and affirming their familial love is beautiful. Charlie reveals she still adores her father, despite his flaws and neglect. Lucifer finds in himself the drive to dream again.

You Didn't Know - The questioning

The whole courtroom scene is brilliant thematically. The main conflict goes from redemption for sinners to questioning the system. It is poignant how Lute and Adam are stuck in their heads and unable to either ask nor answers questions. Charlie and Emily instead keep interrogating others and themselves. They discover the reality around them is complex, starting with their loved ones (Vaggie and Sera). Still, these doubts will make them stronger in the end.

Lucifer's Big Damn Heroes moment

Lucifer joining the fight to save his daughter is a great conclusion to his arc this season. Plus, he manages to be both badass and hilarious at the same time :''') His short skermish with Adam is pretty funny, as well and it was cool to see his demon form. Plus, we got some more hints to whatever happened in Eden, which is bound to be important for the story as a whole.

Ready for this

This is Charlie's big moment this season. It is when she realizes she can do this. She has within herself the strength to inspire people with her voice, just like Lilith. Rosie and Alastor encouraging her is great, as well. And the whole set-up with a town full of kind and cheerful cannibals is hilarious.

The Show Must Go On - The Finale

The final song is perfect as a conclusion to Charlie's journey this first season. She starts it by singing alone, with everybody dismissing her. She ends it surrounded by her loved ones, with everyone "singing her song". Lucifer and the whole Hotel Crew encourage her not to give up and help her re-build her dream. The hints to future plot-lines (like the Vees and Alastor) are also great.

[decchanlover]

DAY 1 OF 14DAYSOFMHA

Family, Home, House

First thing that comes in my mind is definitely Izuku's and Inko's relationship. I just adore a healthy and strong bond between a mother and her son 🫠🫠

One of my favourite moments of them is Izuku wearing the hero costume that his mom had made for him in the beginning of the series (I could never hate that costume idc idc IT'S TOO ADORABLE!!!) 😭

I have so much respect for Inko. She raised her son all on her own and managed to make him the most kindhearted, best boy ever ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ you just know he was raised in a calm and supportive environment with all the love that a child deserves to receive from their parent. WE LOVE INKO MIDORIYA IN THIS HOUSE 🗣️

And of course this *violently sobbing*

Now going from fluff to the complete opposite side we have the Todoroki family.

What can I say that hasn't been said yet, a very realistic depiction of a family that's filled with physical and phycological abuse. The introduction of this plotline back in the sports festival had me in complete shock. Like I wholeheartedly thought that BNHA was a wholesome good vibes only type of anime :') getting hit with the intensity of the Todorokis was unexpected but definitely welcomed!

It breaks my heart because of how well written it is. Shoto and Touya are definitely the saddest parts for me (I don't even need to explain why when it comes to Touya) but with Shoto the feeling is even more intense! You just can't help but feel sad for such a kind and gentle soul. His journey of healing is beautiful to see and it saddens me that we won't be able to follow his progression anymore (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) but you just know that he will be okay because on his side is none other than Class 1A! And speaking of Class 1A...

I'm a sucker for the found family trope and BNHA delivers HEAVILY. Class 1A being Shoto's found family is just so so so beautiful 🤌🏻. The way he talks about them and how safe they make him feel hits hard :') love seeing this boy make friends and learn to be more open and happy with the people that he feels comfortable to be with!

And last but not least, I couldn't talk about the found family trope without mentioning the league of villains. Man .... there's just something about people that have been rejected by society getting all together to form a wonderful (and chaotic) bond that is still one of BNHA's biggest highlights for me. The reason and how they all got together in the first place might be rooted in the need of revenge and destruction but what ends up coming out of it is nothing but a genuine bond that made them feel like they had a chance to belong somewhere :')

And some random things because I simply could not leave them out!

Jirou's parents and how freaking cool they are! The fact that the husband took his wife's last name is just iconic. Love them <3

A boy raised with love :')

And a congratulations to all the BNHA mothers that had their genes completely dominate their kids physical appearances 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

[katebishopofearth]

20 questions for 20 writers

tagged by @wheelsup-sevenup

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 69 (nice 😏)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 317,923

3. What fandoms do you write for? Marvel (mostly ironwidow) and Our Flag Means Death. I have some Clexa fics from back in the day but haven't written for the fandom in years.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? i'm kinda surprised by these but i guess that older fics and multichapter fics have more time to accumulate kudos? - Something Worth Living For (2498 kudos) - A Night of Drunken Revelry (564 kudos) - iron masks and spider kisses (534 kudos) - Broken (485 kudos) - The Art of Taking a Blade (461 kudos)

5. Do you respond to comments? YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES. I try to reply to every comment because each one is literally the best part of my day.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Oof. The shit I've put Natasha through lol. Probably falling. which is Natasha reflecting on her life as she falls to her death on Vormir. dream. is also up there, it's about kid!Natasha learning to love Yelena as a sister.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? "happiest" is not quantifiable lmao. In the context of canon, maybe Something Worth Living For, it was cathartic and healing to give Clarke and Lexa their happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Yup it's happened a handful of times, luckily few and far between, but they always feel like getting a splinter stuck in my skin for days afterwards.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I've written light smut of the sapphic variety. I'm ace so smut is never about the sex for me, it's about character dynamics, power and intimacy. For example, the (non-explicit) sex scene in iron masks and spider kisses is about Toni baring her deepest secrets to Natasha and letting herself be vulnerable with her, and Natasha's acceptance of Toni's scars and past.

10. Do you write crossovers? Nope. My brain doesn't work that way.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I think that some of my very early ironwidow fics have ended up on Wattpad :/

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I know of

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yup I've written a few early ironwidow fics for a challenge waaaaaay back in 2014, with the talented @auripigmentum, @kuailongs and SatinSatire. They helped me find my footing with writing ironwidow: Chemical Reaction (Tony gets kidnapped, Nat comes to his rescue), Never Simple (Natasha finds out secrets about her own past, angst ensues), and Good Intentions (speakeasy era AU that still lives in my head rent-free)

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? i'd be lying if i said anything other than ironwidow. It's the ship I keep coming back to for over a decade.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Oh god. The teen vigilante Avengers AU I was writing in 2014. Idk if it'll ever see the light of day but it was my all-consuming pride and joy for months.

16. What are your writing strengths? idk, you tell me. probably putting characters through angsty situations lmao. Also action scenes (thank u Warrior Cats).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? actually writing lmao. It's hard to get into the mood/mindest for writing. Also writing multichapter fics – my attention span isn't built for anything longer than a 5+1.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I rarely do this because I know that code-mixing (mixing two or more languages when speaking) is incredibly nuanced, varying depending on language, context, and individual speakers. I pretty much only do this when the character canonically code-mixes in speech, and I try to stick to how they would speak, in order to sound as natural as possible.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Warrior Cats when I was about 12 on deviantart. Good times.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Oh MAN. It's hard to choose a favourite child. I don't think this is my most well-written fic, but the question is asking for a favourite fic not a well-written one, and it's probably iron masks and spider kisses. I loved exploring fem!Toni, and her relationship with her gender and femininity. It's a specific flavour of ironwidow that I haven't found in many other fics (tho there are a couple out there that definitely influenced how i wrote this fic). It's also truly a labour of love – I started writing this around the time Endgame was coming out, and wrote it over a time of enormous change, angst and upheaval in my life.

This was so much fun! I love talking about my writing haha and sharing older fics.

Tagging: @queeenpersephone @autumnwoodsdreamer @missmacfire also i'm realising that i don't remember which of my mutuals is a writer (it's 1 am u can't blame me for this) so if you're a writer – especially if you're on the OFMD fic server – consider yourself tagged!

[dil-ibaadat]

Do you still like Kanthony or more specifically Kate? I was scrolling down your Twitter and I saw you recommend an Edwina fic. I started reading and I’m halfway through it and it kinda pains me to see some fic authors or people from the fandom love this fic. It’s well written but it also makes Kate a villain and rewrites season two to fit the narrative of Edwina being a puppet in Kate’s hand. Of course i’m not saying what you should enjoy or read but I’m just wondering if that fic mirrors your opinion of Kate. I really hope I don’t seem rude with this ask, it’s not my intention and if so I apologize.

hey! going through my asks top-down because it’s easier. 

yes, i adore kate. she’s my #1, my ride-or-die, my unabashed favorite. i have a hard time getting investing in stories where she’s not at least a peripheral presence. 

because i love kate and i love flawed characters, i enjoy seeing her make mistakes and other characters viewing her in a critical light. it makes her human and it makes her all the more appealing to me. 

the edwina fic, for me, is one of the best fics in this fandom. i find the author’s portrayal of both edwina and kate (even in her more limited presence) to be compassionate and forgiving. a hard truth we have to swallow is that kate fucked up!! not as much as anthony did (that man was a single-handed catalyst for the mess of season 2 and he got off essentially scot-free; the audacity of men indeed). but she did fuck up by not telling edwina about her feelings and almost letting edwina marry a man who didn’t love her (and what’s worse, loved her sister). kate had her reasons and they were very sympathetic, but that doesn’t erase that hurt. and then, after s2, edwina had to attend kate’s wedding to the man she almost married, and have her entire future basically dependent on being in the good graces of that very same man (who is now her brother-in-law). 

that shit’s tough. edwina’s allowed to not have the most gracious feelings towards kate. in fact, that push-pull between love and hurt/hate/heartbreak/devastation was what made their relationship so good. kate was a good sister. an overbearing one, but a good one. and now, she barely knows anything about edwina and edwina barely knows anything about her. it’s so heartbreaking. i mean, they were family!!! the angst, the hurt, the love that continues to survive despite it all. this author did such a great, great job with edwina and kate’s relationship and edwina’s character development. 

and she also got me thinking: how could kate accept anthony’s love at the end of s2 if the fractured relationship with her sister was the consequence? how would she get over that roadblock? how would anthony feel for being the cause of this broken relationship? the possibilities there for an angsty post-s2 kanthony fic are ENDLESS. the situation is so good, so painful. the writer in me was endlessly inspired by the beautiful, haunting world this author created. 

as to your point about edwina being a ‘puppet’ in kate’s hands, well.... it’s an AU fic. some things were different, some remained the same. also, we have to understand... it’s edwina’s POV. the way she sees things were obviously very different from how kate or anthony (or the viewer) saw them. it doesn’t matter if her perspective is right or wrong, because the story’s about edwina and her journey to healing! it’s not so important to me because i think the friction in kate and edwina’s relationship was realistic and extremely well-done. i enjoyed the hell out of it. 

and edwina and freddie were so cute!!!! i’m now also shipping them like nobody’s business, which is great. 

tl;dr: it was a fabulous fic, the author is enormously talented, and i can still love and adore kate even if she’s not portrayed in the most flattering light in the stories that i read. good writing is good writing, and that author, to me, was one of the most talented voices i’ve encountered in this fandom thus far. we’re privileged to have her :)

[thebawdybaldurian]

BG3FicFeb Day 16

SFW: Inspired by your favorite song, poem, book.

I struggled a bit with this, as it is hard to pin down a specific media piece that I don’t just hyper fixate on for a while (Hi Baldur's Gate). By wonderful chance, one of my favorite full albums is The Hazards of Love by The Decemberists. It is a rock opera, that already tells a tragic story throughout the entire album, and the more I thought about it, the archetypes in it would fit very well into an AU story with characters from Baldur’s Gate 3.

This story is a tragedy, so beware that it is much different and darker than my usual angst and smut. I’ve cried like a baby in public listening to this album and cried writing the final song drabble. And sorry if this makes you hate Astarion a little. He is such a complex character, with a lot of potential to be good or evil.

Content Warnings: Sex, philandering, infanticide/filicide, kidnapping, attempted sexual assault, miscarriage, death/suicide. Nothing is written in graphic detail and is as concise as possible in its descriptions.

Prelude Margaret Tavish (AKA Tav) was promised to the Goddess Chauntea and lives in the cloister in Baldur’s Gate, as a young initiate. William Halsin was abandoned at birth by his impoverished wood elf parents and was discovered by the cruel Goddess Talona, who raised him as her child. She granted him Druidic powers as well as immortality.

The Prettiest Whistles Won’t Wrestle the Thistles Undone (The Hazards of Love Part 1)

Tav borrowed a horse from the cloister stables, intending to go for a short ride. She hated the coldness of the city, even though the cloister of Chauntea was covered in nature. She put a gray cloak over her white and green initiates robe, and sat side-saddle, riding at a soft gallop past the walls of the city, heading to the small forest nearby. She found a good spot to tie up her horse and went to explore the forest, hoping to bring back some medicinal plants for the Mother Superior.

As she gathered a handful of thistle, she saw a flash of white in her peripheral vision. She glanced over, seeing a pure white fawn struggling to walk, its hind leg maimed by a hunter’s trap. The fawn caught her glance, but did not run, staring back at her. “Don’t worry,” Tav put up her hands, setting her thistle down. “I won’t hurt you.”

The fawn’s ears twitched in response, as if it could understand her. “I know a healing spell,” she eased to her feet, hoping the creature would let her approach. “I can try to heal you.”

She approached it slowly, its eyes fixed on her with curiosity. It had laid down, its breath rapid from its struggle to walk. “It’s alright,” she knelt beside it, reaching her hands out to begin weaving the healing spell.

As the magic flowed around her hands, the fawn suddenly began to change, its white fur turning to golden brown skin and growing to the size of a man. He was handsome, with long brown hair that was half pulled up around his pointed ears. He had a sturdy frame and eyes that shone with kindness. Tav felt a heat growing over her as the man stared into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said, taking her hands gently in his.

“Are…are you a Druid?” She asked, feeling a blush across her face. Her life in the cloister was fairly sheltered, but he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen in all her time in the city.

“Something like that,” he nodded with a smile. “What is your name?”

“Margaret…but everyone calls me Tav.”

“You can call me Halsin,” he responded, her hands still held in his. They blushed at each other awkwardly, their eyes fixed on one another.

“Will you be alright?” she finally asked, looking down at his ankle, still red from the wound he’d sustained in his wild shape.

“I think so,” he tried to stand up with her help.

He stumbled a bit, pulling her close as he did. They looked into one another’s eyes again, both utterly and completely smitten. “I have never met anyone more beautiful in my entire life,” he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“You are the most handsome man I have ever seen,” she reached up to caress his cheek, already feeling her body collapsing against him. Their connection was magnetic and instant.

He bent down to kiss her, softly at first, but feeling an immediate ardor and lust for her, engulfing her in a long, slow kiss. When he was finally able to wrest his mouth from hers, she looked up at him with that same ardor, her heart racing along with his. He pulled her in for another kiss, their bodies melting into one. They found their way to the forest floor, slowly pulling their clothes off. They made love gently, under the canopy of the forest, their moans joined by birdsong and the soft whisper of the wind. At the end of their ecstatic joining, they lay nestled together on Tav’s grey cloak. “I’m sorry, Halsin, but I have to go,” Tav looked up at the fading daylight. The Mother Superior would already be upset that she’d been gone this long, if she didn’t make it home before dark, there would be greater consequences.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” he gazed into her eyes, but understood that she couldn’t just disappear.

“Will I ever see you again?” She asked as she reached for her clothes.

“I wander through these forests quite frequently. If you ever find yourself here again, just sing for me, and I will come,” he kissed her again.

They both dressed and shared one last kiss, promising each other they would meet again soon. He left her at the forest’s edge, watching her ride back towards the city. He felt the darkness of the forest creeping in on him, a waft of decay filling the air. His mother was calling for him to return. He shifted into his wild shape, ambling away as Tav’s figure grew even more distant.

A Bower Scene

When Tav returned to the cloister after dark, the Mother Superior gave her an earful, revoking her stable privileges for three months. Tav sulked back to her room, but as she lay down in bed, his warm seed still inside her, she felt it was worth it. She thought about him every day, clasping her hand to her thigh as she remembered the wonderful moment they shared.

When her bleeding didn’t come a month later, she felt both panic and elation. The Mother Superior would be livid to find her with child, but Tav didn’t care. She just hoped she could hide her pregnancy for the remaining two months and then she would just disappear with one of the horses.

Secrets weren’t easily kept in the cloister, and by the second month all the other initiates were gossiping behind Tav’s back. When word reached the Mother Superior, she called Tav into her chambers. “So, Margaret…I’ve heard talk that you’ve missed your bleeding two months in a row…I assume it was the wretch that kept you away until dark?”

“He’s not a wretch, Mother Superior! I love him,” Tav confessed.

“Love, my sweet child? Has he ever come to see you here? I know you haven’t had visitors in the past two months, unless you have been sneaking off. He bedded and forgot you and left you in a bad way. You will not be able to raise a child here. It will be put up for adoption as soon as you deliver it.”

“You can’t take my child away,” Tav clutched her stomach, her small bump just beginning to form.

“I can and I will,” the Mother insisted. “You were entrusted to my care, to shape you into a loyal servant of Chauntea. I will do just that.”

“Damn you!” Tav swore, running out of her chambers in tears.

She went to her dorm, crying on her bed, cradling her stomach in her hands. “I know Halsin loves me. I felt it in the way he looked at me, and the joy I felt with him,” she cried to herself. She brooded for a while, hatching a plan in her mind as her tears dried. She waited until dark, sneaking past the older clerics who kept an eye over the initiates and sneaked into the stables. She left everything behind in her room, aside from her robes and cloak. She didn’t even bother saddling the horse, riding it bareback out of the city and towards the forest.

Won’t Want for Love (Margaret in the Taiga)

Margaret left the horse, leaving it untied so it could wander its way back to the city. She conjured a simple Light spell and began to make her way into the forest. She had no idea if Halsin was near, but she was determined to keep walking until she could find him, singing a soft song to herself. Exhaustion eventually overtook her and she lay down in a patch of Columbine flowers, wrapping her cloak around her. When she awoke in the morning, greeted by the sweet song of a mistle thrush, she continued her journey.

Halsin had returned to the forest many times in the past two months, hoping to see Tav again. He also sang as he walked, hoping to call his true love to him. He couldn’t imagine what had kept her away, knowing in his heart that they were destined to be together. Just as he’d almost lost hope, he heard a quiet voice drift along the wind. He followed the sound, finding Tav wandering the forest, half-starved and weak from exhaustion.

He ran to her at once, lifting her off her feet with a happy shout. “Tav, my heart, I knew you would return,” he set her down, planting a kiss on her lips.

“Halsin,” she smiled up at him. “I’m so sorry it took me so long…the Mother Superior would let me…”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he kissed her again, holding her close. “You are here now…and…” He felt the slight roundness of her belly against his. “You are…pregnant?” He beamed.

“I am,” she smiled as he dropped to his knees and kissed her belly.

Wager All (The Hazards of Love Part 2)

Halsin whisked her away, finding her food and water and making a soft bed for them among the clover. They made love again, remaining in their lover’s repose until the birds called the dawn upon them. He weaved flowers into her hair as they walked among the trees, already making plans for themselves and their new child. They would somehow make a life for themselves among these woods, their love the only thing that mattered.

The Queen’s Approach

They had no idea they were being watched by dark and pestilent eyes.

Isn’t It A Lovely Night?

Tav and Halsin settled in for another night in the forest, a cloud of fireflies shining down as they lay nestled against one another on a thick carpet of thistledown. Halsin lay with his head resting on her stomach, singing softly to their unborn child. “I knew from that first moment, when we lay together, that I loved you,” he looked up at her, gently stroking her skin.

“And what a wonderful gift that moment gave us,” she smiled down at him, her fingers interwined in his hair.

“I hope to give you many more,” he found his way up to her lips, kissing her softly. They made love once again, oblivious to the dark shadows creeping around them.

The Wanting Comes in Waves/ Repaid

Halsin awoke in the middle of the night, the cold, cruel air disturbing his skin. He once again smelled decay and heard the quiet cracking of twigs underfoot, like bones snapping out of flesh. He got up carefully, wrapping Tav in her cloak so she would not wake. He walked towards the void in the forest, that was bereft of all sound and life. “Mother…I know you are here,” he spoke into the darkness.

The hiss in the wind answered him. “This is how I am repaid?”

“I owe you everything, Mother. My entire life and my powers. But…I love her.”

“I gave you everything, my son. I saved you from death, made you undying, let you wander at your will. But you find yourself wanting more. This is how I am repaid?”

“I did not mean for this to happen…but how can I turn my back on her now?”

“You would not exist without me. You would have died in your crib. It is you who have turned your back on me. This is how I am repaid?”

“Please,” Halsin begged. “Just allow me one more night with her. Let me take her to safety. I have served you for so long, you owe me a life. Just one night.”

“And if I grant this request? I will keep you forever afterwards, never to return to the mortal world.”

“Fine,” he nodded, knowing he would never return to her.

“Consider your debt repaid,” the wind howled, pulling his immortality and powers from him, the darkness seeping away.

An Interlude

Halsin returned to Tav, still sleeping peacefully. He lay down beside her, wondering how he could escape his mother. She might not even allow him to escape, her powers reaching far and wide. He would enjoy all the time left he had with his love, pulling her bundled frame close to him. He slipped an amber ring onto her finger, a trinket he’d found during his time wandering the forest. If his mother managed to take him, she would still have a small reminder of him.

The Rake’s Song

Astarion had been afforded every luxury in his life, the son of a noble Upper City family. He was already a magistrate at the young age of 21 and could have anything he wanted. One day his eyes set upon a beautiful woman and he married her at once, bedding her nightly, even when she became heavy with child. They named their firstborn Isaiah and soon enough, his wife found herself pregnant once again. He still enjoyed the fruits of other women, returning to berate his wife for losing her figure and otherwise ignoring his infant son.

When his wife gave birth to twin girls, Charlotte and a terribly colic Dawn, he felt himself suddenly trapped in his own personal Hell. His lust for his wife had been the only thing on his mind when they’d married and now he was stuck in a house full of screaming children. His wife grew frail and overwhelmed, him continuing to bed her as often as she had the energy for and even sometimes when she didn’t. She found herself once again pregnant with their fourth child.

By some miracle of a cruel God, or just his constant neglect and abuse, his wife passed in childbirth along with their unborn daughter, who he barely even bothered to name Myfanwy. Now a widower, he found himself caring for three unwanted children with an armful of servants to do what they could. It wasn’t enough and he began to plan for their untimely deaths. He poisoned one of his daughters with a sweet laced with foxglove. Dawn, who had developed asthma due to her colic, drowned easily when she was left in a bath unattended. Isaiah was the trickiest to get rid of, old enough to avoid his cruel father. He fought back when Astarion tried suffocating him with a pillow, managing to crack one of his ribs with a sharp kick, but still he passed and Astarion burned his body in the fireplace.

Astarion returned to his old life of philandering, bedding whoever he wished, without a second thought or regret about his dead children. His cruelty caught the eye of an equally cruel Goddess, who came to him one night with a proposition, which he accepted. He left his manor in Baldur’s Gate and rode towards the forest that lay outside the city.

The Abduction of Margaret

Halsin had left Tav to sleep some more, wandering the forest in search of food for her, still trying to figure out a way to escape from his mother’s clutches. Guided by the whispering voice of Talona, Astarion found his way to the sleeping woman. He seized her with a firm hand as she slept, clapping his hand over her mouth and pressing his body on top of her to bind her wrists and ankles. “What are you doing? Who are you?” She cried before he gagged her and slung her rudely across the back of his horse. Talona guided him again, this time towards the Chiontar River.

The Queen’s Rebuke/ The Crossing

Talona would see her son returned to her, no matter what. Margaret would be the one thing that could keep him from her, so she offered the woman’s life to Astarion to do as he pleased. There was little that could stop her powers, commanding all the cruelties of nature. When Astarion arrived to the raging river on horseback, with Tav bound and gagged, she parted the waters for him to cross safely. Halsin would never be able to follow them across the rapids and it would take more than a day for him to find a way around. By then, she would be able to reclaim him, as dawn came and his promised night of freedom was over.

Annan Water

Halsin had heard Margaret’s strangled cry and had run back to the glade he’d left in, only to see her being carried away by a white haired elf. He followed as quickly as his legs could carry him, managing to steal a pair of horses from a nearby homestead. He rode furiously in pursuit of the rake who had stolen his beloved, but found his path blocked by the raging river in front of him. He rode up and down the banks, looking for a safe place to cross but found none.

He tried to summon any residual magic, so he could wild shape into a bird, but his mother had taken everything but his life from him. “Margaret!” He screamed into the air, praying that some other deity might grant him the favor of seeing his beloved again. He swore he could hear her calling him, her voice strangled by some force. He collapsed onto the bank, beating his fists into the ground, his tears flowing into the river. “Please,” he begged. “I will offer you my life in return. Just let me cross and see her again.”

Margaret in Captivity

Astarion pulled Tav rudely off his horse, setting her down on the ground without a care. He sunk onto an old chair and grinned at her terrified eyes. “Now, what to do with you, my pretty thing?” He looked her over. She was barely clothed aside from the cloak wrapped around her. He looked at the round of her stomach with disgust. “Already ruined I see,” he sneered at her. His divine employer had not mentioned that fact. “Oh well,” he sighed, pulling out his dagger. “That just means I won’t keep you around for long, but we can still have some fun.” He took his dagger to the binding on her ankles, pressing himself on top of her as she screamed and thrashed against him, calling for Halsin to find her. “No one can hear you, darling,” he began to cut off what clothing she was wearing. “And the more you struggle, the more I’ll like it.”

She closed her eyes as his knife torn away her clothing and his hands groped her vulgarly. She called to Halsin, to her former Goddess Chauntea, to anyone who could bring her true love to her side and rescue her from the rogue’s cruelty.

Revenge! (The Hazards of Love 3)

Astarion reached down to unbutton himself, the woman no longer struggling against him. He’d almost hoped that she would, but perhaps after the third or fourth time she would. He felt a chill run down his spine as he pulled at his buttons, looking back towards the whisper he’d heard in his ear. “Father…the pie…it burns my belly…father,” he heard a quiet, child-like voice whisper.

“What?” He looked around, seeing nothing around him. He’d nearly turned his attentions back to Tav, before another voice whispered to him. “Papa, my bath, the water is too high, and I have no breath…”

“Who’s there?” He climbed off Tav, seizing his dagger again.

He saw the faint red glow of a fire down the hall, figuring there must be some other squatter in the ruined fort. He gripped his dagger tightly. Perhaps he would get to kill two people today. He crept quietly down the hall, approaching the glow, and seeing it form the figure of a small boy. “Isaiah?” he dropped his dagger, the fiery figure having the visage of his murdered son.

“Father,” the boy smiled, holding out his glowing hands to his killer. “We’ve returned to you.”

Astarion felt two tiny, icy hands grip his wrists, looking down to see the wraiths of his dead daughters holding him tightly. “The hazards of love, the hazards of love,” they sang to him, dragging him into the fire as he screamed in agony.

The Wanting Comes in Waves (Reprise)

Tav heard nothing for a while, after the screams of the man that had abducted her faded. Her hands were still bound, but she managed to get to her feet, still unsure if he was still there. She managed to pull her cloak around her and peeked tentatively down the hall. She was no signs of the man, aside from his dagger that sat on the ground. She went to retrieve it, finding nothing else aside from a slight scorch mark on the floor, as if someone had made a fire there. She picked up the dagger and cut her bindings, hanging onto the weapon when she heard footsteps.

Halsin rounded the corner, seeing her crouched in her cloak and seized her in his arms right away. “My heart. My one true love,” he held her tightly as they both cried.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she wiped his tears away.

“I had to tell you I loved you first,” he squeezed her tighter.

The Drowned (The Hazards of Love Part 4)

They left the ruined fort, huddled against one another, finding an old boat pulled onto the bank. “My mother will never stop pursuing me,” Halsin held Tav tightly against him. “And I swore a promise to this river…if it allowed me to cross…to hold you one more time…in return for my life.”

“I don’t want to leave you…” Tav cried. “I can’t leave you. Let us give both our lives to it then.”

“No,” he hugged her against him. “You should live…for our child.”

“I think…the child is gone,” she cried, showing him the blood on her thighs. She had felt the loss as the man had carried her away.

“Then let us make this river our bed, forever…married under its waves,” he looked down at her.

She joined hands with him and they pulled the boat into the water together, climbing into it before it was swept away by the rushing current. It began to flood almost immediately, water gushing into the holes in the bow and over its sides as they drifted down the rapids. They held onto each other tightly, saying their silent vows, their lips sharing their final breaths.

“These hazards of love, never more will trouble us.”

[facelessxchurch]

SP HeroForge: The Unnamed (1)

“The breakers of worlds reckon themselves mighty, but I mock them, for I am drinker of suns.”

“I am immortal. Your true death is when I forget.”

“All things that live are born already Named. I am Unnamed, yet I live. All the magic of sorcerers comes to them by their Name. I have no Name, and yet the doors of all magic are thrown open before me.”

I initially tried to stick to your ref sheet of the original Unnamed, but HeroForge’s options do not lend themselves well to that corporeal-Nazgul look. Not enough chains or billowing sleeves and the tattered robe options look bad to me. So I gave up on that and went off-script entirely with this immortal mummified pharaoh vibe, mostly of my own invention.

HeroForge doesn’t have an option for floating pieces around the head for that King of the Darklands crown, (these models have to be 3D-printable) but I got reasonably close with a ring of horns.

Guess what sword that is he’s holding?

So in the Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, there are a few lines that have been stuck in my head ever since I learned them. Echoing around in my mind, like I was always meant to hear them, like they were written for me. Which I guess in a way, they were. The Book of the Dead, which is also called the Book of Going Forth By Day, is actually a religious text, not some kind of spellbook of Old Kingdom necromancy or whatever it is depicted as in historically illiterate fiction.

The Ancient Egyptian religion is actually the source of True Name lore. For example, Isis, daughter of Ra, learns Ra’s True Name. She does this by poisoning him with an enchanted serpent she conjures, then tricking him into revealing his secret name to her so she can heal him. When he does so, she gains his power. Does this event remind you of anything that happened in phase 2 of Skulduggery Pleasant? I can think of one in particular.

Anyway, the lines are thus:

“I am the Great One, son of the Great One”

“I am fire, son of fire, whose head was given to him after it was cut off.”

These refer to the god Osiris, torn apart and later retrieved, stitched back together, embalmed and resurrected by his wife, or more generally the souls of the dead on their journey through the underworld to new life, who Osiris serves as a kind of exemplar for. But I found myself thinking about them again while customizing the Unnamed in HeroForge, and thought, what about a special version just for him?

“I am the Nameless, child of the Faceless.”

“I am no one, son of no one, over whom death has neither call nor claim.”

Thank you for coming to my dark magic TED talk

SP HeroForge: The Unnamed (2)

“Sorcerers become great when they own their Names. I own the ink with which those Names were written.”

Here are close-ups of his face, including some editions with sigils blazing with power carved into his skin.

I remembered that sculpt you linked before and tried to make his eyes look as much like it as I could. I also gave him the nose ring from that sculpt. Hope you appreciate

—

Ya trying a bit to hard on the quotes ngl. The only quote I like is the one based on the Book of the Dead. Tho the Unnamed describing himself as Child of the Faceless feels ooc for him. He infantilizes others by calling them ‘boy’ but not himself. Him calling himself ‘heir’ to the Faceless would seem more fitting to me.

Is he holding the Godkiller Sword?

I love that you based him off Egyptian lore. I’m pretty sure that Landy actually admitted in one interview that he based the name system on the Egyptian three names lore, yet you’re the first I saw do something with that information. So big bonus points for including that lore  The only thing I don’t like is that the bandages don’t cover him completely.

(I’d imagine Mev and Nef hate it too lol no one wants to see that nasty old man skin. Imagine this scene but with the Unnamed and Mev/Nef .3.)

But HF’s limits options are to blame for that and not you. That’s why I hardly play around with HF tbh bc not being able to do what I want drives me nuts haha.

You did an absolutely fantastic job on the eyes too! 👀 They look properly otherworldly and dripping with power! I’m a bit torn on the nose ring, but it does low key remind me of the main baddie from 300 which I would say fits thematically.

[samekoblogs]

Sunbeam of the Soul

Written for Amorra Week 2023 @amorraweek2023 for Day 2: Wrestling.

Rating: G.

Tags: Post-Season/Series 01, Training, Bonding, First Kiss, Fluff.

Summary: Korra. The person who looks at him like, someday, things could be better.

Notes: The fanfic is under the cut if you're more comfortable reading on Tumblr!

~~~

He doesn’t recall the last time people looked at him – really looked at him – in public. No one got close enough to see beyond the mask, the identity he was forging for himself to delete, banish the one a pathetic and vengeful man tried to engrave into him through abuse and fear. During everyday life, he was invisible and undistinguishable amongst a crowd, no one paid a second thought to a man not unlike many from his place of birth. He has been a ghost, since he started his movement.

Now, there’s no movement anymore. No equalists, none at least he can get in contact with while under custody on this island. And no mask. He lost it in the water and he’s not used to people seeing this old skin of his. He doesn’t know to whom it belongs anymore. Tarrlok had called him brother, and he had called him a brother as well. But he’s not that brother Tarrlok was referring to – he tried so hard to cancel that person, cursed since birth and almost molded into a monster. Perhaps, that had been why Tarrlok made his decision. He’s no longer a sibling, just a person loathed by all just like him, because of their bending and their accursed father.

Thinking about Tarrlok now, when his brother is still unconscious in bed, casts a shadow over his heart and soul. He has yet to wake up, the damage his body sustained far too great for him to recover in a short time. He is still recovering, his wounds albeit in process of closing hurt terribly at night and disturb his sleep. The fractured bones will never heal completely, and Tarrlok’s face will always bear unfading scars. Yet they’re alive, still in this world. They’ll meet each other someday, and they’ll talk. He asked for this as soon as he knew of his brother’s survival. He was promised this – and he’s trying to go on each day, just to see that moment in which they’ll ask each other: What now?. Even death rejected them, so what is left for individuals hated by the living and repudiated from the otherworld? It’s an answer he can’t find on his own.

A monk employed in the temple happens to cross paths with him. He’s a limping man, who gets tired too easily to be considered a threat. Yet this monk lowers his gaze and hurries past him and his designed guard, the Avatar. Korra.

“Seems like you have yet to lose your charm,” she comments, directing a small smile at him. She’s by his side, ready to steady him if he happens to lose his footing at any time. He’s not that prideful – not much anymore – to feel vexation for her acts of care, since he’s in need of them.

“Seems I quite lost it, I notice,” he replies, resuming his slow walk down the wooden hallway leading to one of the courtyards. He’s referring to the monk, obviously.

Korra snickers.

“People used to run away from you and still do. You still got it,” she says, making fun of him in good faith. As he came to learn, the Avatar is an outstandingly outgoing individual and a social butterfly like not many others. After all, she was able to find in her the courage – or the recklessness – to bond with him of all people.

He hums at her joke, not having the strength in him to argue back. He’s tired of spiels and his old logic that no one wants to follow anymore. He’s just tired of battling. He’s been living without an identity for a few weeks now, not Amon, but neither that young boy from a remote Northern Tribe village. He’s a mere nameless shadow, that others can refer to however they like. He won’t complain. He doesn’t care to.

They reach the courtyard the girl uses as a training ground a couple of minutes later. The spacious clay patio is basked in the morning sun, the salt-scented air blowing from the sea is warmed by its rays. Weather this mild doesn’t happen often in the winter season of Republic City.

He lowers himself down on the creaking stairs of the porch, where sunlight falls gently on his face. He inhales through his nose, taking in his surroundings with his other senses. The smell of the sea and the bare bark of the trees fill his nostrils. The heat warms his eyelids. He hears the faraway sounds of the waves and the Avatar’s confident steps down the porch and onto the training ground.

She’s stretching her muscly arms towards the sky above when he opens his eyes. She has shed her parka and left it beside him, her flesh twitching from the muscles flexing underneath it.

The girl falls then into position for her warm-up routine. She’ll bend the elements soon, and the element she usually starts with is the one most reflective of her personality: fire. She bends fire like a natural, like a native-born. Her punches are powerful, her kicks are wide, yet she’s not careless with the surrounding environment comprised of flammable wood and vegetation. Next is water, the flexibility of which allows her to get creative with the range and the type of assaults she dishes out. Earth is the third element, which aids her in both attack and a rare show of defense for such a straightforward personality. Last is air, where her inexperience and young age finally filter through; she bends air as if she’s bending fire or earth, ignorant of the similarities water and air share in terms of adaptability. He had studied for years each style of bending to gain knowledge on how to best counterattack each one. It’s instinctive for his mind to latch onto an analytical approach when his body can’t respond to the stimuli.

He can’t explain what came to him when he found out the Avatar, somehow, regained the use of her elements. The mix of shock, confusion, rage, and ultimately futileness overwhelming him had been too much to process at once. So he didn’t react at all at the start. The next days, every single one of those emotions came out in various ways – him losing sleep thinking of the way she recovered her lost bending, him demanding explanations, him closing in on himself to try and reign over the sheer fury pervading him and the suffocating, ruinous realization of his failure. It took a lot from him to deal with his distressing emotions, on top of the emotional luggage he already carried. He had let apathy win in the end, because he was tired, and couldn’t take any more blows from fate.

Watching the Avatar bend causes nothing to react, to recoil in him. He’s just a passive observer that doesn’t allow himself to act, apart from silently admiring her body at work, no matter if she’s bending or not. The only thing he remotely yearns for is to get back into training too when he’ll recover enough of his old strength. He can’t tolerate any longer staying in bed all day every day.

“Whew, nice show I put up for you, don’t you think?”

Her speaking interrupts his private mulling. Her forehead and arms are shiny from the sweat, her crooked smile cheers up her entire face. When she smiles, she does it with her mouth, eyes, cheeks, eyebrows. It’s a smile that takes over her whole being.

He hums, almost undetectably.

“Your execution is rather sloppy in some parts,” he says, honest. “You waste too much energy you could store back to amp up your stamina.”

“You’d be a pain in the ass as a teacher,” she says, huffing slightly. Then her smile turns challenging. “Why don’t you show me some moves, Mr. know-it-all?”

He merely lifts his eyebrows a bit at the teasing tone of the girl. He doesn’t know how, or why she’s this carefree with him, treating him like someone she has known far longer, far deeper. Someone she can trust to show the whole magnitude of her personality. It didn’t happen overnight and he doubts she hasn’t some reserves towards him, but it’s baffling they reached this point at all. Perhaps it’s because his mission failed and he has nothing to strive for, or someone to feel enmity for anymore. Perhaps it’s the Avatar’s lack of intention of doing the same, and her way of headbutting into people’s lives – for the better, or for the worse – just like she seems to do with everything in her path. She had to have bonded with his brother to discover his heritage. Somehow, she ended up forming some kind of relationship with him too.

The lack of an answer from him spurs Korra to approach him, hands on her hips.

“Come on. I know it can do you good. No use sitting there pouting, you need to get back into shape,” she says, her challenging tone mitigating, a gentle smirk playing on her lips. “What do you say?”

He looks up at the girl’s juvenile face, kissed by the sun. Does she really want him to get back into shape and possibly overcome her for good?

“You are… either a bold one, or a naive one, Avatar,” he says. He has been thinking this way for some time. “What part of me getting back into shape does favor you?”

“The part where you can see how sloppy I truly am. Also, training while someone is in a terrible mood puts me down,” she explains, sarcastically. She offers him a hand.

He wanders with his gaze over her palm and extended arm, maybe for a little too long because Korra flexes her fingers to urge him.

“Come on, or do you want me to call you lazybones?”

“That would be undignified,” he comments, to which Korra snorts.

“Then stop sulking and let’s busy ourselves with something else, okay? Just for a few minutes,” she furtherly tries to convince him, her eyebrows forming a soft curve over her blue eyes. She’s a mix of encouraging and understanding that feels different, fresh. Like a spring newly formed into the earth.

He ponders over it, finding in the end no real cons aside from the fact that the respected identity he built for the sake of the equalists would end up buried a few more inches deeper into the ground. But he’s not that man anymore. He lost the right to be Amon.

He stands up on his feet by holding on to the handrail. The Avatar’s hand only helps steady him to take the first step into the yard. The rest are his own to take.

“Good, now we’re just missing one more friend,” she says, her fingers near her mouth.

Before he can form any guess about said friend, Korra produces a long, piercing whistle.

“Naga!” she calls, whistling again. “Naga! Come girl!”

She’s calling an animal. He knows which animal it is, so it’s no surprise to him when he spots an enormous polar bear dog rushing out of the bare bushes and dead trees. The animal runs a circle around Korra before snuggling her massive head against her stomach, leaving a lot of her white fur on the young Avatar’s training clothes.

“Naga, darling,” Korra coos, petting the polar bear dog under her muzzle and in between her ears. “You’re so lively today, girl. Such a good, good girl!”

The dog grunts and pushes against Korra’s waist, mindful of the reduced size of her human friend. It’s only when Korra lowers herself near her muzzle and directs the animal’s attention to him that ‘Naga’ seems to take notice of his presence. She should have taken notice before, or at least shown some kind of acknowledgment. Perhaps, she doesn’t see him as a threat as long as Korra isn’t wary of him. Animals are intelligent like that after all.

“Naga, he’ll be our training partner for today,” she explains to the dog’s black, attentive eyes. “He’s in a bit of a bad shape though, so you’ll be helping him stay on his feet. Got it?”

Naga looks at Korra for a moment, then goes straight to him.

He isn’t afraid of the big animal – he can sense she’s a docile spirit, despite the ferociousness for which her wild counterparts are feared. He hovers with his hand near the muzzle of the polar bear dog, for her to sniff his palm. She dampens it a little with her wet nose in doing so.

“I am capable to stand on my feet,” he says meanwhile. He’s weak and gets easily fatigued, yes, but not that much.

Korra caresses the head of the polar bear dog, murmuring yet more praises to her animal companion.

“It doesn’t hurt telling Naga to aid you, just in case,” she objects, with a sympathetic smile. “Shall we begin, huh?”

At his nod of confirmation, Korra pats the side of Naga’s neck. The pet scurries outside the training area with her tail wagging in – he guesses – a display of playfulness.

He tries to not get distracted by the presence of the dog and… Korra. He’s used to training alone, but he can make an exception this time. It’s been too long since he made any use of his muscles to pass up this opportunity.

He begins with his breathing exercises, coupled with slow movements of his arms, shoulders and back, all of which synched with his breaths. He resorted to these breathing exercises many times while confined in bed. They help him center himself, get in the right mindset for training and hush his fervent mind. This last effect is the most beneficial to him. There was never a time in his life when his mind had been mercifully quiet, it’s solely with training that he can silence it for a while.

He completes a few rounds, then he widens his stance to take up the first form of one of his training exercises.

A movement in his peripheral vision prompts him to turn his head. The Avatar is in a stance too, which is reminiscent enough of his form. Is she imitating him?

Korra turns her head too.

“What?” she asks. “What’s the next form?” His furrowed eyebrows cause Korra’s eyebrows to furrow in tandem. “Can’t I copy you?”

“You’re welcomed to try,” he says, conceding.

He performs the second form of the series, stepping forward while his right hand curve in the air with a fluid, water-like movement, his left hand near his torso.

Korra steps forward too, still with her head turned and a lopsided smile.

“I’d happily try,” She says. They perform the third form, him first, Korra soon after. Naga is ever vigilant in her observation of their training. It really seems like she’s looking out for him, yet he quickly brushes that thought away. “Learning fighting techniques is my raison d'être. Did you develop these forms on your own?”

“They are derivative of waterbending forms, as you can see,” he replies, rather drily. When he notices that Korra is still listening, he feels like adding something else. “There are also certain forms I integrated from chi-blocking and the Kyoshi Warriors’ fighting style. It primarily fixes on dodging and counterattacking the opponent.”

“I could learn a thing or two from familiarizing myself with chi-blocking and the Kyoshi Warriors,” Korra admits, making small conversation with him. It appears to come naturally to her.

They continue to perform together until he expends all his usual series of exercises. He’s regrettably a bit out of breath and he must rely back on some breathing techniques to regain his composure. But training did good to him and that’s what matters. His muscles feel awake, reinvigorated, like they haven’t been in weeks. The comfort of knowing he could soon rely back on his body far surpasses the annoying itching of his burns rubbing against the bandages.

“Should we spar a little?” Korra suggests, still full of energy compared to him. He pushes back the awkward sensation of feeling like an old, decrepit man compared to her. This is just temporary, he reminds himself. He’ll regain back his physical prowess, if he’ll be allowed to do so. This is not the norm for him.

“It promises to be a duel of the ages, when taking into account one of the opponents is currently incapacitated,” he says.

Korra snorts at him behind her knuckles. That’s when he realizes the excessive dose of sarcasm he had put into his answer. He wasn’t a stranger to it when used sparingly with his most trusted equalists. None of them laughed at his sarcasm anyway, because when he resorted to it he was especially displeased.

The girl, noticing his stare, waves a hand in a pacifying manner.

“If you put it like that, my very innocent proposal seems rather mean-spirited.” She circles around him with her hands resting on her belt. “I just thought, we are warmed up now, so why not use all this energy in sparring? Without going overboard, of course.”

He hums at the girl currently looking at him with her chin raised, the sun making her round blue eyes sparkle.

“Very well.”

Korra grins. She doesn’t waste time in assuming a proud, confident fighting stance at the opposite side of the courtyard.

He stands in front of her, discreetly testing the flexibility of his knee and ankle joints, the areas where the stress of sudden movements will fall on harder.

In the meantime, the polar bear dog got up on her four paws and is rounding up the courtyard, her tail swishing a little. He pays little mind to her.

“When you’re ready,” he says.

“Hey, first you complain I propose a sparring session to you, then you want me, the uninjured one, to come at you?” she rebuts, her lamenting tone every bit friendly nonetheless. “No no, you come at me.”

“As you wish.”

He doesn’t mind one bit, especially for how refreshing it is when such a strong-headed personality challenges him this much.

He takes his time to approach the Avatar. He’s in no rush to attempt an attack, since he intends to preserve energy for what is surely about to come, with him still not making any move to engage in combat and the girl being an impatient person. Her muscles are twitching in preparation, in tension. Her bottom lip is ever so gradually inching out. 

Any time.

Any time soon.

His arm shoots forward to redirect Korra’s punch. Her knuckles collide against one of his bandaged burns underneath the tunic, and he steadies his jaw to suppress the pain.

“Sorry,” Korra says sheepishly, withdrawing her first. “You were taking too long.”

“That is no excuse to initiate a fight,” he says.

“Yeah, so—”

He aims for the center of her chest and hits her solar plexus with the thenar of his hand.

Korra gasps from the pain rapidly invading her lungs. She loses her footing and plummets on her rear, sputtering.

“Oh- oh spirits…” She’s grasping at her sternum, eyes wide and incredulous. “You’re… you cheated.”

“I was taking too long,” he reminds her, standing tall over her. He didn’t hit her with the intention to hurt, it must be an exaggerated bewilderment that’s keeping her on the ground.

He steps back to avoid her low swipe.

With a thrust of her back, Korra stands up again and lunges at him with a self-assured smirk.

The fight ensues, but it doesn’t take him long to notice she’s not giving her all in her blows. He’s blocking every single one of them at the best of his current abilities, although they’re not aggressive in the slightest. The fist she aims at his face is easy for him to capture in his own fist. So is the next one simple to dodge by stepping aside. The jab she deals to his briefly uncovered side gets redirected down as if it packed barely any force. And it didn’t.

“For all the honor you pride yourself on,” Korra says. A faint smile is playing on her lips. Her nose is brushing against his chin. She’s… close to him. Really close. He can feel her light exhales on his neck, the natural smell of her youthful, brown skin. “You surely have no honor, to have taken advantage of me like that for a cheap blow.”

“Every blow,” He lowers his head. “Is a crucial blow, in a fight. Avatar.”

“Really?” she grins up at him. Mischievously. “Then, by that logic—”

She goes for a kick aimed at his middle. He parries it with his forearm and he’s about to push away her leg with his remaining hand. Something – a paw – swipes at his ankles. He stumbles a bit and ends up with his back flushed against a large, furry surface.

Startled, he lifts his head up to the polar bear dog’s panting muzzle, whose black beady eyes have assumed a cheery shape.

He stares at Korra, hard.

“What? I said we could spar, and Naga is part of 'we',” she says, with a wide grin. “And you said—"

“Yes. I got your point, Avatar,” he interrupts, trying to push himself off the dog, but he does so too late. Naga plops on her stomach with a grunt and he ends up on the ground as well, propped up against the animal’s stomach. He feels ridiculous for what just happened, but Korra doesn’t laugh or make fun of him. She just proceeds to sit too, stretching her arms on the fluffy fur behind her, her joints popping.

He… he guesses they’ll rest now. Which isn’t a bad thing in hindsight. He needs the rest.

“Why don’t you just call me Korra for once?” she asks, so suddenly the question takes him aback.

“Should I?”

He hears the girl make a troubled sound with her tongue.

“Well, why not? It’s my name.”

She seems a little offended judging by her huff. She ignores how complicated are names as a topic for him at this time.

Why not, indeed? The reason is simple: it would imply too much familiarity between them. Too much of a thing he’s not used to having anymore. And it intimidates him, even more if he is to receive it from a person he sought to destroy for so long. He never had anything against Korra on a personal level, they were enemies because she’s the Avatar. If she had not been, they would have stayed out of each other’s way. That man however, enemy and adversary to her… sometimes, he feels like he drowned in the sea the moment he lost the mask. He stays silent however about these reasons.

“I will call you such if I see fit to do so,” he says, with a soothed tone. Perhaps even gentle, if one looks deep enough into it.

“Then I just have to give you a reason?” she asks, sounding pensive.

He arches an eyebrow at her. Why does this matter interest her so?

Korra cackles nervously, her index twisting Naga’s neck fur.

“How about…” she murmurs, soulful blue eyes twinkling at him. “How about this?”

She leans on him, hands in her lap. The soft contact of her lips doesn’t register on his cheek at first – he doesn’t register it.

When Korra moves away and the lingering sensation of her lips still tickles his skin, he turns his head towards her. He’s speechless, and it happens so rarely he doesn’t remember the last time it occurred.

Seconds pass and he gives up on trying to find words he doesn’t have for the expression she’s regarding him with, so open, full of life. Kind.

He reaches up to follow with his thumb the curve of her cheek, the outline of her round face.

Korra’s eyes are transfixed on him, dreamy. It’s as if she’s looking at someone that’s not him, that can’t possibly be him.

She kisses him then, she silences his mind with lips that taste like the warm sun they’re bathed by, like the murmuring sea all around them, like the soft sweetness of a peach. It’s a kiss brief like youth, but it leaves such a lasting impact on him that when Korra parts from him, gleefully giggling, her aura of life is still filling up his swollen chest. He feels… whole. Alive.

“So, what’s my name, Noatak?” she asks, beaming.

Her name rests on his tongue for a bit. Names are a complicated topic for him at this time... in some cases though, they don't have to be. He doesn't wish for her name to be a part of this issue.

So he utters it with a slow exhale.

“Korra.”

It surprises him how easily it rolls off his tongue. It shouldn't though. She's been 'Korra' in his mind for some time now.

The girl tilts her head to rest it on his shoulder.

“See, Naga?” she says to the polar bear dog, who grunts in response. “I told you this would work.”

Korra’s jowls are flushed, her eyes squinted from happiness. As if just him saying her name could make her entire day. He understands though now, why it was so important to her.

He says it one more time in his thoughts.

Korra. The person who looks at him like, someday, things could be better.

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Foxtail & Wolfsbane 32

Summary: Your lifelong obsession to hunt down the Nine-Tailed Fox has not gone as expected, and seventeen years later, you find yourself coming back to the place where it all started: Hogwarts. However, with Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and Headmaster Dumbledore’s hire of a certain Professor R. J. Lupin, you suddenly find yourself intertwined in the fates of those with whom you thought you had parted ways with long ago.

[Multi-Post Story] [Rowan Scamander x Reader] [Remus Lupin x Reader] [Young Sirius Black x Reader] [Tristan Graves x Reader] [Severus Snape x Reader] *Note: Rowan Scamander, Tristan Graves, Susana Holmes, Cas Carneirus, Henrietta Weiss, and Thomas Picquery are OC characters.

[Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Rough Sex.] [Warning: Possessiveness.] [Warning: Degradation.] [Warning: Humiliation.] [Warning: Nonconsent.]

*Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

☾ Click Here for Foxtail & Wolfsbane Home Page (All Chapter Links) ☾

Knock, knock.

Remus groaned softly. It was the night after the full moon and he felt like a wreck. Assuming it was either Sirius or Tonks at his door, he pulled on his bath robe loosely and shuffled to the door. Yawning, he opened it – only to find your mother standing there.

On the night of the attack, Remus had slipped your mother an emergency piece of parchment that bore Grimmauld Place’s address, written by Dumbledore, the Secret-Keeper. Your mother and brother, though terrified out of their wits, had been able to keep their heads together long enough to make it to Grimmauld Place. Upon arriving, they had yet another fright when Sirius Black, known as a mass-murderer and fugitive even in the Muggle world, opened the door for them.

Thankfully, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had arrived and were able to set the records straight. Madam Pomfrey administered very small quantities of Dreamless Sleep Potion and Calming Draughts for them. McGonagall suggested that they stay at Grimmauld Place for the time being, until the Order could ensure that they would not be targeted once they returned to their usual lives.

As such, your mother and brother had stayed at Grimmauld Place for a spell. Only a few days ago, your brother had returned to college, though only after making Remus promise him that he’d explain everything about werewolves someday. (“You were scary as hell, but you were also really cool,” your brother insisted, and Remus had blushed and muttered something incoherent.) However, your mother still remained at Grimmauld Place, waiting for Dumbledore to return and give her the “all clear”.

Remus avoided your mother. He was horrified that she knew he was a werewolf. She was probably disgusted knowing that Remus had allowed himself to date you, when he was a dangerous beast.

Only now, here she was, standing right in front of him. Remus hastily snapped his mouth shut, yanked his robe tighter around himself, and tried to re-do the knot on the robe tie more tightly.

Your mother chose to ignore the sudden flurry of activity going on before her. Instead, she said, “So, it was you. The man my daughter brought home… is also a werewolf.”

Remus gave up on tightening his robe and instead stared at her, a bit gauntly.  

She pressed, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes…” Remus murmured. “I can’t deny that that’s true.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”  

“Does my daughter know what you are?”

Remus slowly shook his head.

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for some time now.”

“So, I take it that the two of you have separated?”

“Yes. We decided that… that would be best.”

Your mother gave Remus a hard look. But she merely said, “I see.”

Remus wished he could meet your mother’s eyes, but he shamefully stared at the floor at her feet.

“And your wounds?” she asked. “How are they? Are you healing well?”

Remus nodded, still so burdened with shame that he couldn’t lift his head.

Your mother, who had always hated signs of weakness, snapped at him. “If you’re well, then lift your head up, boy. There’s no point groveling before me.”

Remus winced. He slowly lifted his head.

“Now,” she said decidedly, “I’m relieved to hear that you aren’t with my daughter anymore. The two of you were all wrong for each other. You’re too meek, and she’s incredibly self-centered. Look at her, just running off however she pleases and never sending word home about whether she’s even alive or not.”

Remus paused. “Well, if – if she wrote to say she was alive, wouldn’t that be redundant?”

Your mother shot Remus a sharp glare. He shut up instantly.

She continued, in a somewhat stiff voice, “However, I recognize that you treated her well. And the other night, you risked your life to save my son and me. I don’t know exactly what kind of hell you had to go through afterwards, but I’m aware that it nearly cost you your life. Thank you, Remus. Thank you for saving my son.”

Remus blinked.

“Now, I realize that these things go far beyond money, and I could never hope to repay you for the kindness you’ve shown us, but…” Your mother, with trembling hands, slowly raised her hands, and Remus saw a handful of crumpled-up, obviously saved up dollar-by-dollar, Muggle bills.

Remus turned bright pink. “No, I couldn’t!”

“You must,” she insisted. “There’s nothing else I can do for you. I’m not magical. I can’t heal you. But I know you can exchange Muggle money for wizarding money. So, please, take it.”

“I really can’t take this,” Remus protested, shoving the money back at her.

Your mother held the money out again. “If you don’t, I won’t be able to sleep at night! Please! Take it.”

More than anything, Remus wanted to keep protesting until she gave up. But Remus understood deeply the meaning of dignity that your mother so intensely exemplified. In a humble, tired voice, he whispered, “Thank you very much.”

“You take that and you get better, you hear me?” she said sternly.

Remus nodded. “Yes, I will.”

“Good. Now I’ll be off,” your mother grumbled. “I need to get some sleep. And, judging by the dark bags under your eyes, you should sleep as well.”

“Sure,” Remus replied softly. “I’ll do that.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Rowan, despite falling asleep after you, woke up before you. Half-asleep, he gently fumbled around. His hands slipped tiredly through your hair and then up and down your body. He let out a sleepy sigh of relief when he recognized that you were yourself again – without fox ears and at a regular body temperature again. You continued sleeping, exhausted from taking your own body and soul back from a quickly strengthening Nine-Tailed Fox.

It was only when you heard Rowan come out of the shower and close the bathroom door behind him, that you woke up.

You tiredly lifted your head. “Why’re you up already?”

“Because you snore, sleepyhead,” Rowan said. After pulling on some clothes, including a jumper, Rowan playfully tossed his towel at you.

With a groan, you threw his towel back at him and then sank back under the covers.

Rowan sat down on the bed. Reaching over, he pulled you out from under the covers.

“Don’t you dare go back to sleep,” he warned you.

You sighed and let him pull you into his arms. Yawning, you asked, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

You rolled over into Rowan’s lap. Lifting the hem of his jumper, you scooted your way up his jumper. You barely managed to push your head through the hole of the jumper.

Smiling up at him, you replied, “Never better.”

Rowan gave you a most skeptical look. “You did this on the train, too. Did you grow up at all?”

“Did I do this back then?” you wondered, cocking your head to the side.

“Yes.”

“Ah. Sorry.” You made to slip back out, when Rowan caught you in a hug, wrapping the jumper arms around you, and he kissed you on the forehead.

“Hm?” You looked up at him, wondering what it was he wanted from you.

“You said all sorts of sweet things to me last night,” Rowan reminded you. Instead of sounding pleased or sweet, he sounded accusing.

“Did I?” you wondered aloud.

Rowan frowned. “Now you’re going to say that you don’t remember? Merlin, you are a sly nymph.”

You frowned back, trying to remember. You shook your head at him. “Dunno. But really, can you blame me? The way you make love to me is - ”

“Is what?” Rowan lifted his eyebrow at you. “I dare you to finish that sentence. Go on. Say it.”

You opted to instead sidle out of Rowan’s jumper.

Rowan reached over and poked you hard in the side.

You tried to shift away, back to your side of the bed, but Rowan grabbed you and dragged you back to him. “C’mon, say it. How do I make love to you? Do I get you all wet in your little pussy, hm? Do I make you moan all pretty when you’re cumming on my cock, you little slut?”

You flushed. But you responded bravely, “I thought we established that you’re the slut, Rowan Jacob Scamander.”

“Well, sure,” Rowan agreed. “But then, you can’t think ill of me for doing this, all right?” Anchoring you against his chest and in his lap, Rowan reached down and slipped his hand down the front of your pajama pants.

You squirmed when you felt his fingers push at your pussy through your panties.

“It wasn’t just last night that you said cute things, you know,” Rowan told you, as he began to massage your pussy with his fingers. “Guess what I found this morning?”

“W-What?” you huffed out.

“I found your letters,” Rowan pressed his arm against you so that you couldn’t squirm away from me, while still keeping his hand cupping your pussy. With his other hand, he managed to fish out a couple of letters from his pocket.

“Let’s see…” He unfolded the letter with one hand and read aloud, “Dear Rowan, If my handwriting seems more circular, don’t worry, it’s not an imposter. It’s still me. It’s just because I’m not writing with a quill…”

“Gah, stop. I don’t want to hear this rubbish. Besides,” you said, grabbing his wrist and tugging at it, “you have to finish what you started. Keep touching me, Rowan.”

Clearly savoring this moment of embarrassing you Rowan merely lazily stroked your pussy while he continued reading in a pompous voice, “I hope you’re finding all your creatures. But just know that I’ll find the Nine-Tailed Fox first.” With a smirk, he leaned forward and nuzzled the top of your head with his chin. “And you certainly did.”

You let out a soft growl and sank down lower, avoiding him.

But Rowan wouldn’t let you go that easily. He used his thighs to squeeze your sides, making you gasp and keeping you in place as he unfolded another letter. He started to slip his fingers lower and lower, running his fingers down your clit and towards your pussyhole, as he read aloud a new letter. “Dear Rowan, I wonder how you’re doing. I wonder if a chimera’s gobbled you up yet. If that’s not the case, then I wonder if my letters aren’t getting to you. I never did properly write down your address and I’m using Muggle post to send this. I wish I had an owl.”

“Will you – nngh – stop it, you bully?” you huffed out indignantly.

“Shush,” Rowan said to you, “my parents are back in the house.”

Your eyes widened and you hurriedly clamped your lips shut. Still, you couldn’t help but let out tight little noises as Rowan started to finger you more and more roughly, all but pushing your panties into your pussyhole.

“Ah – hah – nngh…!”

“All right,” Rowan said airily, as if he wasn’t making a mess of you right between your sweet thighs in that moment, “the next letter - ”

Having had more than enough, you smacked Rowan’s arm. The letter slipped out of his hand before he could open it.

Rowan chuckled. “What’s the matter? I’m only reading what you wrote me.”

“You’re seriously such a – ah!” You gasped as Rowan chose that moment to push aside your panties and push his finger inside of your pussyhole.

“Sh!” Rowan hurriedly used his now free hand to cover your mouth. “Quiet down,” he scolded you, all the while sliding in a second finger while he still had his finger buried inside of your tight cunt.

“Mm-mm-mm!” you moaned out, with your voice all muffled.

“I think this is more embarrassing for you,” Rowan whispered into your ear. “Can’t even take two fingers.” As he spoke, he started to roughly pump his fingers back and forth, in and out of you.

“Nngh – R-Rowan,” you choked out. Your thighs were trembling, but you managed to drag them apart a bit further, inviting Rowan to fuck you harder with his fingers. “More,” you pleaded. “Deeper, please.”

“God, I spoil you,” Rowan murmured, as he sloppily and roughly pushed his fingers inside of you, complying with your request to finger-fuck you harder.

“Ah…” you moaned into his hand. “Yes… Uhn…”

“Let me ask you something,” Rowan whispered, “in return for how good I’m making you feel.”

You groaned, half because of how deep he was pushing his fingers inside of you and half because you wanted him to keep quiet. If he asked you questions now, you knew you’d just blurt out the truth, and it might be embarrassing for you.

“C-Can’t you wait?” you asked him.

Rowan snorted. “Of course I can wait, but why should I? I’m a very impatient man. I’m sure you’ve realized that by now.”

Rowan sank his fingers inside of you, right down to his knuckles. A harsh puff of air escaped your lips as you tried your best to keep from moaning.

Oh, Merlin, you whispered in your head, only a few more thrusts like that and he’ll have me cumming…

Rowan did exactly that. And right when he had your thighs shaking, Rowan questioned, “When you oh-so-innocently wondered if a chimera had eaten me up, were you being passive-aggressive about the fact that I hadn’t written you back?”

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to give yourself a moment to think before you replied, only to find that your mind was already all abuzz and thoughtless, all swallowed up already by the fact that Rowan’s handsome fingers were slipping in and out of your now wet pussy, all sloppy and warm…

“Hah…” you breathed out, “God, yes, it feels so good. Ah, Rowan… Keep going, I wanna – wanna cum for you…”

Rowan sweetly kissed your neck, loving how you were melting into his lap and how you were gently tossing your head back and forth against his chest, but he nonetheless made a point by pushing his fingers in extra roughly and demanding, “Answer me, you sly little fox.”

“I don’t – I don’t – ah,” you breathed out. Your pussy was getting tighter and tighter. You were right on the edge of cumming, and that wonderful and intense sensation of coiling up began to appear in your tummy. Your toes started to curl up under the covers.

“Mmmm…!” you began to moan outright.

Rowan suddenly stilled his hand. In a harsh whisper, he spoke meanly, “I won’t let you cum until you answer.”

“No!” you gasped. You tried furiously to sink down onto his hand, to fuck yourself on his fingers. You squirmed your hips, searching for that sweet feeling of being full in your thumping, wanting cunt – but Rowan wasn’t there anymore.

“Ah, ah,” Rowan said, tsking at you. “Answer me first, love.”

“No…” you moaned out. Because that tight feeling in your tummy had suddenly stopped cresting. Now, you could immediately feel it fading away, leaving you with a tightness that promised nothing.

“Rowan!” you cried out in exasperation. “Why’d you pull away from me? I was so close!”

“Oh, were you, baby?” Rowan said in a mock-cute voice. He reached down and grabbed your face roughly in his hand. “Were you close, sweetheart?”

You glared up at him furiously.

Just then, however, you heard footsteps coming up towards the room. Your eyes widened.

A soft knock sounded out and then Tina’s voice came floating through the door, “Rowan, dear, if the two of you are up, please come down. We need to talk.”

You immediately made to leap out of bed, but Rowan kept his grasp on your face. Smirking at you, he squeezed your cheeks while he replied airily, “Sure thing, Mum. We’ll be right now.”

Tina walked away from the door and back down the steps.

Still glaring at him, you said grouchily, “Fine, I’ll answer you.”

Rowan lifted his eyebrow at you.

You stated firmly, “My answer was that I really and truly wanted you to be eaten by a chimera. Happy now?”

Rowan laughed. He let you go and he fell back easily on the bed. “That was all your fault, love,” he told you, grinning. “If you’d only answered me without a fuss, I’d have let you cum on my hand.” He drew his hand up to his mouth and he sucked on his fingers. “Mm, kind-of a shame, huh?”

You scowled at him. “I don’t like you very much, Rowan Scamander. In fact, I don’t like you at all.”

Rowan grinned. “Glad you’ve returned to your normal self. Now, go find another jumper to invade so we can go down and meet my parents.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

When you and Rowan came down for breakfast, you were greeted by the awe-inspiring sight of a phoenix Patronus flapping its wings in the air, as it stayed aloft in the kitchen and addressed Newt, Tina, Jacob, and Queenie, who were all standing before it.

“Understood,” Newt was saying.

The phoenix nodded and then disappeared in a glowing, levitating ball of blue flame.

“Dad?” Rowan called. “What was that?”

Tina and Newt looked at each other. Newt nervously touched the back of his hair.

“Well, you better come down and drink some tea first,” Tina said.

You and Rowan traded uneasy glances. You both followed Tina’s suggestions and came down the steps and sat at the table first.

Once everyone was sitting around the table and the tea had been poured out, Tina asked, “Now, I understand that you can’t speak much about it, but would I be right in saying that the two of you have been – well – out-of-the-loop of this world’s events for the past two years?”

You and Rowan nodded.

“Very well.” Tina sighed. “Well, things have taken a drastic turn here, in this world, while you were gone.”

“What do you mean?” Rowan asked.

Newt fidgeted uneasily in his chair.

Tina’s expression became most grim, as she announced, “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned.”

Your eyes widened in shock. In a hoarse voice, you whisper-shouted, “What!?”

“That can’t be possible,” Rowan said instantly. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was killed thirteen years ago.”  

“Voldemort,” Newt said quietly, almost speaking to himself. “We should call him Voldemort. Fear of a name causes fear of a thing itself. That’s what Dumbledore said.”

Tina looked over at her husband. Her eyes glimmered as she confessed, “I am afraid, Newt.”

“But we saw the daily newspapers on our way here,” Rowan said. “We didn’t see any articles about Voldemort. If he’s back, wouldn’t the news be dominated with stories of his return?”

You nodded vigorously.

Newt sighed heavily, as he answered, “No. The British Ministry of Magic has decided to deny the return of Voldemort and they are leaning heavily on MCUSA to remain silent as well. There has been great resistance, mostly from your mother and from Tristan, but MCUSA has asked for more time to deliberate. Only, it’s been months now…” He looked over at Tina.

Tina explained, “We fear the Death Eaters have a grip on MCUSA at the moment.”

“Like Theodore Fontaine…” you murmured, as you remembered the Death Eater that had tried to Imperius Susana into capturing you for the Dark Lord.

Tina nodded. “Yes, we are aware that the Fontaine family had allies in MCUSA, both before and after Susana tracked him down. Tristan, Cas, and Susana are spending all of their time trying to track down the remaining Death Eaters, but it’s proven to be a tricky task, as they can’t challenge anyone openly.”

“When did this all happen?” Rowan asked. “I mean, when did Voldemort return?”  

“A few months ago,” Newt explained. “It happened during the TriWizard Tournament.”

“The what?” you wondered.

“Hogwarts hosted an inter-school competition called the TriWizard Tournament. The last task was to go through a maze and touch the Championship Cup. It was all rigged, though…” Newt informed you. “The point of the entire Tournament was actually to get Harry Potter to Voldemort.”

Rowan frowned, not quite understanding. “How is a Tournament between magical schools of any use to Voldemort?”

Newt ran his hand through his hair tiredly, as he added, by way of explanation, “Voldemort used the Cup as a Portkey, you see. He had one of his Death Eaters set it up for him. As soon as Harry touched the Cup, it sent him straight to Voldemort.”

“Harry’s all right, though?” you blurted out. “He’s alive, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Newt assured you. “He’s alive.”

“Thank Merlin,” you whispered.

“And Voldemort… Since he was the one behind it all, does that mean that he was alive this entire time? In other words, never died?” Rowan wondered, trying to make sense of this horrific revelation.

“We don’t know,” Tina replied. “What is clear, however, is that he has returned.” Despite the fear shining plainly in her eyes, her voice was steadfast. It was clear that she had already decided to resist. In this moment, you recognized Tina again as the stern, powerful woman who was the Head of the Aurors, the woman who had advocated on your behalf and had allowed you to stay with Tristan instead of being locked up in MCUSA prison.

Queenie, who had been quiet this entire time, spoke in a terrified voice, “Things have been – been getting dark again.”

Jacob pulled her into his arms. “It’s all right. It’s not him, sweetie. It’s someone else. And you’re safe now. You’re with me, aren’t you?”

Queenie buried her face in Jacob’s neck. Jacob rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

“And what about Sirius Black?” you wondered aloud. “Has he been captured yet?”

Tina answered, “No, he’s still out there. Although - ”

In disbelief, Rowan interrupted, “Mum, how can that be true? How could he have escaped and remained on the run this entire time?”

The Grim. Remus. Remus! You suddenly leapt to your feet. “That reminds me! I’m so sorry. But I have to go.”

“Wait!” Tina called out.

You had already raced out of the dining room and into the entranceway.

Rowan immediately made to go after you, when Queenie reached over and grabbed his arm.

Meanwhile, hastily pulling on your cloak, you opened the door, all the while shouting, “I’m so sorry, but thank you! It was a lovely stay, just lovely! And Rowan – I’ll write you!”

You ran out of the front door and started to slam the door shut behind you when someone grabbed your arm.

You turned to see – “Rowan,” you said hurriedly, “you should stay here with your family. And when you’re ready, you can go back and see your creatures - ”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

Worried, you bit your lower lip. “Is that all right? I feel like you’re giving up too much just to stay with me.”

Rowan’s eyes were steely as he looked directly at you. “But it’s what it takes to be with you. You wouldn’t stay here with me if I asked, right?”

Unable to lie to him, you shook your head.

“Then, I have to go with you. It’s simple.” Rowan reached down and took his hand in yours. “Let’s go. Let’s go hunt down Sirius Black, once and for all.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As soon as you and Rowan arrived back in England, a light bulb went off in both your faces.

You blinked. What the - ?

“Topper, I thought we spoke about this,” Rowan said wearily. “Friends don’t ambush friends.”

“Yeah, but can you blame me? I’m a journalist, you’re a celebrity.” A young man, holding an old-fashioned camera and wearing a newspaper boy cap, grinned toothily at Rowan. “First sighting of Rowan Scamander in two years – and with a woman, at that! This’ll make me a fortune.”

“Congratulations,” Rowan reply wryly. “How’d you know I’d be here, anyways?”

“Your dad told me.”

Rowan sighed. “Dad’s always been too trusting of you.”

“True, true,” Topper agreed easily. “He forgets I’m a journalist now. I was just a newspaper boy when I met him.”

“Anyhow,” Rowan said, “could you please do me a favor and at least keep her - ” he indicated you “ – out of the news?”

“No can do,” Topper answered. “She’ll account for half the pay.”

Rowan frowned. “What’s gotten into you? Why the need for all this money?”

Topper laughed. “You’re the only one who doesn’t need money, Scamander. But, since you’re a friend, I’ll tell you – I want to get married. I figure I need to save up some money before I can properly ask for her hand, y’know?”

“Well, that’s fine, but you can’t use a picture with her in it, Topper. I won’t have that,” Rowan said, and his voice became a tad more steely. He stepped towards Topper, who instantly shrank back.

“Rowan.” You hurriedly grabbed his arm, not wanting him to get angry with Topper, who was sure to report Rowan’s reaction to both his father and the entire Wizarding world.

Rowan looked down at you. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him release the photograph.” He turned to Topper and said, almost cruelly, “Will I now, Topper?”

“No, no,” you said quickly. “It’s fine. Don’t start anything, Rowan, please. Just let him release the photograph.”

“You’ll get hassled to no end for being seen with me,” Rowan told you. “This isn’t some abstract thing. It will affect you.”

“Well, but I don’t – I don’t mind being seen with you,” you said honestly. “I’ll be all right.”

It suddenly occurred to you that Topper had pulled out a journal and was scribbling down your conversation furiously.

Rowan noticed this, too. With an angry growl, he made to snatch at Topper’s notebook, but – crack! – Topper was gone – camera, notebook, stupid hat, and all.

“That bastard,” Rowan swore freely now that Topper was gone. “What was Dad thinking, letting Topper know I was on my way here? He probably thought Topper just meant to pay me a visit as a friend. Dad’s too damn trusting.”

You reached down and took Rowan’s hand. “Never mind Topper. It doesn’t matter what he prints. We have more important things to do.” With that, you pulled him away.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You and Rowan quickly crossed over the Hogwarts grounds and marched your way all the up to the Headmaster’s office.

“Dumbledore!” you said loudly. The phoenix statue that masqueraded as Dumbledore’s office entryway had barely finished opening for you when you half-stepped and half-tripped into the room.

Dumbledore looked up at you. “Ah, our missing Professor.”

You paused.

“I must warn you that Professor McGonagall is quite irate with you, having turned tail and left your post without a letter of resignation.” Dumbledore’s mouth twitched, however, as he continued, with a glimmer in his eye, “Although, perhaps in this situation, the phrase ‘turned tails’ is more appropriate.”

“Er…” Finding your fire suddenly extinguished by a tidal wave of guilt, you said sheepishly, “My deepest apologies, Headmaster.”

Rowan said exasperatedly, “You never formally resigned from your post? Merlin!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know what would happen?” you shot back “One second we were going after Sirius Black and the next I was – I was in danger of losing my life to a fox! You were there! You should be the last one to judge me!”

Dumbledore cleared his throat tactfully.

“Oh, right,” you remembered. Abruptly turning back to Dumbledore, you said, “Headmaster, is it true that Sirius Black is still on the run?”

To your frustration, Dumbledore gave you a long look, as though he were thinking through a complicated answer, before he nodded slightly.

“What?” you said in disbelief. “It’s true? How can that be? How can even you not know where he is?”

“I did not say that I was unaware of his whereabouts,” Dumbledore replied. “I merely stated that he is still on the run.”

You frowned at him.

Beside you, Rowan stepped closer to Dumbledore. “Headmaster? What do you mean by that?”

Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes swept over Rowan’s face for a moment, before he answered, “Sirius Black is innocent.”

Your mouth dropped open.

Dumbledore proceeded to tell both you and Rowan the true story – of how Peter Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters and then set Sirius Black up to look like the traitor.

“My God,” you said, awestruck.

“Does that mean you’re now helping to hide Black, then?” Rowan wondered. “I mean, if he’s still loyal to you - ”

“Yes, he is a member of the Order of the Phoenix,” Dumbledore answered. “As are your wonderful parents, of course.”

The slightest grimace appeared on Rowan’s face, but he only nodded.

“Headmaster,” you interjected then, “where is Professor Lupin?”

“Remus Lupin is no longer a Professor at Hogwarts.”

“What?”

“He left when you did.”

“Why did he leave? He was the best professor here.”

“It would be best if you asked him yourself,” Dumbledore replied. “However, I will tell you that he was integral to keeping Sirius Black alive and out of the Ministry’s hands, and that role cost him severely.”

“He helped Black to escape?” Rowan clarified.

Dumbledore nodded.

“But then – that means Remus and Sirius are friends again…” you realized. You felt as though a rock had dropped in your stomach. If Sirius is the Grim, and Remus is his friend again, then is Sirius using Remus every month again? Is he putting Remus through that tortuous process of helping him get through his terrifying Grim transformations?

“Headmaster,” you said grimly, “I think I know the answer to this already. But, I have to confirm: Is Remus currently staying with Sirius?”

“Yes. He is.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

When Dumbledore stated that he could not give you the address to where Remus was unless you joined the Order of the Phoenix, you joined on the spot.

Rowan was much more cautious. He gave you a skeptical look and questioned, “Don’t you think this requires more thought?”

You merely shrugged.

Rowan sighed. He asked if he could be an ally, rather than a member, and still go to Grimmauld Place with you. Dumbledore agreed; in fact, he did not seem at all surprised by Rowan’s wariness.

Then, the two of you were off – except you had to make one stop, one very important stop, along the way.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Ow! Art!” you gasped as Artemis furiously bit and scratched at your hands.

Artemis was furious with you. You had left her behind for two long years – and what was more, Artemis could sense that you’d gone to the spiritual realm without her. She was beyond hurt, and she was now putting in all of her efforts to express her hurt.  

She chomped on your fingers – “Mother of - !” you cried out, and you let her go.

Artemis fell lithely to the ground, where she snapped at your ankles angrily before streaking away to hide under Hagrid’s sofa.

Meanwhile, Rowan and Hagrid were sitting at Hagrid’s table, chatting over a nice cup of tea as they watched the entertainment before them – namely, you running after your fox all over Hagrid’s cabin.

Rowan got along quite well with Hagrid. In their own way, they were both gentle giants and they had a wonderful affinity with all creatures that came not just from their curiosity, but from a genuine connection with each individual creature.

Fang, Hagrid’s dog, tromped over to Rowan and laid his big head on Rowan’s lap. Rowan was now lazily scratching Fang behind his ears and watching with a most amused smirk as you, now huffing and puffing, crouched down in front of the sofa and made to pull Artemis out.

“Get out of there!” you shouted. “You don’t even fit under there anymore!”

Artemis let out an indignant bark, as if to reply that you were wrong because she was under there.

You managed to grab Artemis’ tail and started to drag her out. Artemis growled and tried to dig her claws into the floor. A loud screeeeechhh sounded out as you yanked Artemis out.

Fang suddenly lifted his head and barked, horrified by the sound. Rowan quickly clapped his hands over Fang’s ears to spare him.

When Artemis came out, she looked like a ghost.

You wrinkled your nose. “Merlin, Hagrid, you need to sweep under your sofa once in a while.”

Hagrid coughed, embarrassed.

Artemis started to bark at you – but then – she sneezed. “Achoo!” Startling herself, she tripped backwards and fell onto her behind.

You took the opportunity to grab this quite sizeable fox and shove her into a huge bag you’d borrowed from Hagrid.

Immediately, protesting yowls ensued.

“What – You don’t want to come with me, then?” you asked Artemis loudly.

Artemis went quiet, but then, a soft, sad whimper sounded out.

Feeling that you were on the brink of animal cruelty, with a sigh, you knelt down and opened the bag and gently deposited Artemis back onto the floor.

“Listen, Art,” you said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you. But it was an urgent situation and I didn’t know what was going to happen. I knew that you’d be safer and happier with Hagrid.”

Artemis still wouldn’t look at you.

“Fine,” you said softly. “You don’t have to come. I understand. I’d be mad, too.” You got up off of the floor.

“Sorry about all this, Hagrid,” you apologized.

“Don’ apologize,” he said gruffly. “And don’ feel too bad, either. She jus’ missed you lots, that’s all.”

“All right. Well, as much as I’d like to stay and win her back over, I have to be on my way. I’ll try to come back as soon as I can.”

You looked over at Rowan. He nodded and got up from the table. The two of you headed for the door when another, barely audile whimper sounded out.

You turned around. Artemis was still sitting on Hagrid’s floor. She hadn’t moved. But she was looking at you now.

“Want to come with me?” you offered again.

Artemis slowly got up.

You opened your arms.

Artemis cautiously came over to you. She sat in front of you and stared up at you.

When you reached down to pet her, she growled.

“You still haven’t forgiven me.”

Artemis blinked. You took that as an affirmation.

“But you want to come with me?”

As you spoke, you turned your hand over, so that your palm was up. Artemis lifted her paw and put it in your hand.

“Okay, then,” you said softly. “That’s good enough for me. Thanks, Art.”

You left Hagrid’s cabin. You could hear Artemis trotting a little ways after you, with her little bell, which you’d put on her all those years ago, ringing merrily.

Besides you, Rowan slung his arm around you and then kissed the top of your head. It was a very brief moment, as he let you go quickly, but you knew that he was glad for you, glad that Artemis had forgiven you, glad that Artemis had spared you the hurt and guilt of being rejected.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Remus winced. His side felt tender. However, there was a strange sense of satisfaction because, for once, his body hurt not because of his werewolf transformation, but because he’d been in a scrap with two Death Eaters.

He and Tonks had been posted on guard near a Muggle neighborhood last night. They’d run into two Death Eaters, both of whom were leading a dementor over into the Muggle neighborhood.

Tonks managed to drive away the dementor, but as she did, Remus had to hold off both Death Eaters by himself. He managed to do so, but at once point, he barely step-sided one of their many curses. A purple jet of light brushed past his side, ripping open his shirt and causing him to bruise immediately. The jet of light crashed into the ground behind him, whereupon a mini explosion went off. Remus had leapt forward to avoid the impact. By that point, the Death Eaters, realizing that they had failed their mission, Apparated away.

Tonks came back to find Remus limping slightly towards her. “Remus! You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” Remus said, as lightly as he could.

“Are you? Merlin, it’s a miracle you’re still alive!” Tonks said. She came forward and put her arm gently around his waist. “Taking on both of those Death Eaters like that. You were bloody brilliant, Remus.”

As they stepped forward together, Tonks accidentally jostled Remus and he winced. Tonks craned her head to look down at him. Noticing his ripped shirt and bruise, she realized, “Oh, no, you were hurt. Of course you were. That looks bad.”

“It’s nothing,” Remus murmured, even though he was starting to feel quite a bit of pain. “A minor scrape.”  

Tonks stared at his bruise. Slowly, her hair went from bubblegum pink to a slightly more fuchsia tone.

“Really, I’m all right,” Remus insisted, covering his side up with his hand. “Let’s just get back before Sirius decides to abandon post and come after us.”

“Right, give him any excuse to leave headquarters, and he will,” Tonks agreed. “C’mon, then.”

Remus and Tonks stumbled forward, trying to get far enough away from the Muggle neighborhood so that they could Apparate without being spotted.

As they went forward, Remus wondered, “Tell me. Is it just my vision going, or is your hair changing color, Nymphadora?”

Tonks flushed. Her hair suddenly went a vibrant red-pink.

“Are you hurt?” Remus asked, abruptly realizing he’d never asked her.

Tonks shook her head.

“Don’t hide it from me if you are. I’m putting a fair amount of weight on you. Maybe I shouldn’t.” Remus began to shift away from Tonks, when she tightened her hug around his waist.

“Don’t - ” Tonks began, but she stopped herself.

Remus paused. “Nymphadora?”

Tonks looked up at Remus. Although her cheeks were quite pink, matching her hair, her voice was firm as she said, “It’s probably not the time to say this, seeing as you’re hurt and all, but Remus, you’re quite fit, did y’know that?”

“Huh?” Remus said, sounding stupid and immediately hearing how stupid he sounded.

“Yeah,” Tonks replied earnestly. “I was just thinking – Wow, you’re a really good dueler. I can’t believe you went head-to-head with two Death Eaters, all on your own. And then you showed me your side, and obviously, I was thinking about how you were hurt. But then, I couldn’t help but notice how, all this time, you’ve been hiding under your baggy clothes - ”

“Shush, Nymphadora,” Remus said, almost begging her. “We’re out here, speaking nonsense, when we should be going home.”

Remus made to gently push Tonks forward, but she suddenly slipped out from his side. Stepping in front of Remus and putting both of her hands on his shoulders, Tonks looked him squarely in the face and wondered, “Are you blushing, too?”

“No,” Remus said quickly.

But it was too late.

“You are!” Tonks said, catching Remus red-handed in his lie. “Wow! Look how pink you are!”

Remus inhaled deeply. “That’s quite enough from you,” he said sternly. Reaching out, he put his hands on her shoulders and, making sure to hold onto Tonks tightly so he wouldn’t lose her or accidentally Splice her, Remus closed his eyes and turned, Apparating them both back to Grimmauld Place.  

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You and Rowan stood before Grimmauld Place 11 and 13.

Softly, you recited what recalled what Dumbledore had told you: “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located in 12 Grimmauld Place.”

A second later, houses 11 and 13 seemed to part – and 12 Grimmauld Place appeared before your very eyes.

“Wow,” you remarked. “That’s quite something.”

“The Blacks were notorious for avoiding any interaction with Muggles,” Rowan said knowingly. “It’s ironic that that’s what makes this place the perfect hideout for the Order now.”

You stepped forward and knocked on the door.

It opened to reveal -

“Mrs. Weasley?” you said, surprised.

“My, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Caught your fox yet?” Molly asked you kindly.

Just then, Artemis, who had finally agreed to go into the big sack when you reached London (as the terrible smoke all around the city did not agree with her), poked her head out of your bag.

Molly gasped. “Is that it?”

“No, no,” you said quickly. “This is just a regular fox.”

Artemis turned her head and looked up at you with an offended look.

“Hey, now, don’t be upset,” you said to her. “All I mean is that you’re non-magical.”

Artemis shook her head quickly at you, as if to say that you weren’t getting the point, and then she hid herself back inside the bag.

“Mrs. Weasley, I don’t mean to rush you, but I think it’s best if we all go in quickly,” Rowan said, stepping up from behind you.

Molly’s eyes widened. “Are you – Could you be Rowan Scamander?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh my goodness, you’re as good-looking as they say!”

You blushed for Rowan, but Rowan merely nodded and said, “Yes, well. We can debate that inside, I think.”

Molly hurriedly stood to the side, and you and Rowan stepped in.

“I’ve always been such a fan of your father’s work!” Molly said admiringly to Rowan. “Best textbook in the set! And the most affordable! Though of course I mean no disrespect to Bathilda Bagshot. Her History of Magic is well worth every penny, even if it is a bit expensive! Of course, I reckon you’ll be putting out a book of your own now soon, won’t you? Like father, like son – that’s what I’ve heard!”

You quickly went on ahead, barely even noticing the creepy house-elf heads hung up all along the hallway. Spotting a light up ahead, you hurried towards it.

Upon entering the lit room, you found yourself standing in a kitchen. About twenty feet from the door, there was a table, at which someone was sitting.

“Sirius Black.”

Sirius looked up over the newspaper that he was reading. “Fox girl?” he said, surprised. “Is that you?”

You put down the large bag you were carrying and Artemis immediately came out.

Sirius grinned. “That’s you, all right.” He held up the newspaper, which bore a photograph of you and Rowan, blinking and looking shell-shocked as the camera lights went off in your face. “Speak of the devil, I was just reading about you.”

Artemis sniffed the air. Then, her eyes widened. She turned her head towards Sirius – and then – zoom! – she ran straight to him.

“Whoa!” Sirius cried out, as Artemis nearly pushed his chair over in trying to jump into his lap.

“Oh, yeah, I remember you, too. You were a hassle to get,” Sirius said, laughing as he petted Artemis. She purred with happiness.

“Never mind Art for now!” you said loudly, raising your voice above Artemis’ happy whines. “Sirius Black – you have a lot to answer for!”

Sirius’ head swiveled around as he tried to look at you over the somewhat large fox now trying to make a home for herself in his lap.

“Well,” Sirius told you, rather sarcastically, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m innocent.”

“You still have a lot to answer for!” you pushed back. “Even if Peter was the guilty one, how could you break into Gryffindor Tower with a knife? Of course the whole world thought you were trying to kill Harry! Are you an idiot?”

“I wouldn’t have done it, but there was a strange spirit in the woods that had possessed me,” Sirius explained, defending himself. “Maybe you didn’t know, but there was an Obscurial in the Forbidden Forest at the same time that I was hiding out there. I ran into it and it took over me.”

As Sirius spoke, Rowan entered the kitchen. As he came in, Rowan said, “We did know. We were hunting for that Obscurial. But we weren’t successful.”

“I know,” Sirius said grimly. “Actually, your friends are here for that very reason.”

“Tristan is here?” Rowan asked.

Sirius nodded. “And the elderly lady and a young woman with reddish hair.”

“Susana and Cas.”

Sirius explained, “They were tracking Death Eaters in America and followed them here, to London, when they were suddenly attacked by the Obscurial. It looks like the Obscurial’s sided with Voldmort now. Given how much havoc the Obscurial is capable of wreaking, Dumbledore has asked Graves to prioritize going after the Obscurial. They left on a mission this afternoon. They should be back soon.”

Rowan was still for a moment. Finally, he said gruffly, “I know that Obscurial needs to be taken care of, but I hate thinking of Tristan, Susana, and Cas going after it. An Obscurial only grows more powerful over time – but even two years ago, it was already too strong for my liking.”

Realizing that Rowan was worried about his friends, you reached out and gently touched his shoulder.

Sirius, remembering how terrible he had felt when the Obscurial possessed him two years ago, shuddered. Artemis let out a low, comforting whine and licked his cheek. Sirius petted her head again as he recounted, “Yeah, that Obscurial was truly terrifying. I remember that it possessed me and made all of violent thoughts a hundred times worse. I tried to fight it off, but it was so strong. It tormented me… You see, I’d battled with myself between whether I wanted revenge or justice. The Obscurial kept pushing me towards revenge. I was trying to resist. I kept trying to think of Harry and Remus, but it was difficult. Sometimes, it was like I forgot who I was. I honestly thought I was going to go mad. After all those years in Azkaban, with the bloody dementors – and then to go mad only after I’d escaped…” He blew out a harsh breath. “Anyways, it was a close call, but I managed to survive. An old witch came and drove the Obscurial from my body - ”

You looked up at Rowan and mouthed, “Susana.” Rowan nodded back at you.

Sirius continued, “However, I was very weak after that, and the dementors had sensed the huge force of energy that the witch had used to drive away the Obscurial. I reckon that was how the dementors found me.”

You recalled the horrifying sight of a hundred dementors swarming the banks of the Great Lake, where Sirius and Harry had been lying, unconscious.

“I was lucky to survive that night,” Sirius finished. “Thanks to Harry and Hermione, mostly. And Remus - ”

Ah. Remus! As soon as you heard Sirius mention his name, you interrupted, “Yes, speaking of Remus, are you still using him?”

Sirius paused, confused. “What?”

“Are you still sharpening your claws on him?” you asked bluntly, almost rudely. You weren’t going to let Sirius deny the fact that he had cruelly used his best friend for his own benefit.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius asked, equally blunt.

At that moment, two people came into the kitchen. One of them was a witch with bright fuchsia hair. She was helping along an obviously injured man – who was none other than Remus.

Your head whipped back and forth between Sirius and Remus. Remus is hurt. I knew it! As soon as I heard that Remus and Sirius were living together, I knew I’d find Remus hurt.

Sirius, all at once realizing what you were referring to, suddenly looked horrified. That look of horror solidified your worst fears – Sirius was hurting Remus again.

“YOU ABSOLUTE JERK!” You pounced, moving so fast that even Rowan didn’t manage to catch you in time. Artemis yowled as she went flying off of Sirius’ lap. Now, you clambered onto Sirius’ lap as you grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him furiously. “HOW DARE YOU? HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP HURTING HIM? YOU’RE A HORRIBLE EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING!”

Rowan, who had caught Artemis in mid-air, put her down on the floor. Then, he went after you. Grabbing you by your arms, he yanked you off of Sirius.

“Hey!” Rowan shouted at you. “What the hell’s gotten into you? Calm down!”

“No, you don’t understand! Let me at him!” you yelled back, fighting against him.

Rowan suddenly trapped you in a bear hug, pinning down your arms.

“Calm down. Now,” Remus growled harshly into your ear. “You’re not yourself.”

Sirius, who was groaning as his head spun from being so violently shaken, doubled over in his chair for a moment.

Remus rushed over to him. “Sirius!”

“You don’t touch him!” you shouted. “Disgusting beast! Using him like that! How could you?”

Remus, who had stretched his hand out to Sirius, now stopped and turned to look at you. He wasn’t sure who you were talking to.

Does she know what I am? Remus thought, for the millionth time in his life. Yet, the fear that spread through his veins now was as palpable as the very first time he’d felt this fear.

“You… don’t want me near Sirius?” Remus murmured.

“Yes! Get away from him!”

“Why?” Remus asked you quietly.

“Because, Remus!”

“Because what?”

You stared at Remus. In your mind, you replied, Because, Remus, you have a terrible habit of giving more of yourself than you should and not knowing when to ask for help. You would let Sirius take your life if it meant saving him – but I can’t have that. Even if I’m not a part of your life anymore, I can’t knowingly let that happen. How can I just stand by, when you’re hurting?

Remus stared back at you, his jaw clenched with intense anticipation. His worst fear was that you would discover what he was and find him disgusting. But he couldn’t ignore that his worst fear had already been realized.

Yeah, Lovely’s probably found out by now, Remus thought. It was a miracle she didn’t find out two years ago, when Snape told everyone at Hogwarts what I was. But the rumor’s sure to have spread by then…

Sirius and Tonks shot each other uncomfortable looks. Neither you nor Remus were saying anything, but the energy in the room was strangely tense. Rowan was starting intently at you, trying to understand what was making you so upset.

Meanwhile, you were starting to feel that all-too-familiar feeling of heartbreak start to dredge up from somewhere deep within you. I can’t say any of this to you, can I, Remus?

You continued to gaze at Remus, not realizing you were doing so. Why are we always like this? You’re so close – right in front of me, because I came back all this way just to make sure you were all right – and yet you’re so far away from me. I can’t reach you. I never could, back then, and I’ll never be able to.

A horrible feeling of ice struck you in your heart. “Ah!” you gasped. As soon as you heard yourself make a sound, you reached up and clapped your hand over your mouth, to muffle your gasp.

But Rowan had already heard. “It’s the Fox, isn’t he?” he whispered urgently.

You shook your head. “No, I’m okay.”

Rowan put his hand on your cheek and confirmed, “You’re turning cold again.”

“I don’t think… ” you began, trying to resist, when another sharp pang of icy coldness shot off in your chest. With a loud gasp, you crumpled onto the floor, while clutching at your chest.

Artemis barked out in surprise. She made to scurry over to you, but Sirius caught her and held her, so that she wouldn’t get in the way.

Remus had leapt forward, but he stopped when Rowan put his arms around you, to pick you up. “Press up against me,” Rowan urged. “Put your face and hands against my chest.”

You did so, nestling up against Rowan as much as you could to keep yourself warm.

Rowan murmured hurriedly, “C’mon, let’s get you somewhere warm.”

Sirius stepped forward. “There are plenty of rooms here.”

“No, I don’t want any charity from you,” you said snarkily, even though your voice cracked weakly.

Rowan cut across your protests. “Sure, any one will do.”

“Follow me.” Turning, Sirius deposited Artemis in Remus’ arms before quickly leading you and Rowan out of the room.

Artemis whined and scratched at Remus’ arms, hating his scent.

But Remus clutched onto her. In fact, he hugged her tightly, because Artemis was yours, and for some reason, that mattered to him.

Tonks stepped forward. “Remus?”

Remus, who had unknowingly been staring after you, turned to look at Tonks.

Tonks could see at once that Remus wasn’t actually present. His eyes were glazed over.

Tonks meant to ask Remus if he was all right, when her sight fell onto Remus’ side. He had changed into a new shirt, but they hadn’t been able to address his wound yet. She suspected that his bruise had grown worse.

“Remus, come on,” Tonks said. “It’s high time we have a look at that wound.” Taking his wrist in her hand, she gently pulled him away, out of the kitchen.

Still dazedly clutching onto your fox, Remus followed Tonks out of the kitchen and into her room, where she pulled up the side of his shirt and began to treat the wound.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You were having a hard time breathing. Thankfully, Rowan was holding you tightly, keeping you as warm as he could. The two of you were under a very thick comforter that Sirius had managed to drag out from somewhere.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” you managed to whisper to Rowan. “You didn’t e-even want to come here and now you’re – you’re taking care of me again.”

Rowan pulled you in tighter, tucking your head in under his chin. “Shush. I told you, I don’t want to hear it from you.”

“I’m s-still sorry,” you breathed out.

Rowan shivered. Your breath felt freezing cold against his skin.

When you felt Rowan tremble, you made to push yourself away, but Rowan wouldn’t let you go. “I said to stop worrying yourself about me,” he scolded you, his voice hard and unforgiving. “Just get better.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, realizing you were creating trouble for him by resisting his help. “I’ll b-be still, t-then.”

“Well, come closer,” Rowan told you. “I told you, you need to press yourself up against me.”

Listening to him, you nestled up further under the blanket and pressed yourself more tightly against Rowan. The warmth of his body finally began to transmit to yours. “So w-warm,” you murmured. “Feels… Feels like you’re healing me.”

“Good,” Rowan said quietly. “Now, warm yourself up and go to sleep. All right?”

“Okay,” you repeated, in a softer voice this time. You brought the blanket up over Rowan’s chest and made to kiss Rowan through the blanket, so as to thank him without pressing your ice-cold lips to his skin.

When Rowan felt you pressing your face gently against his chest, he realized what you were doing. He let out a soft sigh. He reached down, grasped your face in his hand, and then kissed you warmly, not caring how cold you felt. He knew he could warm you up, if only you’d stop being so damn careful around him.

“Rowan,” you whispered, even as your eyes slipped shut, “I’m so sorry.”

As Rowan felt you slowly slipping into sleep, he found himself staring up at the high ceiling of the grand, aristocratic bedroom. He couldn’t help but wonder – What are you apologizing for?

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Remus, I can’t treat you if you don’t let go of the fox.”

“Hm?” Remus blinked at Tonks.

Tonks sighed. “Let go of the poor fox, Remus.”

“Oh…” Remus nodded, but he continued to clutch onto Artemis, who was now giving him a magnificent stink eye.

Trust my fate, to have this foul-smelling man hold onto me like this, she thought grumpily.

Just then, Sirius appeared at the doorway. “Here. I’ll hold her.”

Artemis’ ears perked up at once. Yeah! Good-smelling man!

Sirius held his arms out and Artemis scrambled to get to him. Remus finally released her.

“How is she?” Remus asked Sirius immediately.

“I don’t know. It’s up to Scamander now, I suppose. He seemed to know what he was doing.”

“Oh.” Remus paused. “Right. Scamander. He’s the one she appeared in the newspaper with.”

“He went to school with us,” Sirius reminded him.

Remus replied quietly, “I remember. He was the Ravenclaw prefect.” He remained silent for a long while, not saying anything as Tonks treated his wound.

Sirius watched Remus carefully, while Artemis kept looking over Sirius’ shoulder, wanting to see you.

When Tonks finished, she carefully pasted a bandage over Remus’ wound before gently blowing on it. “My mum always used to do that,” she murmured. “She said it makes the wound heal faster. I don’t think it really works, obviously, but…” She looked up at Remus. “How are you feeling now?”

“All better,” Remus said. He looked tired, but he nonetheless gave Tonks a genuine smile. “Thanks for mending me up. And you did well today, Nymphado – er, Tonks. Driving that dementor away so quickly – That was quite a powerful Patronus you produced.”

Tonks replied, with a cheerful grin, “We’re good partners, aren’t we?”

Remus nodded.

“Well, then…” Tonks waved at Remus, nodded at Sirius, and shook Artemis’ paw, before leaving the room. Even then, she seemed to linger at the doorway for just a moment before exiting.

Watching Tonks go, Sirius murmured in a surprised voice, “She’s got a thing for you, Rem.”

“No.” Remus leaned over and buried his face in his hands. “She thinks I’m a disgusting beast.”

Sirius frowned. He knew Remus could be daft when it came to feelings, but the fact that he could misinterpret Tonks’ feelings so badly was concerning to him. “She doesn’t,” Sirius pushed back. “She’s smitten with you.”

“You saw how she reacted towards me today. She knows what I am.”

“Yeah, but that clearly doesn’t matter to her.”

“It does! It does, for God’s sake, she told me not to touch you, to stay away from you!”

Sirius paused. He set Artemis down on the floor and then came over to Remus. “You’re not talking about Tonks, are you?”

Remus lifted his head. “What?”

“I was talking about Tonks.”

Remus stared at Sirius. “What… What about Nymphadora again?”

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. “Merlin, Moony, you can barely keep your brains together over one woman. Now you’ve got two. I’m worried about you.”

Remus clasped his hands together and slouched forward, bowing his head. “I just can’t get away from her, Pads. No matter how much I try. And she was the one person… The one person who saw me as a human…”

At that point, the bedroom door creaked open.

Remus stopped talking and looked up. “What was that?”

Sirius also looked over at the door, only to see Artemis’ tail flicking past. He realized that Tonks must have left the door open a tad and Artemis had been able to push her way through.

“Artemis.”

“Where’s she going?” Remus wondered.

“Probably trying to find her master,” Sirius said knowingly.

“But Lovely’s not well,” Remus murmured. “She needs her rest.”

Hearing Remus call you ‘Lovely,’ Sirius sighed deeply. “Well, then, go after the fox, Moony. You won’t be able to rest until you do.”

Sirius, of course, meant that Remus should go after you, but to his surprise, Remus got up off the bed and went chasing after Artemis.

Sirius watched Remus go with bemused eyes. When Remus had disappeared down the hallway, Sirius let out a tired laugh. Oh, Moons, you’re still head over heels for her and you don’t even know it.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“You can’t, Artemis – Lovely’s sleeping! Get back here, please, I’m begging you.”

You tiredly sat up. What is that – that whispering?

Cracking open your eyes, you glanced towards where you thought the voices were coming from, only to find Rowan sitting up on the bed beside you, staring at the door.

You thought you heard a soft bark, and then a rush of footsteps running away from your door.

You frowned. “Rowan? What’s going on?”

Rowan stared at the door, even though the hallway was now completely silent.

You slumped back down on the bed, as you felt quite fatigued. That icy feeling was still present in your blood and you felt foggy and exhausted. Still, you wanted to make sure Rowan was all right. You reached out and touched Rowan’s thigh. “Hey,” you mumbled, “are you all right?”

“Are you ‘Lovely’?”

Your eyes fluttered awake. “What?”

Rowan looked at you with an inscrutable expression on his face. He asked you once more, “Does Remus Lupin call you ‘Lovely’?”

  Tagged Users: @areomalfoy @saltstacks

[notproofread]

so i finished a court of wings an ruin pt.2

let us talk about the men... even though i don't really want to talk about them. for the most part they really disappointed me lol

Tamlin

tamlin is.... trying to be better (at least in the beginning) i guess but there will be no way that he will actually heal & get to move on if not only feyre but lucien as well betray him, use him, destroy him & his court

I was very much interested to see where the story leads him though I had no actual hopes for him to get a redemption arc (which he deserves, I stand by that point argue with the wall)

then he was not trying to do better anymore but now I think he is fully leaning into the villain role which FINALLY gives him the edge that has been missing

because now i see and feel that he has turned his back to prythian because he has really lost EVERYTHING that had importance to him (feyre, lucien, his court, ...). now we can make a good villain out of him, you know?

....

.......

..........

.............

make up your mind tamlin god fucking damn it, im getting tired of your back and forth DO YOU WANT TO SEE THE WOLRD BURN OR DO YOU NOT YOU ARE WORSE THAN ME AND I AM A SUN LIBRA MOON GEMINI

also sorry but how tf did he survive until the end my mans should have died or been killed on so many occasions bruh

Lucien

see this is what I was hoping for after the first and second book, lucien is so cool & such an interesting character especially considering his (still kinda unexplored) backstory

•so WHY is his ONLY character trait now elain??? please there is so much more to him, give me literally anything else

the descriptions of him fitting into the surroundings of the autumn court are so amazing though I am literally in love

i think its cool how he gets to work with the people at the night court and i hope he gets to work more with azriel and maybe rhys especially with things about autumn and spring court

also loved to see his inner feelings regarding elain and jasminda!! that was such a nice detail to show that he is falling (hard) for elain but still feels guilt about his first love (still annoying though)

... great, written off to go find a human queen... guess thats one way to get rid of a character... could've just killed him if you didn't need him bye

Rhysand

rhysand ... why fuck first talk later? war is coming my dude you can get your dick wet later, after you have heard news and planned accordingly???? Im disappointed 100% ew

but nooooo, instead we get this weird horny political talk... am I supposed to enjoy this?

apart from that he was kinda boring

unfiltered thoughts after he "died": i CANT BELIVE CAN NOT BELIEVE that he died AND THEN WAS RESURRECTED THE SAME WAY FEYRE WAS bro that was the most unnecessary scene i have ever read why make me go through all that tension (again bc it happened with feyre before) just to make him come back to life this is so shit i don't know wether to laugh or cry

but tbh i didnt believe for 1 second that he was actually dead, im sorry but there was no way SJM would have the balls to kill of Rhys lol

Tarquin

unrelated but I miss Tarquin he was cool I have a crush on him <3

he is way too good for the other high lords, i'd rather read about him

Cassian

eh... boring at best, annoying at his worst.

bro what the hell why are you so fucking obsessed with nesta YOU DONT EVEN KNOW HER and clearly she is trying to avoid you take a hint (no that is not romantic its creepy and annoying)

like "no means no" also applies to fae or other magical beings leave her A L O N E

he was so cool in the first book but this time it also feels like his only remaining character trait is nesta (giving very much lucien and i hate it) and maybe a bit of fighting/training stuff

Azriel

stays true to his character (at least in the beginning...)

if feyre is going to butt into his love life more I am going to riot, leave the man alone!

only one who actually pays actual attention to elain (yes, not even lucien does this as well as az) & figures her powers out first

also love how he is obv in love with mor but is neither making this his only character trait (looking @ you cassian & lucien) nor doing everything for her. he is NOT changing but staying true to his self i hope this stays the same

......

..........

...............

ah nevermind he just tried to suffocate eris... honestly though I get the like pride & protect my family stuff but arent all of them a bit too easily riled up? all high lords & courts are assholes after all, you guys included. you should know this by now

slay for saving elain

Jurian

now what is this?

wha- why does SJM want to give everyone a redemption so bad (except for tamlin ofc we been knew)

am i really supposed to believe that Jurian has reached clarity after witnessing everything through Amarantha? it was so such a good concept, having a human turn insane and helping those he despised

and (even if its a bad example) would have showed that humans and fae CAN work together after all

all men do is lie. only tarquin slays. bye.

[oxxmikaxxo]

RORY. RORY OH MY GOD. LOVE I HAVE ONLY ONE THING TO SAY (that's a lie) AND IT'S

I THINK YOU DROPPED THIS.

Rory, don't feel like you need to respond!! It's just messy thoughts about the chapter, so it's all fine.

Firstly, the plot, the ties, the way it was written, the emotion, the different povs. It was perfect, so so so perfect. I loved it, seeing how the story unfolds through the eyes of different characters made it so good. It really made me pace around the room and had me sitting at the edge of my bed.

I hate Phil so much. I hope only the worst things happen to him ☺️

JOHN. I live for this man and as painful as it was to read; his reaction was so raw, and it hurt so bad. I love the bit that, even if the rest of the pack wanted to do something different, they still all depended on him to make the call. Poor John tbh, I can't imagine how awful he'll feel after that. And Kyle deserves an award for doing his best to stay as calm as he could.

Dr Keller is the other baby of our little pack, that's it, I think we've all decided that she needs to be protected and hugged as well.

The next is Simon, because nooOOoOOo. Ouch, big ouch. I have no idea how they will all heal from this. It's taking so much out of every single one of them. They all need like a decade off to just cuddle and be happy.

And now the most amazing part, our omega. Jesus christ she did so good there, I want to cry, she had to go through so much, but she did the best she could, and she got herself out. I'm so afraid to see how it'll all affect her when she wakes up and that will be another heartbreak for all of us.

I'm in a desperate need of the comfort as much as any other reader. But really love, your work is always so good it's hard to get away from the chapters. I've reread the entire story three times already, and it's as captivating as it was the very first time. Really, you've made a story that moved people, and you really deserve all the praise there is for it.

You're the best, get yourself something nice, because you deserve it and we all love you 🧡🧡

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Summary: In life, we will be confronted with difficult choices. Sometimes you won't know you've made the wrong choice until it's too late

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 12,582 words

Warnings: Dead dove: do not eat, Angst, graphic violence and torture, mentions of predatory behavior towards a minor, Phillip Graves is a major creep, lots blood and injuries, kidnapping and its aftermath, hostage situations, anxiety and panic attacks, language, very explicitly described torture, ‘mega gets hit a lot, choking, biting, ‘mega gets stabbed with an ice pick, author can’t write COD missions, vomiting, lots of heavy emotions, detailed descriptions of pain, guns, background character dies on screen, descriptions of guilt and grief, lots of POV changes, some descriptive language of gore and blood at the end, rehashing of ‘mega’s injuries from the last chapter, a lot of angst and very heavy content.

A/N: This chapter deals with some pretty heavy content. Please, please, please read and heed the warnings. I have included content warnings for the more graphic parts before they happen, so if you don't want to read those, you can skip ahead to the next part. I suggest taking breaks if you need to, read it in installments if necessary. And I cannot stress it enough, please heed the warnings.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

��Hi darlin’.” His grin widens like he’s happy to see you. “Been a long time.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, your brain still sluggish. You feel sick as you try to process, try to figure out why and how. You try to move your arms again, but your wrists are stuck, hands burning as you pull. You desperately want them free, desperately need them free. 

“Easy,” Phil says, putting his hands on yours, pushing them flat against the arms of the chair. They’re warm and calloused, the same hand that had been on your face a few moments ago. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. More than you already have been.” He lifts your left leg, making you groan quietly as a deep ache throbs down to your foot and up to your hip. 

Running. A gunshot. Pain.

“He had strict orders not to harm you.” Phil says, adjusting the bandage wrapped around your calf. “Don’t worry. We got you all fixed up.” He sets your leg back down gingerly, his touch lingering for a moment before he looks back up at you. 

“Why?” You croak out, trying to make sense of what happened. 

Corporal McKinney broke into the barracks and chased you into the woods. He shot you and drugged you and now you’re here, restrained in a chair staring at a man you haven’t seen for years. A man who was once your dad’s best friend. 

“A lot has happened since we saw each other last.” He says, pushing himself to stand. “I left the Marines after a few years, formed my own group of military contractors. Invited your dad to join, but you know how he is. All honor and duty and serving the country. Of course, you haven’t seen him in quite a while, have you?” 

You stare up at him, starting to get scared. You never liked Phil. There was always something about him that put you off. He always stared too long, always sat too close to you. He always greeted you with a hug that lasted too long, squeezing you too tightly against him. He was sweet on you in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. He could be intense, brash and almost downright rude sometimes. He was a firm believer in traditional packs too, even if he never spoke about his own pack, his own omega. He had to have one, if he was as dedicated as he said. 

He was far too much like your father. 

Phil was always kinder to you, though. Softer. Not quite as callous and bellicose as your father in public. He was polite, always happy to lend a hand, always glad to roughhouse with your brothers to get their energy out. You saw the way your mother looked at him though. Perhaps her apprehension bled into you, those dormant omega instincts picking up on something she was projecting. 

He made you uncomfortable, and she knew it. 

What could an omega do, though, in a world where they don’t have opinions, they can’t argue, they can’t disagree. Your mother never said anything because in the world your family existed in, the world Phil existed in, she couldn’t. 

“He was so angry when he called.” Phil continues, staring down at you. “Ranting and raving about how his oldest daughter betrayed him by presenting as an omega. He couldn’t stand having such a useless child in his perfect pack.” You flinch at his words, even though you heard your father spew those very words after your presentation firsthand. 

“He called you?” You ask, the pieces starting to come together as your brain finally snaps fully into awareness. You knew he called someone, but you hadn’t thought it would ever be Phil. 

“Of course.” Phil chuckles. “We were good friends, pals, buddies. He knew I could help him.” A shiver runs down your spine. You know what he’s going to say next. “So I did. I have some contacts in some high places, people who owe me favors. So I made some calls, pulled some strings, got you into FIOT immediately, with some strings attached of course.” He leans down so you’re almost face to face. “I wanted you. They put a note in your file. You wouldn’t be placed in the registry when you were old enough, you would go to me and my pack.” 

Bile churns in your stomach as you process his words. It all makes sense now. The stares, the hugs, the closeness with your father, your rapid enrollment in an institute that can take weeks to process applications. It was all so you could be his. Something he’s wanted from early on. 

“You would have been mine,” He pushes himself up straight again, starting to pace back and forth in front of you. “If the fucking CIA hadn’t gotten involved!” You flinch as his voice raises, the frustration starting to darken his scent. “They froze your file, made the claim null and void. All for what, their little initiative that never really existed in the first place?” He huffs out a laugh, a smirk tilting his lips. “Small world, though. Who knew we’d be seeing each other again after so long.” 

He steps closer, looking down at you. You hold his gaze, suddenly feeling afraid. Even though you know him, even though you spent a good part of your childhood around him, you’re afraid of him right now. Your mind starts to revert back, the urge to lower your eyes, break eye contact like you’re supposed to flashing through your mind. 

Don’t stare alphas in the eyes. They’ll take that as a challenge. It’s not your job to challenge them. Your job is to be subservient. 

You would have been subservient to him if the CIA hadn’t gotten involved. You would have been under his control, bowing to him and his will. You’d have pups by now, at least one. He’d always talked about having a big pack with lots of pups someday, always glancing at you when he said it. 

You’re going to vomit all over him. 

It’s not just the truth that scares you, though. You’re being held captive here. That thought has registered in your mind now, the reality settling in as you get over the shock of the last few minutes. Corporal McKinney kidnapped you from base, and now you’re restrained in a chair surrounded by unknown alphas. Phil isn’t going to help you, take pity on you. He’s not here to be nice, to have a little chat and catch up on life.

That possibly ended as soon as he was denied what he wanted. 

His hand cups your chin, holding your face up as he looks down at you. His thumb is rough as it strokes your jaw, a tickling feeling starting in the back of your mind again. There’s an almost bittersweet look in his eyes as he holds your gaze. You refuse to lower it, refuse to give him that satisfaction. “You’ve grown up a lot.” He says, his hand sliding down your neck to the collar of your shirt. “You always were cute, though. I knew early on you were going to be an omega. You were far too...calm and compliant compared to your brothers. Always so polite and eager to please. You can tell if you pay attention, you know. Those dormant instincts start to show themselves long before presentation.” 

His hand pulls your collar to the side, revealing your mark. His eyes harden as he stares at it, his lips turning down into a frown. A shiver runs down your spine as the darkness in his scent intensifies. He’s not holding you hostage just to tell you about what could have been, what direction your life might have taken. He’s here for a reason, and you know your pack is involved. Something has happened, something behind the scenes, something John was looking into. 

“What’s going on?” You ask as he releases your collar, taking a step back. 

“Well, you’re being held hostage.” He says, like it isn’t already obvious. “You’re...shall we say...leverage to ensure your pack follows orders.” 

You blink at him. You haven’t heard from or spoken to your pack in weeks. You should be relieved that they’re apparently still alive, but what if you had been right and they don’t want you anymore? Why would they take you if your pack has abandoned you? Or did they take you to ensure they wouldn’t...

“Laswell stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.” Phil says, crossing his arms. “It’s only so long before your pack finds out. Let’s just say...they’re not going to be happy about it. So, to ensure they don’t do something impulsive and reckless as they are known to do, you’re going to play hostage.” 

You gulp as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling very afraid. Your scent spikes in the air, clouding it with the bitter scent of anxiety. It was the plan all along. You knew it even if you hadn’t been told outright. Deep down you’ve always known it wasn’t about strengthening packs. It wasn’t about studying how an omega would increase or decrease the efficiency of military packs. With the events of the last few months, the idea had started to form in your mind. You know you weren’t alone in those thoughts. John and Simon were digging into the cameras for a reason. They were put up for a reason. 

It was always about control.

That was the point of the initiative. That was why they put cameras up, that was why General Shepherd was so invested in the state of your pack and if you had been mated. He needed to ensure you were close enough to them so if something happened that wasn’t supposed to, you could be used against them. 

You’re nothing more than leverage. 

Your scent spikes in the air, clouding the room as reality sinks into you. Something happened that caused this. Something called your pack away to isolate you, to leave you vulnerable. They wanted you alone as a contingency. 

Something did happen. 

Now you’re here, being held captive by a man you used to know, a man who could have been your alpha had things not played out the way they did. The thought has your stomach churning. How far will they go? How far will Phil take things? Could he be merciful because of your history? Or will his ruined plan make him more ruthless? 

You’ll be punished for something you can’t control. 

Phil makes a soft sound as he looks at you, shaking with fear in the chair. “Don’t be scared. As long as your pack does as they’re told, I won’t have to hurt you.” He turns the light back to face you, nearly blinding you. “Now, smile for the camera.” 

They’re safe. 

It had been close. A rough position to be in, but they managed it. He never doubted them and their abilities, but four against nearly fifty with no backup were not good odds. He’s been in tighter places before, and while he had his doubts, he is grateful Johnny and Simon were sent in when they were. Even if it was a bit suspicious.

“All accounted for.” John says as he sinks down onto one of the jump seats next to Kyle. 

They’re all battered and bruised from their final fight. He’s ready to get home, ready to get back to you. From the sound of it, things were not going well, according to Johnny and Simon. He has a lot to make up for, a lot of apologies to make. 

“Fucking Russian PMCs.” He says, speaking to Kate over the comms. “It’s not a coincidence Kate.” 

Kate lets out a sigh that crackles through the comm. “No, it’s not. My team and I came across some information while we were digging into the cameras.” 

“What information?” He asks slowly and carefully. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, especially when it comes to his pack. Especially when it comes to you. 

“Not just information on the initiative, but information on General Shepherd.” 

“What information?” He asks again, slower this time as Johnny and Simon move in closer. 

“Shepherd was the one that sold those weapons to AQ and the Russians.” 

John looks at the other three members of his team. He knew something was wrong, something was off about the way Shepherd had acted while informing them about this mission. “He wanted those missiles found and destroyed so he could cover his own ass.” He says, his stomach starting to twist. He doesn’t like the way this is going. 

“But we found out the truth before you could find all the missiles.” Kate continues. “He sent you on a wild goose chase to give himself a chance to escape.” 

John’s hand tightens into a fist. “Where is he now?” 

“He’s gone dark. Totally off radar.” 

John pushes himself up to stand, the adrenaline pumping again. “I’m going to find that bastard-” 

“John.” Kate says, cutting him off. “There’s something else.” 

The twisting in his stomach intensifies. There’s a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to entertain the dark thoughts that are brewing. “What?” 

“They took your omega.” 

His stomach clenches, his breath catching in his lungs. The other three shift on their feet, all of them stepping closer. The scent in the plane thickens, anger and confusion mixing into a toxic cocktail. He hopes he heard that wrong, that there was some kind of interference in the connection and his brain made up the words he missed. “Repeat that.” 

“They took your omega.” Kate says again.

He lets out a long breath, his muscles tensing. He’s had a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind for the last few days. Something was wrong, something was off. He should have known it was all a ruse. Why would AQ and the Russians store a missile in any of the places they had been sent to in the last week? It hadn’t made sense, and he had wanted to voice his doubts, but the consequences of a missile being launched because they decided not to look in one place was greater than his own perceived doubts. 

They had been right though. 

Of course it had all been a plan. Of course there had been something fishy about it. He’s hardly ever wrong. He’s been praised on his instincts on the field and off. He should have known. Pulling Simon and Johnny when they did should have been enough evidence, even if they had been needed in the end. 

“You’re positive?” He knows she is. There’s no mistaking something like that, there’s no doubting it. 

“There’s a video.” Kate says, John’s stomach dropping. “I’m sending it to you now.” 

John pulls out his phone, his fingers white as he holds it up. He’s angry, beyond angry. If they’ve laid a hand on you...if you’ve been hurt because of his own failings, his own inability to see the truth...

He clicks on the video when it comes in, a familiar face popping up on screen. “Hi boys. Been a while.” 

“Fucking Graves.” Johnny growls, his hands closing into fists in anger. 

“I have a little something of yours I think you might be interested in.” He turns the camera around, your face popping up on screen. You’re restrained in a chair, wrists red from the zip ties, but there’s a glare on your face, looking as mean and threatening as you can. There’s a bruise on your cheek and what looks like a healing cut on your lip. Someone hit you. 

“Smile for the camera.” Graves says, a bit too cheerfully. 

You don’t smile, your glare sharpening as the camera gets closer to your face. There’s still fight left in you. Whatever has happened hasn’t been too bad. Yet. 

“Let’s make this simple.” Graves says. “You stay away from Shepherd, and I won’t have to hurt this pretty little face. She is pretty, isn’t she?” 

You shift in the chair, your leg lifting before you kick outward. 

“Ow, you little bitch.” The camera jostles for a moment before it’s straightened back up, a hand shooting out to wrap around your throat. There’s no sign of any struggle, the glare still prominent on your face. “Feisty thing. Gotta keep up with those wild boys somehow.” 

The hand tilts your face just slightly, showing the mark on your neck. It is you, not that John doubted that from the beginning. It may have been almost two months, but he wouldn’t forget your face that easily. 

“Like I said,” Graves continues. “Follow your orders and she’ll be released unharmed.” 

The screen goes dark and John resists the urge to throw his phone. He shoves it back into his pocket, turning towards the wall of the plane. He throws his fist against the metal as hard as he can. It hurts, but he can barely feel it over the rage burning hot in him. 

“Fucking Shepherd!” He shouts, rearing back to throw his hand against the wall again.

Graves has his omega. Graves has his omega and now you’re being used as leverage. They’re all being played like puppets. 

A hand catches his fist before he can punch the wall again, easing him back. “Easy.” Kyle says, trying to soothe him as best he can. “We have proof of life, we know that she’s alright for now.” 

“For now.” He growls, looking around at the members of his team. “But for how long?” 

“They knew we’d go after Shepherd as soon as we learned the truth.” Simon says. “This has been in the plans for a long time.”

“They’re trying to get us to make a choice. Focus on getting our omega back while letting Shepherd escape, or go after Shepherd and let our omega be tortured.” Kyle says. 

“Those fuckin’ wankstains.” Johnny says, shifting on his feet. He’s angry, the bitter scent filling the enclosed area of the plane. They’re all angry, angry at those responsible, and angry at themselves for falling for it. “They were usin’ us the whole time.” 

John lets out a long breath. It’s a hard decision to make. Go after Shepherd and cut the head off the snake, or go after you and let the person orchestrating all of this escape. Graves won’t stop, even if they do manage to take out Shepherd. He has his orders, and he will follow them, with or without Shepherd pulling the strings.

There might be a second contingency. They kill Shepherd, you die too. 

No matter what, you won’t be safe. If they go after you, Shepherd escapes and if they try to hunt him down later, he’ll use you again, or worse. They don’t have to kill Shepherd, though. They have proof he’s a traitor. He can be brought to justice if he’s caught. Death is too gentle of a punishment for what he’s done. He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life. 

They have to make sacrifices for the good of the world. 

“We’re going after Shepherd.” He says, taking a deep breath. “None of us will be safe if we don’t.” 

“That’s dangerous, John.” Kate says. “We don’t know how far Shepherd or Graves will take this. You know how Graves is. He may not be able to be stopped, even if Shepherd tells him to.” 

He takes a second to breathe. His pack is silent, all three of them staring at him, waiting for him to make this decision. He is pack alpha, he is their Captain. They do what he tells them to do, follow his orders no matter what. Kate is right, this is a risk, but sacrifices have to be made. Hands have to be dirtied to keep the world clean. 

He just hopes you’ll forgive him. 

“We’re going after Shepherd.” John says definitely. 

“This is a bad idea, John.” Kate warns him. 

“It’s the only option we have. They’re trying to draw us away. It’s a risk we have to take.” He can see the apprehension on his packmate’s faces. They’re all feeling it, the drive to go after their omega, but deep down he is right. They’ll never be safe until Shepherd is taken care of. Going after Graves only removes one small piece of the puzzle. The job always comes first. 

“Get us locations, places he might try to dig in and hide.” He says, heading towards the cockpit. “We’ll find this arsehole and kill him ourselves. 

***

Kate lets out a sigh as the comms close off. It’s a mistake. She knows it is. The guilt is eating her alive. She fell for this, she brought you into this, and now you might get hurt because of it. How she didn’t see the reality has shame burning through her. They were all blind, all led astray, all fooled by the red herring. 

There was never an initiative. It was never about strengthening packs. It was always about control. They wanted a way to control packs. Shepherd knew if the secret ever came out, there would be no stopping the consequences. Legal or illegal, retribution would come for him if the truth was revealed. 

This was his way of stopping it. 

That's why the 141 were the guinea pigs. 

They are the most dangerous threat to Shepherd, and he handed them a way to control them under the guise of strengthening packs, experimenting on how their dynamics and efficiency would shift with an omega added in. Even worse, they all fell for it. 

John is making a mistake. Graves won’t stop so long as Shepherd knows they’re coming after him. The last thing she wants is for you to get hurt because of their decisions, their mistakes. Shepherd won’t order Graves to kill you. That’s too much of a risk. It would give the 141 nothing to lose, and that would put them at their most dangerous. 

Will Graves listen to that order? 

She can send out a team to get eyes on Graves, find his position at least. That way, if things do take a turn, she’ll at least have a direction to point them in. 

They were all too trusting and ignorant. You’re innocent in all of this. 

It’s her fault. 

They’re going to need help. 

Christine can’t sit still anymore. She can't take it. It’s been almost eighteen hours since your disappearance and there’s been nothing. No word, no news. She knows you’re alive. Kate had confirmed that, but that hasn’t eased the burning questions eating away at her mind. What is your current state? Who took you and why? Where is your pack and are they even aware of what’s happening? 

She’s been sitting and twirling her thumbs. She can’t bring herself to do any paperwork, any research. What is there to do besides sit and worry? She doesn’t have a patient to take care of because she lost the one she was supposed to watch. 

She huffs out a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Kate. If Kate won’t call, she’ll call herself. Kate’s probably busy though, so Christine can’t blame her too much for not calling. She’s probably so far from the front of Kate’s mind right now. 

The phone rings twice before Kate answers, sounding tired and disheveled, just as much as Christine feels. 

“Laswell.”

“Kate, I need to be there.” She doesn't hold back, doesn’t try to make small talk. There’s no time for it. She knows how Kate is doing, and it’s not great. 

“Christine, I don’t know if I can take that risk.” She says. 

“I need to be there. I can't take sitting around here anymore, and when you find her, she’s going to need someone she knows there, someone that knows how to take care of her.” Christine lets out a breath, the relief of getting her thoughts out taking some of the weight off her shoulders. 

Kate sighs, but she has to know Christine is right. She’s not sure what state you’re in, and depending on how bad it is, and where your pack is, you’re going to need her. Even if you think she was behind this. “I’ll have a plane ready to go in thirty minutes.” 

“Thank you, Kate.” She says, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Don’t miss the flight.” 

Christine hangs up, gathering a couple things from her office before closing and locking her door. She nearly runs to her barracks, packing a bag quickly. She’s not sure what to bring, or how long this will take. She’s not even sure exactly where she’s going. 

She hurries to the airfield, phone in hand. She’s not sure where the plane is or which one she’s taking. She’s just relieved Kate is doing this for her. 

Her phone buzzes as she reaches the tarmac, making her puse. She lets out an annoyed sigh before answering the call. 

“Of course you have to call at the worst possible moment.” She says. 

“I’ve always had the worst timing.” Alex’s voice comes through the speaker, and she can almost hear the smile on his face. 

“I can’t talk long. I’m about to board a plane.” She says. 

“I know. We’ll pick you up on the tarmac.” 

She blinks in surprise. It’s been years since she’s seen her brother, months since she’s spoken with him. Ever since he retired from Delta Force, his regular calls have been happening less and less, and they’ve reached near radio silence over the last couple years. Now he’s involved in this too? 

“Kate called in a favor.” He continues, and that’s all she needs to know. “We’ll see you in a few hours.” 

“Yeah.” She says, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiles. Despite everything, she’s glad she gets to see her brother again. Glad she has some support in this. Your pack will be mad. They’ll blame her. She’s not afraid of them, but she knows Alex will stand behind her no

**Content Warning: light torture, ‘mega gets punched, further injury to previous injuries, panic attack**

Your hands are starting to go numb. The constant attempts to free yourself from the zip ties isn’t helping, but you’re beginning to get twitchy. Your omega is scratching at the back of your mind, begging to be free, but you know you won’t survive it. The room is full of armed mercenaries, and you’re sure if you tried to take out Phil first, you’d be pumped full of bullets before you could even do any damage. 

He’s leaning against the wall far too casually, staring at the phone he’d used to record the first video of you. His explanation had been simple. Your pack stops going after General Shepherd, you don’t get hurt. The longer they chase Shepherd, the more Phil gets to torture you until they decide your life is worth more than Shepherd’s. 

Will they choose you over Shepherd? What if they’ve already decided to abandon you? What if your fears were right and they’ve given up, and that’s why they were gone so long? They won’t care what happens to you, if they have written you off as a burden, as a loss. They’ll let Phil torture you to death and they won’t even blink an eye. You’ll just be another casualty. 

It makes your stomach hurt, the idea of your pack letting you die. Even the idea of someone who had once been a friend of your family being so cold towards you has nausea bubbling in your belly. He doesn’t care. His only worry is money, not the past. He doesn’t care. He’ll do the bidding of whoever offers the highest price. 

He lets out a sigh, pocketing his phone as he pushes himself off of the wall. “Looks like your boys don’t follow orders well.” He bends down, putting his hands on his knees so he’s face to face with you. “They’ve decided to leave you here with me. Looks like Shepherd was wrong. They don’t really care about you as much as everyone thought they did. Makes me sad, them abandoning you so easily.” 

You try to ignore his words, try to convince yourself he’s doing it on purpose, trying to mentally break you. Yet you can’t deny those words play exactly into your doubts, your fears. Have they really left you here, choosing Shepherd over you? Would they decide to do that? How easy had that decision been made?  

Tears blur your vision as you stare up at Phil, your eyes burning as you try to put on the bravest face you can. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to you, playing into your fears. 

“Unfortunately, that means I have to hurt you.” He stands up straight, staring down at you for a moment before pulling his fist back, hitting you across the face. 

You see stars for a moment, your head snapping to the side. The left side of your face is numb, the taste of metal flooding over your tongue. You’re bleeding, blood pooling in your mouth. A hand grips your chin, pulling you back so you’re sitting up straight in the chair. You stare up at Phil, the fear fading away to anger as you glare up at him. Your face is throbbing, and you know it’s going to swell and bruise later, more than it already has thanks to Corporal McKinney. 

Traitorous bastard. 

They all are. 

“I do feel bad for hurting that pretty face.” He says, stroking your jaw with his thumb. 

The movement is impulsive, the anger becoming too much. You spit the blood in your mouth in his face, the droplets splattering across his skin. He turns his head away for a moment, bringing his other hand up to wipe at the blood. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” He says, looking down at you. 

“Fuck you, you fucking creep!” You yell, kicking at him with your bad leg. 

He releases your face, catching your leg easily. He pushes his thumb against the bullet wound, all the fight leaving you as pain tears through your body. You let out a scream, trying to pull your leg away but he won’t let you. He holds his thumb there as you scream, the tears streaming down your face. 

“Okay, okay please! Please stop!” You beg, the pain radiating up into your hip and side. You can’t take it anymore, your brain starting to go fuzzy as you hyperventilate. 

He releases your leg, his hand wrapping around your throat to lift your face. The tears are streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cut on your cheek. There’s no sympathy, not even regret in his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you can’t behave, I’ll have to do just that.” He releases you as you continue to hyperventilate, your eyes starting to glaze. You’re distressing. Will Phil help you? Will he do what he has to do to keep you alive? If you die, there won’t be anything stopping your pack. The entire plan will be over. They’ll go after Shepherd, then they’ll hunt down Phil. 

Cold ice water hits you in the face, shocking you back into clarity. Phil is holding the cup of water he’d been letting you drink from periodically. You blink at him as water drips into your eyes, your breaths hitching but far slower than they had been. You’re awake and aware now. 

You didn’t even know it was possible to do that. 

“Don’t distress on me now.” He says, putting the cup down. “We have so much ahead of us.” He moves around to the back of your chair, bending down until his breath hits your ear. “Besides, you make me help you out of distress, I might not be able to stop myself.” 

Your eyes pinch closed as his lips brush the shell of your ear before he stands back up, tears mixing with the icy water still sliding down your face. 

Christine nearly runs down the ramp once the plane has stopped on the runway. She’s jet lagged and worn out after eight hours of worrying, but she’s eager not only to finally get some news on you and your status, but to see her brother for the first time in a long time. 

It’s not hard to find him. 

“Chrissy!” He grins, hugging her tightly. 

She has half a mind to complain about the nickname she’d endured her entire childhood, but she can’t find it in her as she hugs her brother tightly. She’s missed him, more than she realized. Their jobs have kept them busy, her with her medical studies and practice, and Alex with...whatever it is he does. 

“It’s been far too long.” She says, pulling away from him. She’d love to stand there and hug him for an hour, but she can’t. They have more important things to do. Time is of the essence, if her worst fears are true. 

“A lot has happened, a lot has changed.” He says. 

She looks him over, spotting the more noticeable changes in comparison to the last time they were face to face. “You could say that.” 

“We can talk about it later.” He turns to the other person with him, a woman. “Christine, this is Farah.” He introduces her. “Farah, this is my baby sister Christine.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Farah says, shaking her hand. 

“You as well.” Christine looks between them for a moment. She knows that look in Alex’s eyes as he looks at Farah. 

“We should get moving.” Farah says, ignoring him. 

“Laswell has moved off the grid.” Alex says, opening the driver’s side of the SUV. 

Smart, if things are as bad as she thinks they are. 

Christine gets into the back, letting out a long breath. She’s closer now to finding out what’s happened to you. The guilt is still eating her alive. If she just hadn’t left, if she hadn’t believed the phone call, put it above your safety. 

Things might have been worse if she had stayed. 

“Kate filled us in about everything.” Alex says as he drives away from the airfield. “At least in regards to the pack and your involvement.” 

“There’s some things she’s not telling us.” Farah says. “Though if things are as bad as they sound, I don’t blame her.” 

“I don’t know much of anything.” Christine says, staring out the window as they drive out of the city. “I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone...” 

“It’s hardly your fault.” Alex says, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “If this was all planned, there wouldn’t have been anything that would stop it from happening.” 

“They might have done worse if you had stayed there.” Farah says, speaking Christine’s own fears aloud. 

“I wish I could see her. Make sure she’s alright.” Christine says. “If something happens to her...” 

“From what I hear she’s a hardy omega.” Alex says, trying to comfort her. “She’s withstood a lot. She can survive the 141, she’s probably giving them hell as we speak.” 

**Content Warnings: light torture, choking to the point of almost passing out, blood, very detailed descriptions of pain, non-fatal stabbing**

It’s getting hard to breathe. Phil’s grip around your throat is getting tighter and tighter, less and less oxygen getting to your bloodstream and your brain. Your mouth has an almost permanent metallic taste as blood drips down your chin. Blood stains Phil’s arm from where you bit him, teeth marks red and angry looking from where they broke the skin. 

“You fucking bitch.” He growls, jaw clenched. “Your alpha should have taught you some manners.” 

His hand squeezes tighter, cutting the air off entirely. You begin to panic, tugging against the restrains with your raw, cut up wrists. Black dots begin to dance in your vision, your legs straining against the zip ties keeping them attached to the chair. Your hands and feet are going numb, your entire body tingling. This is it. You’re going to be choked to death. 

He holds his hand there for a moment, letting you struggle before he lets go and you suck in a gasp of air. You slump over in the chair, blood splattering on the floor as you cough, your throat raw and sore. Tears burn in your eyes as you heave, trying to get the oxygen flowing through your body again. 

Phil bends down to your level as you sit there, head hanging as blood drips from your mouth. Your tongue is raw from how many times you’ve bitten it. It’s impossible to tell how much time has really passed. There’s no windows in the room. The only light source is the cracks around the door behind you. Even then with the bright light in your face constantly, it’s hard to tell anything anymore. 

“Feisty still, but everyone has their limits.” His hand cups your chin as he stands, lifting your face to follow him. His hand holds the back of your head up as he wipes at the blood under your nose and on your chin almost gently. 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare up at him, unable to even care anymore that his hand is so close to your neck. All he has to do is move it down just slightly and squeeze and you’ll be unaware of anything around you, at the mercy of his bidding. 

That would almost be a relief. 

He dumps another icy cup of water over your head, keeping you from slipping too much into a panic. The cold water stings the cut on your chest and the one on your arm as it slides down your shoulders. You’ve lost the ability to feel the throbbing in your calf, numb to most of the pain in your body. 

Why haven’t they come for you? Where is your pack? 

Have they written you off for good? Was finding Shepherd more important than you? 

Phil’s phone goes off, your stomach dropping. He stares at the screen for a second before turning back to you. 

You shake your head, the tears cascading down your cheeks. “No,” You start to shake. “No, please-” 

“You know I have to, darlin’.” He moves behind you, tugging on your hair to keep your head up as one of his men stands in front of you with a phone in hand. 

He counts down on his fingers before pressing record. 

“Seems you boys still can’t follow orders. Your omega sure wishes you would.” Phil says as he reaches around your head, holding your chin in his hand. He tilts your head back making you look up at him. “Don’t you, darlin’. Tell them. Tell them how much you wish they’d follow orders.” 

You’re still crying, unable to stop as you stare at the camera. They really have given up on you. They’ve deemed you unworthy of saving. They’ve let you sit here and be beat up and tortured all because they put the job first. 

They really have given up on you. 

Are they even watching? 

“Please,” You croak out, half begging your pack to care, half begging Phil to have mercy. 

“Since you can’t seem to bring yourselves to care about your own omega,” He shifts slightly, someone handing him something behind you. You catch a glint of metal, your heart rate picking up. You’re panicking, breaths coming in shaky gasps. You know he can do worse. He’s threatened worse, but what is he going to do? “It seems you need a little more...motivation.” 

You try to wiggle out of his grasp in panic, wrists bleeding again from tugging at the zip ties. They’re coated in your blood, your leg throbbing but you don’t care. You need to get away, get free. “No, no-”

You let out a scream. 

It’s sharp and piercing, but nowhere near the sharp pain in your neck. It fires through your very nerve endings, making you aware of the very cells in your body. It shoots up into your brain, igniting every neuron in your brain. Your very blood feels like it’s boiling, your skin on fire from the pain. Every inhale feels like you’re breathing in sand, and every exhale is like glass shards dragging through your lungs and up your throat. The tears streaming down your face may as well be slicing through layers of skin, every wound pulsing and throbbing with a new kind of angry vengeance. 

You’re sobbing, nearly choking on air as the pain continues to pulse in your body. It’s too much, every sensation inside and outside of your body meshing together in an agonizing harmony. 

“Shhh.” Phil tries to shush you as he bends down, his cheek resting against the side of your head. “I know, I know. You’ll be alright.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go limp in the chair. 

Your scream still hangs in the air even after the video ends. 

It’s otherwise silent in the room, all eight of them feeling the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. The scents in the air are full of pain and regret and guilt and anger. 

“Was that fatal?” Kate asks, breaking the tense silence. 

“No.” Christine chokes out, her voice shaky. Her hands are trembling where they’re tucked against her sides. Her arms are crossed over her chest, trying to bring herself some kind of comfort after what she had just watched. “He went for the scent gland. It’s not a fatal injury, unless you go too deep, but he knew what he was doing.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “It’s just incredibly painful.” 

Her words hang in the air for a moment, all of them still trying to process what they had just seen. 

John slams his hands on the table, all of them jumping. “I fucking told you.” He says, his voice laced with the deep growl of his alpha. “I fucking told you Kate, she should have been flown out here as soon as you made the call.” 

“I know.” Kate says, undeterred by his anger. She’s seen it many times, though she’s rarely been on the receiving end of it. “I know, I made a bad call. None of us knew they would take it this far.” 

“But we knew something was going on behind the scenes.” John says, still radiating anger. “All precautions should have been taken.” 

“There was no guarantee her being here would have stopped them. She might not have been any safer here.” Kate says, trying to ease his anger, even though she knows it’s completely warranted. “This goes far deeper than we thought it did. Even before this plan was set into motion.” She waits a moment, letting the air settle. “A year ago, a convoy was smuggling missiles and other weapons into the Middle East in an off-the-books operation. The convoy was attacked and the missiles and arms were stolen by a Russian PMC group. The operation was conducted under the command of Shepherd, and the soldiers in the convoy were all Shadow Company.” 

“That’s how Graves is tied into this.” Kyle says. 

“It goes deeper than that.” Kate says, pulling up a file and displaying it on screen. “The missiles and weapons being smuggled weren’t being sent to aid allies in the Middle East. Shepherd sold them to AQ and the Russians. The PMC group that attacked Shadow Company was hired by Shepherd to make it look like an ambush.” 

“Fucking weasel.” Simon growls. 

“I don’t know how much Graves knows, or how much he helped hide the entire operation, but his ties to this go even deeper.” Kate says, and they all shift closer. “Graves has history with your omega.” She says, pulling up an old photo. “We combed through one of her brothers’ Facebook pages. Found an old photo of her dad with Graves. They served on the same base when her family lived in Texas before Graves left to join MARSOC. She would have still been a child at the time.” 

They stare at the photo, Graves clearly identifiable as he stands next to another man, beers in their hands. There’s two other boys in the photo, young and grinning at the camera. Standing in front of Graves is a little girl, a happy grin on her face. They’re all in various combinations of red, white, and blue. 

4th of July, they assume. 

“That’s how she got into the institute so fast.” John says, staring at the photo. He’s never seen a photo of your father before. You must take after your mother. “Graves pulled the strings.” 

Kate nods. “He did, but under the condition he would be the one to claim her when she grew old enough. The CIA wiped out that claim when they froze her file.” 

The 141 all shift on their feet, sharing looks. John feels a sick twisting in his stomach at the implications. Your position in the photo suddenly makes sense. Anger burns in him, deep and bubbling like magma. He’ll kill the bastard. 

“This is revenge then.” Johnny says. 

“In a way, I think.” Kate says. “We took away what he wanted. Graves wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.” 

“This all is what the initiative was created for.” Christine says, leaning against the table. “A contingency in case this all was uncovered.” 

“A way to control us.” Kyle says. 

Kate nods. “Yes. It was all a plan to give the 141 a weakness, a way to be controlled should the situation arise. In this case it just so happened to be the uncovering of his traitorous arms deals.” 

“We were all pawns in this.” Christine says. 

“We let them walk right in and take control like that.” John says, turning to Christine. “You let them walk in and take our omega.” 

She turns to face him, undeterred by his agitation and anger. “I did what I thought was right at the time. I got a call from one of the front desk workers in the med center saying that someone was waiting in my office for me.” She explains. “They wouldn’t say who it was, and the whole thing felt off. I knew whoever would be visiting me was not going to be friendly, so I felt it was safer to leave her in the barracks than take her with me and risk something happening in a place she doesn’t know well. In the barracks at least she’d know places to hide and barricade herself.” 

She takes a deep breath, still facing down John fearlessly. He’s coiled tight like a spring, ready to jump at any moment should he deem it necessary. It’s those protective instincts, the knowledge that his omega is somewhere else, taken unwillingly and being tortured feeding into that need to fight. 

“My office door was open when I got there.” She continues. “I always leave it locked. I went in prepared to fight, but I was attacked from behind. Hit over the head and drugged with something fast acting, something that would keep me incapacitated long enough for him to strike.” She stares up into his eyes, projecting her scent just a bit to try and get him to calm down. “We all made mistakes here, things we thought were the right choice at the time.” 

She’s not wrong. They all know it. They had just seen proof of it.  

“The assailant?” John asks, turning back to Kate. 

“Corporal McKinney.” Kate says. “He was in Shepherd’s pocket from the start. Someone who could watch first-hand. Someone who could sneak into the barracks unnoticed without many questions. He was likely the one that put the cameras up.” 

“Fucking wanker.” Simon growls. “He approached her once in the mess. Early on. Tried to introduce himself to her. Backed off as soon as I intervened. Never tried again, at least that we know of.” 

“She never mentioned him.” Christine says. “Or anyone else on base that might have tried to approach her.” 

“Where is he now?” Kyle asks. They’re all angry, frustrated. How had they not seen this happening? 

“Local police tracked his car to an abandoned airfield not far outside of Hereford.” Kate says. “He was dead inside. Police ruled it suicide.” 

“I’m sure it was.” John says. 

They all know it wasn’t. 

“Shadow Company likely picked her up from there with orders to stage a suicide.” Kate says. 

“One less loose string to worry about.” Simon says. “Covers their tracks in England.” 

They all go quiet. How this had all happened right under their noses? They’re all guilty of falling for it, for being too trusting in a world they know they can’t be too careful in. Allies can turn on a dime and become enemies. Betrayals can be easily bought. Things can turn downhill within a blink of an eye. They’re supposed to be prepared for the worst, ready for every possibility. 

They had written this off as a conspiracy, and now their omega is paying for it. 

“We need a plan.” Farah says, breaking the silence. 

“We can’t let Shepherd get away.” John says. 

“We cannae just leave her.” Johnny argues against his alpha. It’s a brave thing, considering his alpha’s current mental state.  

“I don’t know how much more she can take.” Simon backs his beta up, the desperation and pain on your face still visible in all of their minds. 

“Let us go after Shepherd.” Alex says, offering up a solution. “He’s obviously watching for you to come after him.” 

“We can move undetected.” Farah agrees. “He’s less likely to expect us. You need to focus on your omega. Shepherd will show himself again eventually.” 

“Do we have a lead on their location?” Kyle asks, turning back to Kate. 

She nods. “We do now. I sent a team out to try and track location through the videos and where they were being sent from.” She pulls a map up on screen. “We have a location.” 

“Texas.” Alex says. 

“He took her home.” Christine says. 

“We have a plan then. We go after Graves, Farah and Alex start tracking Shepherd. Kate is eyes in the sky for us.” John says. 

“She’s going to need medical attention as soon as possible.” Christine says. She looks at Kate. “Where is the nearest military base from their location?” 

Kate types on her computer. “Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base in Fort Worth.” 

“Get me there and I’ll be waiting. She’s going to need someone she knows.” She says, looking at John. “She’s not going to just let anyone close to her after this. She may not even let you close.” 

John stares down at her for a long moment. She stares back unflinchingly. She doesn’t get intimidated easily, not after years of dealing with institutes and alphas alike. 

He lets out a breath, staring down at her for a long moment before he nods. “I trust you.” 

“Short reunion this time.” 

“I’m just glad I got to see your face again.” Christine says, looking up at Alex. 

“Things are...complicated.” He says. “Maybe after all of this is over we can go and get some coffee. Talk about our lives...as much as we can.” 

The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

Alex pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly. “You’re doing good work, Chrissy.” 

She shakes her head at the nickname, but she holds him just as tightly. “I’m trying to.” 

Alex pulls away, squeezing her arms. “I’d say you are. You care a lot. To the point some might call it a character defect.” 

She scoffs, slapping his chest playfully. “Not like you’re much better.” She glances at the car where Farah is waiting patiently. “I’m happy for you.” 

“Oh, we’re....” Alex blushes to his ears. “We’re not...” 

She gives him a look. “Mhm sure.” She looks up at him one more time. “Be safe.” 

“As best I can.” He says. “Take care of yourself. Don’t be too hard on yourself either.” 

“I try not to be.” She squeezes his hand before stepping away. 

She watches the SUV drive off, stomach churning with nerves for both of them. Shepherd is dangerous, but Alex has fearlessly faced down danger since he was a kid. He’s always been brave and determined, loyal and unafraid to do what he thinks is right no matter what. She trusts him to take care of himself, she trusts Farah to help him, even if she only met the woman today. 

She trusts them both to take care of each other. She trusts them both to help put an end to this. 

**Content Warning: Blood, vomiting, 'mega forces herself into a panic attack**

Your body aches, muscles screaming. You can’t take much more. Your cheek throbs painfully, swollen to the point you almost can’t see out of your left eye. The pain burning from your neck makes the other pain in your body nearly irrelevant, nearly nonexistent. It’s like electricity, burning through your very cells. Every movement seems to make it flare, makes the electric shock jolt through you. The burning pain that follows makes you whimper, a pathetic choking sound squeaking out from your bruised throat. 

The pain makes you nauseous, vomit staining the front of your shirt and pants. It’s mostly bile and the little food you’ve gotten since your kidnapping. 

Nutrient bars, meant to keep you fed and nourished for a short period of time. 

You may never be able to eat them again. 

“Fuck.” Graves curses, staring at his phone. “They’ve backed off.” He steps up to you, looking down on your pathetic form. “Looks like your boys do care about you after all.” 

Do they? Are they really coming for you, or have they simply given up chasing Shepherd because they lost all their leads. Will they come for you, or will they leave you here to rot? What will Graves do then? Try to take you as his own omega? Kill you out of anger? 

Your stomach churns and you can feel the bile rising. 

You vomit again, the warm liquid splashing into your lap. You can’t lean far enough anymore, not without the risk of not being able to pull yourself back up, not with the pain burning your every movement. You can’t even lift your head anymore, your body weak and battered and bruised. There’s blood everywhere, on you and on the floor. You can still taste it in your mouth, mixing with the sourness of bile. 

Graves gives you a disgusted look before turning to the others in the room. “Duran, Lewis, keep watch. The rest of you come with me.” 

He leaves the room for the first time in what you assume is days. For once the cocktail of scents begins to disperse, all but two of the alphas finally disappearing. Where they’re going or what they’re going to do, you don’t know. You can’t bring yourself to care either way. You just want to go home. You want to see your mother again, your brothers and sisters, even your father would be a welcome sight after this. You want your alpha, you want him to hold you, to take you in his arms, keep you safe.

He abandoned you. He left you to suffer like this. 

Your breathing picks up as you sit there, chin to chest as you stare at your bloody shirt. The smells in the room are awful, the scents no longer there to block out the sour bile and metallic stench blood. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, pink tinted splatters dripping onto your pants. What are you going to do now? What are they going to do to you now? Will they keep you alive long enough for your pack to arrive then kill you in front of them? Will they torture them too, make them watch as the life slowly leaves your eyes in revenge for chasing after Shepherd? 

A sob rips through your sore throat up out of your lips. 

You just want to go home. 

You just want to be free. 

You can be. 

Distress. The final defense. The last ditch effort omegas have to save themselves. Distress will lead to your omega taking over, and if nothing else, a quiet death you won’t even realize is happening. Your body will give out and you’ll be safely tucked into the back of your brain, comforted by your instincts. You won’t have to worry anymore. You won’t have to care. 

If nothing else, the pain will be over. 

I’m sorry. 

You begin to breathe heavier, ignoring the pain in your body as you push yourself to hyperventilate. The alphas behind you might do something, might try to stop it. They could, but would they even know how? Would it even work if you got too far? They’re not your alpha. They can’t comfort you, bring you back from the edge without forcing you. Will they even bother? 

You tilt your head to the side, putting pressure on your injured scent gland. You sob at the pain, the burning flowing straight into your very cells, making them scream. You push through it, your wrists twisting against the zip ties, digging them further into your already damaged wrists. The pain pushes you to a point of panic, your heart rate through the roof. You can feel it, the tightening of your muscles, your joints locking into place. 

You’ve never done it purposefully before, but in this state, it’s not hard. 

They left you. They’ve abandoned you. They’ve given up. It’s all your fault they left. They’re not coming for you. You’re not worth it. 

The thoughts send you down the spiral, the edges of your vision starting to go dark. You’re floating away, hands and feet going numb as your wheezing, shallow breaths block the oxygen from getting to your brain. You’re sinking, your body floating as you begin to retreat into the back of your mind. The cage is open, your omega soothing you as you drift off, curling up in the back recesses of your mind. 

You’re safe now. She whispers. 

There’s no going back. 

You’re going to get out. 

Even if you have to do it yourself. 

The last breath you remember taking is shaky, making you cough before your vision begins to fade to grey, then to black. You’re getting out of here no matter what. You’re going to go to sleep. If you fail, you’ll never know it. Your death will be quick and gentle and you’ll never know it happened until you’ve moved on to whatever is next. 

You won’t remember any of this. That’s your only consolation. 

Your vision fades to black as all memory and awareness leaves you. The last thing you remember is the snap of the zip ties around your wrists as they break. 

“Graves has moved with some of his men to the western building. It’s likely the hostage is being held in the eastern building. Gaz and I will go after Graves. Ghost and Soap will try to secure the hostage.” 

“Keller is on her way to NAS JRB as we speak. They’re on standby for medevac.” 

“Stealth is our priority. They know we’re here, we risk losing the hostage. Quick and quiet, take them by surprise. The faster we do this, the sooner it will all be over.” 

**Content Warning: blood and slight gore, someone gets shot offscreen, some gorey and explicit imagery towards the end**

He’s not unfamiliar with high stakes missions. It’s his specialty. He’s cool and calm under stress and pressure, which is why he gets chosen for them. He can detach easily, get the job done and then go home and forget. 

So why are his hands shaking? 

This isn’t a high stakes mission, not like one he’s used to doing. The stakes are higher, higher than he’s ever had before. It’s not just eliminating some faceless target, it’s not just rescuing some faceless hostage. 

It’s rescuing you. 

He hates that you were involved in all of this. He hates that they all fell for it, blind to the truth, blind to Shepherd’s traitorous actions. They refused to entertain those conspiratorial thoughts, and now you’re paying for it. He knows why Price made the decision he did, he understands the logic behind it. 

He hated it, though. 

How far would Graves have taken it if they had chosen to go after you first. Would things have gotten this bad? Or would he still have hurt you, tortured you just out of sheer anger for what happened between the two of you? He wouldn’t give up just because Shepherd told him to stop. He’s ruthless and uncaring of who he hurts and why. He gets his orders and he completes them, no matter what, so long as whoever is giving those orders can pay a high enough price. 

How much did he get for this assignment? How much did he settle for once he learned you were involved? 

Far too much despite that fact, most likely. Maybe he should become a merc. Less rules and more money.

It’s not a bad idea. 

He lasers his focus on the building as they creep through the trees, moving silently. Two against however many are inside. It was impossible to tell with how many were moving between the two buildings constantly. 

He brought the whole squad. He planned on putting up a fight regardless. 

At least they have the element of surprise on their hands. 

“We move silently through the building.” He says as they approach the door. There’s two guards standing outside. “They know we’re inside, things could go downhill quickly.” 

“On you, LT.” Johnny says, taking point beside him. 

“Drop one, I’ll take the other.” He says, aiming at one of the two Shadows guarding the door. 

It’s quick and quiet, their bodies slumping onto the damp dirt. Simon scans the area before moving forward to the door. It’s unlocked, Johnny pushing it open slowly to check for a trip wire. 

None. 

Sloppy, or perhaps on purpose. They can’t be too careful. Shepherd will have let Graves know they’re not on his trail anymore. He’ll be expecting them. 

They split up, combing the bottom floor of the building. He takes out two more Shadows, checking every room for a sign of their target, but they find none. 

“Second floor.” He says, waiting at the base of the stairwell for Johnny to join him. 

“You think she’s in here?” Johnny asks as they creep up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. 

“Well, we’ll find out.” 

It’s far too unguarded to where they’re holding you. Graves will have assumed they’d split up. He must have moved most of his men to the western building to put up as much of a barricade as possible. He can picture Graves standing there, the smirk on his face as he holds a gun to your head. Will he take that risk, shoot you in front of them and give them nothing to live for? Or will he use a knife, letting you die a slow, painful death in front of them? 

Or, maybe he moved them to the western building to make them think that’s where you are. Focus their attacks there so they leave you behind. He gets cornered, he send the word to kill you before any of them can get to you. 

More red herrings. 

He pauses before he reaches the top of the steps, taking out the shadow standing down the hallway. They split up again, looking through rooms at the top of the stairs, making their way down the hallway. 

One of the doors is open, and he silently motions for Johnny. He counts down silently in his head before rounding the corner, rifle up as he scans the room. His stomach churns as he looks inside, taking a couple cautious steps forward. He’s seen a lot of things in his time, done a lot of things, but this is different. 

“Screaming Jesus.” Johnny says, lowering his rifle as he steps in behind Simon. 

There’s blood everywhere. 

It’s coating the floors, leaving a sticky residue as it dries. It’s the room you were in. He recognizes it from the video, and the bright light in the corner is a dead giveaway. The chair in the middle of the room has been broken, the wood of the arms snapped off and splintered. There’s four bloody zip ties on the floor, along with several instruments on the floor including the ice pick. 

He wants to shove that into Graves’ eye for what he did to you. 

There’s two bodies on the floor, one of them dead in a pool of his own blood, the other choking as blood seeps onto the floor under him. He steps up to the shadow, putting his boot on his chest and pushing. The Shadow lets out a groan, coughing up blood. 

“Where the fuck is she?” He growls, staring down at the quickly paling face. 

“Fucking bitch went crazy.” He chokes out. “Went running.” 

Simon steps back, pulling out his handgun and firing two bullets into the Shadow’s head. 

“Price, we found the room.” He says into his comm. “The hostage isn’t here. A half-dead Shadow said she bolted.” 

“LT.” Johnny says, motioning to the door, the only other exit from the room. There’s a bloody handprint on the door, one too small to be one of the Shadows’. 

“I think she managed to get out.” He says, staring at the handprint. His stomach drops, his hand tightening around his rifle. He glances down at the bodies, throats cut and faces bloody. “I think her omega took over.” 

“You and Soap go after her. She’ll do the one thing she knows to do, the one instinctual thing she can do if she has nothing to fight.” Price says. “We’ve got Graves cornered.” 

Simon pushes the door open, cool air flowing into the stuffy room. There’s bloody shoe prints heading down the stairs. He can see the rapid turn on the concrete below before they head off towards the trees. 

“I’ve got a trail.” He says. 

“Go.” Price says. “Simon...you know what you have to do.” 

He does.

He motions for Johnny to follow before hurrying down the stairs. The longer they delay, the further you’ll get. He doesn’t doubt some Shadows followed you if you made that much of a ruckus. The more time they waste, the more dangerous things get, and not just because they might lose you or the shadows might catch up. 

He races towards the treeline, rifle in hand, but there’s no one else standing guard. Price and Gaz will have taken care of those in the other building, and those that were outside probably went after you. 

He slows once they break the treeline, trying to catch any hint of your scent that might be left. His only hope is that you’ve left a trail. He’s a tracker, he knows what he’s doing. His senses are stronger, more in tune. He can find you. He can track you down. He has to. 

The guilt is eating him alive. If something happens to you, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s right here, so close and yet so far. You’re running on borrowed time and there’s only so much of it left. Eventually you have to slow, eventually your body will start giving up. Will it be too late then? If a Shadow finds you when you can’t fight back...

“Dead Shadow ahead.” Johnny says, motioning to the slumped over body ahead of them. “We’re on the trail.” 

“Let’s hope she left more markers on the way.” He says, kicking the Shadow, but the stab wound in his neck is all Simon needs to know. “Keep going straight.” He says, continuing on the path they’ve been following. He needs just a whiff, a hint of your scent. Something. 

They come across another dead Shadow, this one off to the side of the path they had been following. He turns, making an adjustment before moving forward. Johnny keeps close, both of them watching for more Shadows, or for any glimpse of you. All they can hope is they’re on the right path. 

He nearly sets off in a run as he hears a sound ahead. It’s a yowl, almost like a mountain lion. It sends a tingle down his back, his alpha blaring warning alarms. A threatened omega is a dangerous thing. Fierce and protective of themselves, capable of great feats and lethal if you get too close. 

It’s you, no doubt. 

Price had been right. 

He has no choice. 

He pushes forward, his steps quick as he makes his way through the bushes. He spots you near a boulder, trying to fight off a Shadow. He’s got the upper hand, using his size against you. You’re getting tired, your movements slowing. Simon aims with his rifle, a shot to the head dropping the Shadow. You drop into a crouch, surveying the trees. You’re covered in blood, a knife in your hand as your wild eyes search for them. 

“Distract her.” He says to Johnny. “Make yourself as unthreatening as possible. I’ll go around and get her from behind.” 

He doesn’t even wait for an acknowledgement before he’s moving, slipping around to the side of the boulder. Johnny steps into the clearing slowly, holding his hands up, talking to you quietly.

“Easy, kitten. Ye know who I am.” Johnny is careful not to get too close, his steps slow as he moves to the side, getting you to turn. “We’re just here to help ye. Get ye home and safe.” 

You’re holding the knife up, brandishing it at Johnny. Simon isn’t sure if you’ve ever thrown a knife before, but he doesn’t put it past you to try in this state. 

He hopes Johnny’s reflexes are fast enough. 

He slips out from behind the boulder as you pause, wasting no time as he races up behind you and grabbing you before you can bolt or go for Johnny’s neck. You let out another yowl, struggling against him as he wraps an arm around your chest. Your teeth sink into his arm and he lets out a curse, but he doesn’t let go. He lets go, they won’t get another chance. It’ll be too late. 

He doesn't want to do it. His mind flashes back to his father and mother, one of the few times his mother fought back. It hadn’t lasted long before her body went limp, practically a ragdoll in his father’s hold. Simon had grabbed Tommy and ran, barricading them in his room. They didn’t want to see what was going to happen next. 

He doesn’t want that kind of control over you, he doesn’t want to put you through that trauma. The disorientation, the fear, the confusion. That must have been what it felt like after being sedated during your heat. You had been sick for days, crying in Johnny’s room. He had heard every sob, every attempt to soothe you. 

He put you through that. He made you face that down despite the fear on your face as Johnny escorted you to the med center. 

And now he has to do it again. 

He has to this time. He has no choice. His only other option is to let you die. Price will never forgive him. Johnny won’t even look at him again. He’d betray them worse than you did, worse than Shepherd, worse than Graves. 

You never really betrayed them in the first place, though. 

You were afraid, untrusting of them, unsure because of your past. He had been foolish to blame you, foolish to think it was somehow your fault. You acted out of fear, out of terror. How you must have felt in those moments when that beta showed up, when you faced down Shepherd alone, when you returned to find your space invaded and those cameras all over your room. They weren’t there to protect you, they weren’t there to support you. They left you alone and you hid it from them because you didn’t know any better, because you were so afraid. 

He’s a goddamn fucking prick he’s been. 

Tears blur his vision as he tucks his free arm behind you, shifting your position just enough so he can get his hand around the back of your neck. You kick out with your legs, releasing his arm, your head tilting back in a last ditch, instinctual effort to protect yourself. 

His eyes squeeze closed as you let out a yelp, his fingers digging into the back of your neck. It’s hard enough it will leave a bruise, but he has to be sure. It’s the only thing that might save you. It’s his only option, his only chance to keep you alive. 

“There you go.” He says quietly into your ear. “Need you to relax for me.” 

Your body goes limp in his hold, head resting back against his hand as he holds you there. Your muscles twitch as the tension leaves you, eyelids fluttering before they close. His arm stings where your teeth had sunk into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t care. 

“Keep resting.” He says, easing his hand from the back of your neck as he shifts you in his arms. “Gonna get you somewhere safe.” 

You’re like a ragdoll in his arms as he lifts you up, cradling you against his chest. You’re warm, hair sticking to your forehead. 

“Call it in.” He tells Johnny, his eyes still glued to your face. “We need that medevac now.” 

“Price, we got her.” Johnny says into his comm. “We need medevac stat.” 

You look so peaceful despite the blood soaking your body. Partially yours, partially the Shadows you killed in your escape. You look like a gruesome painting, a gorey depiction of an omega pushed too far. Something they’d put on display in a museum, a photo that would win prizes in celebration of such a natural state caught on camera. It would be circulated for decades, something talked about centuries from now. 

A raw view of humanity’s inner beasts. 

He can’t stand it, seeing you like this. They did this to you. They are the reason you’re like this. They made the bad call in the end, they put you through this. You won’t forgive them, not after everything. You went weeks without them, without a word and then this happened. Innocence tainted in the blood of the guilty. The bloodstained omega held in the arms of the blood-tainted alpha. He should be the one covered in their blood. He should be the one carrying the weight of torture and desperation on his shoulders. 

The guardian dog covered in blood in the name of protecting his innocent sheep. 

How he’s failed you. How they all failed you. 

He pushes past the pain, past the grief, past the guilt and the horror of what they did to you, what they put you through. 

They’ve got you back. You’re safe. 

It’s over. 

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