#i do get she is implied to be tired of the war and the violence. which is. minth baby your ARC??????

[n1ghtwarden]

so the..... shadow wizard money gang surface ending is minth's "good" ending and the pvping lolth is the bad ending. (this user is still saying all roads lead to menzo)

[frvnkcastles]

LIKE HEAVEN ABOVE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: After Frank saves your life, you’re there for him through thick and thin.

Warnings: Violence, language, feminine nicknames, implied smut, mentions of death, reader is a teacher, reader wears glasses

Word count: 5.6k (wow)

Author’s note: Omggg y’all, I dug this up from my Pages app, it’s literally almost 3 years old and that’s why I’m a little nervous to post it but I thought it might actually be some of my best writing, so here we go :) It takes place through Daredevil season 2 all the way to the end of The Punisher Season 1, and I have to admit, I honestly feel like Frank was NOT ready for any kind of love interest during Daredevil but I took some creative liberties, anyway. So this is a little out of character on that front. I’m rambling, I hope you enjoy!! I’m gonna get back to your requests soon <3

Frank felt like somehow days passed by in a flurry yet every second dragged on like the worst torture he had endured — which was saying a lot considering the literal war he had gone through, and the fact he was currently lying in a hospital bed; broken, bruised and with a drilling hole in his foot. And yet waiting to see you was the one thing that got his confidence to falter, his brain to shortcircuit.

For a man so stubborn and determined to do things on his own, he had crumbled so fast when presented with the opportunity to see you again. He hadn’t even realized he had ended up caring about you so deeply, not until the blonde journalist had stepped into his room and the words just poured out of him.

”Would ya do me a favour?” Frank asked as the woman was leaving the room, his gruff voice so uncharacteristically meek and vulnerable, and therefore capable of turning her head immediately. ”Please”, he added weakly, ”my girl… I—there’s someone I need to see. Just once. Please.”

Maybe she was curious about meeting the one person who seemed to mean anything to The Punisher anymore; maybe she felt surprisingly bad for him or maybe it was both, but Karen found herself doing as he asked and tracked you down. She reached out and a few days later… you were walking down the hallways of the hospital, uncomfortably shifting the weight of your leather jacket from one arm to the other, your stomach churning in nervous anticipation.

The sight of several armed guards standing outside the room you were being walked to made you gulp, but you weren’t scared of the man inside. You were scared to see the kind of condition he was in, to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, scared of the moment you’d have to walk out in the uncertainty if you’d ever see him again. But not him. Never him.

Something in Frank came to life when you appeared at the doorway; something he thought to be long dead and buried only for you to always revive him. He lifted his head from the worn pillows and sighed in some kind of relief, only for guilt to lodge into his heart when he saw you scanning his body.

He looked awful, no way around it. Littered in bruises so severe you could barely see his face, you struggled not to cry while looking at the multiple machines connected to him and the abundance of bandages on his tired limbs. What really got to you, though, was the handcuffs on his wrists and the straps across his chest and stomach to make sure there was no room for him to move any more than necessary to sit up and lie back down.

”Jesus…”, you sighed breathlessly, your hands beginning to shake as you walked over to him with a frown so deep it hurt his heart. He knew he might have been a selfish asshole for dragging you here, for making you see what he had tried to protect you from this whole time, for letting you get attached right before it would all go to shit, anyway. But he wasn’t strong enough to push you away. He was capable of enduring much, but he was weak when it came to you. He had tried it, at first, keeping you at arm’s length but you got under his skin in a way that was irreversible and it hurt more to resist than it did to give in. For him, anyway.

”Looks worse than it is, sweetheart”, he rasped, and with a scoff, you finally met his eyes only for the depth of them to catch you off-guard and make you choke on your own tongue. He looked just as attentive and kind as the day you had met him — you swore you’d never forget the way he had hid you behind the counter of the diner, looked right into your eyes and promised he’d make sure you’d make it to class tomorrow; what would the kids do without their teacher, after all?

”They said your foot was… that there was a…”, you stammered, hoping to counter his words with an argument that failed as soon as you tried to get it out. He had never judged you for your tendency to stutter, though, and he didn’t do it now, either. Simply nodded and let you process.

”Yeah. Yeah, there was”, he admitted quietly, licking his split lips as he watched you move to the chair next to his bed and slowly sink down. Even with all the pain in your eyes, you looked so beautiful in one of your worn band shirts and the skirt you had promptly tucked it into, your glasses heavy on your nose and the shimmer of your lipbalm like a red thread for Frank to hang onto like his life depended on it. Amidst all the chaos and ache of his recent weeks, he could just close his eyes and think back to you, and somehow he felt at peace. At least for a second.

”I wish I could… make it all better”, you whispered sadly, a lone tear rolling down your cheek as you looked at his bruised cheekbones.

Frank’s hand reached for yours only for the handcuffs to stop him, the noise of the movement alerting the guard outside the door and pulling a swear from Frank. When he settled his hand back by his side, the guard seemed to relax a little, making both of you sigh — the man wasn’t even allowed to hold your hand.

”Oh, sweetheart”, Frank whispered, ”that’s exactly what you do. You make all this shit better.” He managed a small smile as he tilted his head at you. ”I may just make it worse, but you? Christ, you…”, he struggled to put his thoughts into words, keeping you on your toes as he finally decided against it, ”I’preciate you comin’. I just, uh, I guess I wanted to see you before I get dragged into a courtroom and… yeah. Yeah, there’s no happy ending for me. But for a moment there, you helped me believe there might be”, he went on, only breaking your heart with each word.

You wiped your eyes and chuckled softly. ”You don’t give yourself enough credit, Frankie. You’ve really made things better for me, too. And you deserve a happy ending, however that might look for you”, you swore, casting your eyes at your trembling hands. ”I know it might be weird to say, but I’m grateful I met you. Life-threatening danger and all. You and everyone else may not see it the same way, but you are a good guy. You are”, you continued before sniffling and getting up from your chair enough to press a kiss on his forehead.

You were careful and gentle, unwilling to hurt him any more than he had already been hurt. Yet when you moved to pull away, Frank grunted and reached for your wrist, stopping you from leaving. For a moment, you were forehead to forehead, your lips inches away and his breath mixing with yours.

”Sit with me for a bit? Yeah?” Frank pleaded, and when you nodded, he swallowed and smiled weakly. ”That’s my girl.”

He didn’t see you again until the trial. He spotted you right there in the benches, dressed in your finest red shirt that had his thoughts running a million miles while being walked to the stand. He was dressed in a suit, too, and he almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculous thought of a date swirling in his head. Maybe, in another lifetime, that could have been reality — not him being on trial for murder with you trying to tune out the hate speech spewed at him from the other half of the courtroom.

Most of his bruises had healed by then. You found small comfort in that.

You didn’t get to tell him he looked good, though. You didn’t get to say a single thing when he was announcing his guilt with a booming roar, and the next thing you knew, he was being walked out of the courtroom with a prison sentence looming over his head. You didn’t blame him for doing what he did, and you certainly didn’t expect him to choose you over his morals. But nevertheless, you couldn’t help but cry as he was taken out of sight and you were left with the realization you may never see him again.

You were sitting outside on the steps of the courthouse when a strange hand extended a tissue for you. Just as you looked up, nearly blinded by the sunshine, you were glad you hadn’t said your thought out loud when you saw Frank’s lawyer poke his cane at the steps until he figured where to sit. He lowered himself next to you just as you took the tissue and thanked him for his kindness.

”You’re the woman”, he stated matter-of-factly, and when you turned to him in confusion, he chuckled quietly. ”I recognize your perfume. It… stuck to him”, he explained — even if his explanation remained vague — but you had no time to present any further questions when he continued. ”Frank Castle is not a talkative man. But I’ve noticed whenever he does speak, his words carry meaning. He doesn’t do small talk or state the obvious, he… he only shares what he considers important. And if that is the case, then… you are extremely important to him”, he elaborated before drawing in a deep breath and sending a small smile your way.

Your heart both broke and leaped at his words. You hadn’t exactly doubted it, but it meant a great deal to know Frank cherished you as much as you cherished him.

”And he is to me”, you returned quietly, pulling a slow nod from the man — Matt — who then turned his head at you curiously.

”If you don’t mind me asking… how does a teacher find herself with The Punisher?” he wondered, and considering it your turn to chuckle, you turned to your hands and recalled the night that had turned your life upside down.

”He saved my life. I know that’s how all the cliché fairytales go, but he did. I was at my favorite diner to get some grilled cheese after a long day of work. I was so close to making it, too, when these, uh, thugs came in. Looking for him, unsurprisingly. There was only one other person besides us and they managed to escape before the shooting began, so… Frank hid me behind the counter. He told me he’d keep me safe, that I’d get to see the kids I teach again the next day— he’d heard me talking to the cashier. He’d make sure of it. And he did. He took care of those guys and afterwards he walked me home. I—I owed him my life so I figured the least I could do was ice his knuckles. He must have been barely ten minutes in my apartment but it meant everything. We just… couldn’t get rid of each other after that”, you explained, the sunlight suddenly feeling warmer on your skin and the smile on your lips so free of worry. For a second, anyway.

Matt listened intently — not only to what you were saying, but you. And it didn’t take him long to come to a conclusion. ”You love him”, he declared, and with your head snapping towards him, you frowned.

”We haven’t—there’s nothing—”, you began, your stutter seeping through again, and Matt smiled.

”Whether or not you’ve acted on it, I can hear it. You’ve fallen in love with him”, he emphasized before humming, ”and I think, somewhere deep down underneath all that trauma and guilt and unwillingness to face the facts… he feels the same way.”

You stared at him, disbelief all over your face as you thought about Frank and all your brief touches, all your sweet words and reassuring looks.

”Could you tell him I’ll be right here? Please? Just… let him know that even if I can’t be by his side, he’s not alone”, you whispered, and although he seemed to consider it for a second, Matt ended up nodding.

”I’m sure he’s gonna need that.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Prison was no easy feat, not even for The Punisher.

He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to you. One moment he was sitting in court, listening to his vigilante of a lawyer speak on his behalf, and the next he was being dragged out in chains with your worried face amongst the angry civilians being the last thing he saw. And the big bad Punisher had gone so far as to beg Karen to let him see you for the second time; let you see him, but before she could even consider making it happen, he had been shoved into a white onesie and sent on his way to prison with his jagged memories trying hard to recall the last words you had spoken to him.

It had been something kind — that much he had decided on while sitting in his cell. You were always so fucking kind, and so understanding, even when he doubted he deserved it. You were a good person; a troubled one but you had weathered every storm and stuck to your morals, and he admired that to no end. You didn’t have a judgmental bone, not a single ounce of hatred for anyone who didn’t deserve it, sometimes not even those who did. He thought that maybe he was unworthy of your friendship and sympathy sometimes, but you gave it to him anyway, without question and without expectation. You liked him for who he was, not who he had been, and you didn’t try to change his mind and steer his path.

At least he had the message Red had passed onto him to keep him going.

It was those unexplainably good-hearted intentions of yours and the unconditional support he hadn’t realized he missed so much, that made him fall in love with you. He struggled with it for a while, wondering if he was ready; if he should have felt guilty, but eventually the desire to keep you safe and the longing to hold you close became too evident to ignore.

And he truly knew when one of the assholes he had put down had taunted him about his lady, only for his mind to go to you instead of Maria.

He had been writing a letter to you when his heart-pouring onto paper was interrupted by a taunting laugh outside his cell. ”Writing a love letter to your lady?” one of the gang members in his block teased, and with a grit in his teeth, Frank forced himself to not pick a fight — a successful attempt until the burly man went on. ”Would be a shame if anyone got their hands on your girl now that you ain’t out there to protect—”, he continued, his words cut off with a wheeze when Frank clamored out of his seat and promptly stabbed the pen into his neck. It was a good thing he had already signed the letter.

Realistically, he knew it may have been an empty threat. Nonetheless, as soon as he was out of prison, the letter tucked in the pocket of his jacket, he made his way to you. Making you were safe was priority number one — and if he’d get the chance to hand over the envelope and open his heart to you… Well, that would just be the cherry on top. He had promised to get out and tell you how he felt, to stop being a coward and admit that he wanted to be there for you, that he loved you, and that was exactly what he planned on doing.

Although, things never went exactly as planned.

He had so much determination and courage in his heart when he knocked on your door, but as soon as you opened it and your short figure appeared right in front of him, it all drained from his system. All he was left with was bare amazement and the reserved hope that you’d still welcome him into your home — he knew he had burned more than enough bridges with his little stunt in court, and he had spent many sleepless nights wondering if he had scared you off, too. That worry only now flared into a genuine fear as he watched astonishment wipe across your face, his own expression meek and his large body trying to shrink on itself to seem less intimidating.

”Hey, sweetheart”, he managed, his voice raspy as ever, his dark eyes scanning your face and trying to make sense of the speechless trance you had been stunned into.

It was justified, of course. Who would expect a convicted criminal on their doorstep?

That wasn’t exactly what was on your mind, though. You had never doubted that Frank would get back up somehow; he couldn’t be kept down — but you couldn’t believe he had come to you. A man like him surely had places to be, people to kill, things to do and somehow… he was right there in front of you in all his glory, not bleeding out and in need of stitches, either. Just… there.

You didn’t realize how emotional the sight of him had gotten you until you opened your mouth and the words escaped you with a choke. ”Is it okay if I hug you?” you cracked, and with a deep, even relieved sigh, Frank let his tense shoulders drop and his head bob in a nod as he opened his arms.

He welcomed you gladly, his big arms winding around your smaller body to encompass you against his entirely. He realized then that you were wrapped up in one of the hoodies he had left behind, his confidence boosting but his heart breaking just a little at the thought of you sitting at home alone in his clothes, comforted by his scent and wondering if he’d ever come back to you. And right there and then, he knew he had made the right choice in doing so.

”I missed you”, you whispered into his chest, your heart doing somersaults at the firmness of it, your eyes fallen shut as you breathed him in and basked in his warmth and all his rough edges that only confirmed he was real and not a figment of your imagination, not a daydream, even if he had occupied nearly all of them for the past months.

”Missed ya too, girl”, he muttered into your hair, and as he held you there, grateful to have you again, the doubt began creeping in and the letter in his pocket started to seem like a bad idea. What if it would simply push you away, just when he got you in his arms?

Swallowing, he then decided maybe it was better not to bring it up.

”Hey, I, uh…”, he cleared his throat when you stepped back to welcome him into your apartment. He treaded carefully, like any second now you’d change your mind and turn him away — and he wouldn’t blame you, either. Trouble followed him wherever he went, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from coming to you every time. ”Look, there’s… a lot going on, y’know? Some shit might go down and I just…”, he continued, uncertain of his own words as his gaze fell to the nervously fiddling hands in front of him, ”I don’t want ya to look at the news and rethink the kinda guy I am, y’know?”

Chuckling, you shook your head at him. ”The news couldn’t change my mind about you, Frankie”, you reassured in a way that had his chest tightening. ”You’re my friend and—and a good guy, even if with… unique methods. But you are. Just because you have blood on your hands, doesn’t make you a bad man”, you went on, but he could tell you were nervous, too. He just couldn’t see past himself enough to understand it wasn’t fear making you tremble.

”I think you are loyal and sweet and protective and… capable of making people feel safe and appreciated. When I’m with you, I feel respected and understood. Never judged or unsafe”, you added, and with an amazed twinkle in his dark eyes, Frank looked up at you. Jesus, that was exactly how he felt around you. His lungs and throat were screaming at him to just tell you, but instead, he gave you a doubtful tilt of his head.

”You’re not scared?” he confirmed quietly, and with a small smile, you gave him a look.

”I’m not scared of you, Frank. I’m…”, you breathed in, hesitating before widening your smile and shaking your head, ”I’m not scared.” What you really wanted to tell was that you were nervous because you liked him — loved him. But you never felt threatened by him.

”Good”, he swallowed, defiance suddenly ablaze in his eyes as he seemed to relax. ”’Cause I’d never hurt ya. Shit, you make me wanna…”, he laughed, unsure where he was going with that thought. ”I just wanna keep you safe, sweetheart. Look after you”, he finished with a sigh, the kind that knew he was officially in too deep. You got him good.

”Then I’ll look after you, too”, you promised, gesturing at his hands, ”starting with those knuckles of yours.”

He was almost amused, but when you seriously dug a small tube of hand cream from your bag and began rubbing the lotion onto his bruised hands, all he could do was stare at you, completely enamored by your kindness and the feeling of your gentle hands tending to his damaged ones.

It was almost ironic, really — you were gentle, he was damaged. In your mind, it was the other way around, and maybe that was why it worked. You were different in so many ways but the bare essentials were still there, making you an undeniable match even if neither of you were brave enough to say it out loud right now. But him being in your apartment and you lotioning his calloused hands spoke in volumes, reassuring you both that it was safe like this.

He hadn’t been wrong, though. Shit hit the fan fast and in a matter of days, Frank Castle was a dead man as far as the world was concerned.

Before that, though, he was coaxed further into the realization of just how important you were to him. He was used to nightmares, in fact, he anticipated them each night. And yet, that night, his hands still smelling like your vanilla lotion, he found himself dreaming of you, your big smile, your sweet laugh and your soft lips.

Jesus Christ, he wanted you so bad. All of you.

It was a little harder to go about his mission then. You occupied his mind constantly now, and he began to resent himself for being such a coward and not giving you the letter, after all.

And when he jumped off an exploding ship, he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell you. Once he made it out in one piece, he decided he couldn’t risk losing the opportunity again.

You had just seen the news on the TV, and as badly as you wanted to believe no body meant no death, your stomach was twisting and turning. The idea of Frank being gone, just like that, was one that began chipping at your sanity. Thankfully, you didn’t get to sit with it for very long when there was a knock on your door, and you practically ran to open it, never more relieved to see the hunk of a man.

You tugged him into your apartment and sealed the door behind him before hugging him tight, on the verge of tears as you felt his firm body against yours and consoled yourself. He was there. He was alive. Well? Debatable.

”I’m okay, sweetheart, ’m okay. Can’t get rid of me that easy”, he chuckled darkly, his heart skipping a beat when you pulled away and looked right into his eyes. You looked so beautiful yet so vulnerable, and he couldn’t put his feelings into words when he realized he had gotten you so worked up. He hated to cause you any pain, but to know you cared that much?

”Shit…”, he breathed, licking his lips as he gently placed a hand on your jaw and groaned. ”C’mere”, he whispered before leaning down to kiss you, both your eyes closing as he placed his lips on yours, deep and tentative. You melted closer to him, your hands resting on his vest while he cupped your face and kissed you hard, breathing you in and reveling in the taste and feeling of you.

It was better than he had imagined, all anger and hatred leaving his system for the fleeting moment when he got to have just you, nothing else.

He wanted to take his sweet time with you but the yearning was too great to contain. In no time, you were lying on your back on your mattress with Frank on top of you, trying to hold back some of his weight as he kissed your neck and unzipped your skirt. He muttered words of praise and flattery against your soft skin, eyes blown wide with genuine admiration when he kissed his way down to your thighs and made you repeat his name in desperate begs and pleas.

A part of him was sure he was dreaming again, your head rested upon his bare chest, his fingers carding through your hair as you listened to his heartbeat and basked in the afterglow of the hours spent together. It was the middle of the night by now, the sounds of city never fully gone but toned down, your bed feeling like a safe haven amidst all the chaos around you both.

But Frank knew there was no permanent escape from what he had reshaped his life into. The thing was, you didn’t want to be an escape — you wanted to be part of it.

Nevertheless, he spoke up gruffly. ”Y’know I can’t stay, right?” he was quiet, his words a weak whisper, like a shameful confession he didn’t want the world to know. ”I mean, I’mma be with you tonight if you’ll let me, but I… I can’t leave things unfinished. The world thinks ’m dead, y’know, that’s just… It’s an advantage and I just—”, he went on, but you interjected with a nod and your hand smoothing up and down his chest soothingly.

”I know. I understand”, you promised before kissing his collarbone softly, ”I know, Frank. You don’t need to explain any more than you want to.”

He swallowed then, trying to muster up the courage to say what had been on his mind for so long. ”I, uh, I can’t ask you to hold out hope for me, but uh… I just want you to know…”, he tried to find the right words, licking his lips nervously before sighing and burying his face in your hair with a somber kiss. ”You don’t owe me shit. But you’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Look, I gotta do my thing, but I don’t want you to think it’s easy to walk away from you because, fuck… I don’t wanna lose ya, sweetheart”, he explained further, making you smile against his scarred skin.

”I will always hold out hope for you, Frank. My door will always be open for you”, you replied simply, and even though you didn’t elaborate further, it was all he needed to hear. Just knowing you weren’t ready to give up on him.

And that was why he wasn’t going to do it, either.

He kept in touch in whatever small, Frank-esque ways he could. A note on your door, a novelty mug on your windowsill, a comforting message from an unknown number. Sometimes all you had was the remains of his aftershave enveloped in the sweaters he had left behind, or the slander of his name on the news even when he was presumed dead — it was small but it reminded you that he was, in fact, alive, and as long as he was that, then you had faith that one day he’d be back on your doorstep.

Sometimes he felt like an irredeemable asshole for making you wait for him. If only you had the chance, you would have told him to get his head out of his ass — you had fallen for him, and whether he wanted you to be there or not, you would have thought about him, worried over him, longed for him. He could have tried to distance himself from you if he wanted to, but he was so deeply entwined into your life by now that all the roots simply couldn’t be plucked out anymore.

And he may have been stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. Knowing how he felt about you, how being away from you made him ache, he suspected you shared the yearning and he knew that trying to push you away wouldn’t have healed either of you from it. So he kept in contact however he could, but not too close to keep his enemies off your trail.

You checked the news every day. And when you saw Billy Russo’s face plastered across your screen, his arrest making the headlines, you knew it was a good day.

Accordingly, there was promptly a knock on your door, and you felt your heart soar as you peeked through the peephole and saw the only man worth waiting for on the other side. You swung the door open, and in an instant, a smile stretched across his bruised face as he help up a bouquet of daffodils, making you grin, too.

”Hey, sweetheart”, he murmured, pulling you into a hug that shut off your senses from everything but him — all you smelled, felt and heard was him, your systems threatening to fail as you clung onto him like your life depended on it and felt his lips leave soft kisses on your forehead and hair. ”There ya are. As goddamn beautiful as I remembered”, he whispered, relieved to be holding you again, even a little proud of himself for making it here.

It wasn’t like he needed the extra motivation on all those long nights away — avenging his family was all the fuel he craved, but knowing that at the end of it all, he had someone to fall back on, encouraged him even more.

”I could say the same about you”, you chuckled while pulling away enough to place a gentle hand on his face and observe all the purple and yellow markings left there. It was obvious he had taken a beating, but if the news was to be trusted, Billy had suffered a fate much worse. And despite all the slowly healing scars on Frank’s sharp features, he was alive, and he was right there for you to admire and tend to.

”This ugly mug?” he snorted while kicking the door shut and pushing his hood off of his head, his hair grown out again and begging for your fingers to run through. Regardless of the mangled appearance, though, he seemed almost hopeful, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you with a twinkle in his dark eyes. He seemed exhausted physically, but mentally, a little less tired. And that made you indescribably happy for him.

”I’m proud of you”, you breathed out, a smile crawling to your own face, ”you did what you needed to do, right? You… you did good. You deserve to rest now.”

Frank looked a little taken aback by your words. Not in a bad way, but it was obvious no one had told him before nor had he expected anyone to. But the quiet chuckle that rose from his throat was genuinely flattered, as was the squint of his eyes as he leaned forward and gave you a tiny nod.

”Thank you, sweetheart. Really”, he rasped before taking in a deep breath, ”any chance I’d, uh, get to rest here? With you?” The look in his eyes was almost boyish, almost nervous, and it made your heart soar the same way his gaze had the first night you had met.

”Always, Frankie”, you promised before placing a hand on his chest and beaming up at him, ”I was hoping you’d say that.”

He licked his lips and looked down at you, hand coming to your neck tenderly with his thumb brushing across your chin. ”I feel like shit for the way I left you back then. I, uh, I hope you didn’t feel like I was just… tryna get in your bed, y’know? It was more than that to me. You are more than that to me. It’s, I dunno, hard for me to put it into words but I care about ya. More than I have about anyone in a long time, I guess”, he explained awkwardly, but you didn’t doubt his sincerity for a single second.

You leaned up to briefly kiss him, and the way he leaned forward to get more made your stomach churn. Nevertheless, you pulled apart to speak your turn, your smaller hand still resting on his bruised cheek.

”I know. I never doubted it. And I don’t expect you to be anyone else but you. I want you as you, Frank”, you reassured, and with a heavy sigh, he dropped his forehead to yours.

”Girl… I want you”, he urged, and you smiled as he briefly touched your lips with the tip of his finger.

”I’m all yours, Frankie.”

[mattiebluebird]

Yk that post that's like ‘signal is the spiritual successor to nightwing’ bc I DO & IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT NON-STOP.

And the comics pretty much confirm it (To Me) in Grayson #15.

So in this issue each of the Robins, minus Steph (RIP Steph) get paired off with one of the We Are Robin gang and give them their own advice on what it means to be Robin.

Tim—whose main problem with this whole thing is that they don't know these kids, how can they trust them?—gets paired with Andre Cipriani, a mob kid whose dad was murdered by a rival gang when he was eight years old. Tim trains Dre by having him fight blindfolded. He tells Dre that being a Robin is about truth and investigation, which makes sense, right? Tim became a Robin by figuring out Batman and Robin’s secret identity (keep this in mind, all the Robins’ advice links to their origin).

To be a Robin, you have to understand what you don't know. And then you must seek to know it. You must always ask: how can I see into the dark? Batman once told me, being a Robin can be summarized into one word: investigation.

These two were an interesting choice to pair up. I would've thought they'd put Dre with Jason, given their violent tendencies—Dre is smart, but at this point in the comics doesn't strike me as particularly investigative. Then again, right after this arc he goes undercover in a gang, so maybe he learned something?

Speaking of learning something: at first I thought they should've paired Dre with Steph (#teamcriminaldads lmao), and while that would be an interesting team, Dre did learn from Tim. If Riko were present in this issue, she would've been a good fit for Steph, as she idolizes the Batgirls and Steph was both a Batgirl and a Robin. Plus, Steph and Riko are both brave & have mean streaks, something that Riko has trouble showing because of her shyness. Steph’s advice probably would've been along the lines of “being a Robin is about defiance”.

Besides, if Tim and Dre weren't paired up, we never would've gotten this interaction.

— You like Liszt.

— What?

— Franz Liszt. The composer. You play the piano. I looked you up. People who play the piano like Liszt.

Points to Tim for the most autistic small talk ever. ‘You like this, which I know because I researched you in a totally non-creepy way.’ Amazing. 10/10.

Dax gets paired with Jason. They're interesting parallels. Dax is the inventor/mechanic of the team, but also sort of the wild card with very strong morals, like Robin!Jason in a way. Like Jason, Dax’s father is (implied to be) a crook, though they took different moral directions because of that—Dax is completely opposed to gun violence.

Anyways, Jason's main reservation is that you can't have Robin without Batman. And I guess he decided to solve this issue by just becoming Batman & making the WAR crew relive his origin story by stealing tires from the mob.

Y'know, kid, Batman once told me, being a Robin comes down to one word: confidence.

Jason Todd, the Crime Alley street kid who had the balls (and the skills) to steal Batman's tires and get away with it. Sort of. Confidence, indeed.

Damian's problem with the Robins is, of course, that they're weak, and strength (according to him) can't be trained; you either got it or you don't. He gets paired with Izzy, who probably has the toughest home life of the WAR crew. Her brother's in a gang (that he regularly beats her up for not joining), and she's failing all her classes because she's too busy working night shifts at her mom's restaurant to sleep or do homework.

So Damian's advice to her is pretty apt:

Batman told me that there is one word that captures the essence of being Robin. Suffering.

Damian and Izzy are both outwardly surly, stubborn characters who have had to fight to survive. Notably, Izzy is the first of the crew to almost resort to killing/guns (in WAR #6). She's also probably the best fighter in the WAR crew after Dre and Riko. She does dancing, gymnastics, judo, and kick-boxing.

And, finally, we reach the point of this whole post: Dick & Duke.

Duke deduces Dick's secret identity in like .5 seconds.

— I've solved a lot of hard in my time. This ain't hard.

— No. No, it wasn't hard. Not for you. Again, Duke Thomas?

Dick: You discovered my secret identity!

Duke: What? Like its hard?

After scoping out their strengths and weaknesses, Dick sends the Robins on individual assignments: Dre and Tim to investigate, Dax and Jason to cause a distraction, Izzy and Damian to apprehend Robo-Batman/Gordon.

Dick brings Duke on to a roof for a stake-out, where they have this exchange.

— You think only the originals understand how to be Robin?

— Nope.

— Yeah. Me neither.

Then it turns out that Dick actually turned them all in to the cops because he wanted them out of harm's way. He's been watching Duke for a while and he knows he's scared of heights, so he led him onto a roof he knew he couldn't get off of. Just before they part ways, Dick imparts his Crucial Robin Advice:

Batman once wais to me that being a Robin is about one thing. Family.

(I find this whole thing super ironic considering Dick's whole aside concerning the Robins was the fact that it doesn't matter if people know you're manipulating them as long as it works.)

The point of Robin? Family. Dick and Duke are alike in this way. Dick only became Robin to get justice for his parents’ murder. Duke only joined WAR to find his parents.

Their origins and motivations are similar, and so are the characters themselves. Dick is often called the world's second-greatest detective next to Batman himself. Duke is a child prodigy—one of our first introductions to his character is when he tried to solve the Riddler's riddles in Zero Year. He loves puzzles. He's an amazing detective.

And, of course, one of the things we know and love about Nightwing is his inherent kindness, something that's present throughout Duke’s entire character arc. Even their hero names, Signal and Nightwing, are parallels of each other (light and dark). Batman’s first sidekick and his last. And, like Nightwing, Signal formed his own team (WAR) with no help from the others (except Alfred ig).

Of course, the entire point of Signal’s character is that he's not just a Robin. He's something different. It reminds me of that post that's like—’poor dick grayson, originator of a legacy he never meant to be a legacy, crushed with guilt and jealousy when he looks at all those who came after’. To me at least, it makes sense that Nightwing’s successor would've never been a Robin at all.

[lemon-russ]

The girls have ceased the fighting. A momentous occasion for all. war is over.

Part 14/ ???

< previous || next >

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Depictions of a panic attack, Violence / brotherly stabbing, mentions of sex

Summary: Ambassador handles getting caught with a boy by Dad SUPER well.

word count: 2,089

You sit in silence across from Guilliman in the thunderhawk, flanked on either side by Gallan and Brutus, the other space marines who were guarding you.

You try really hard to count the little lines on the textured metal floor, focusing on not having a panic attack and not throwing up as your stomach does terrified back flips. Every time you look up and see Guilliman's cold, disappointment stare, you feel like ice water has been dumped over you and your mind resets into a panicked static.

Eventually, Guilliman speaks, but not to you. “Where even were you two? I sent three of you for a reason.” He asked Gallan and Brutus. They share a look, expressions unreadable under their helmets. “We didn't want to crowd out the ball room.” Gallan says. “We were securing the parameter instead, my lord.” Adds Brutus.

Guilliman frowns and grunts a tired noise. “I suppose you couldn't possibly predict… that.” He says, rubbing his temple. He looks at you again. “Well? Are you ready to explain what in my father's name that was about?” He says in a calm but stern tone.

You swallow hard and start doing grounding techniques, counting up and down your fingers as you tap them, trying not to cry. You couldn't stand disappointing the primarch. He'd been like a father to you since you started working for him, he was always so kind and patient- and you failed him.

He sighs, spotting the familiar sight of you trying to de-escalate a panic attack. He switches places with Gallan to sit next to you, and wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to him and rubbing your arm. “There, there, I'm not that mad. No need to get in a tizzy, little one.” He says in a more soothing voice.

She sniffle back tears, looking up at him, lip quivering. “I- I'm sorry, my lord.” You squeak. He frowns a bit, ruffling your hair. “You're okay, ambassador. Everyone has off days. Can you please just help me understand why Titus and Cato were bare knuckle brawling in the mud on your forced vacation?” He asks, a little exasperated.

You swallow again, heart stuttering with cold fear at having to face this. You have to tell him what you and Cato have done. Have been doing. You take a few deep breaths as the Lord Reagent rubs soothing circles on your back.

“Promise you won't murder anyone?” You squeak.

He frowns. “…I promise…” he says, turning his head to side eye you a bit. “But this does not give me confidence…”

You frown and hold up a pinky.

He blinks, then laughs and shakes his head, trying to wrap his massive pinky with yours. “You are ridiculous sometimes, little one. I pinky promise no one will die over whatever you tell me.” he chuckles tiredly, squeezing your shoulders.

You let out a nervous breath. “Okay… well…” you look at your hands, fidgeting in your lap, trying to barrel through the cold fear.

“Captain Sicarius and I… well, I was going to ask you about it when I got home…” you start nervously. “But we… well, we're… together…” you manage to force out.

Guilliman blinks, expression unchanged. “I'm sorry my dear, I must be losing some of my hearing in my time-coma-ressurected body. I thought-” he chuckles nervously, “-I thought you just implied you were romantically involved with Cato Sicarius.” he says, smiling with a touch of desperate denial.

You grimace, bracing yourself a bit as you quietly wait for him to process.

He silently maintains the forced smile, lower eyelid twitching.

“Ah.” He finally says. He stands, walks to the door for the cargo hold, opens the door, and walks inside, and closes it behind him.

The only sound was engine noise and slight rattles of the ship as you, Gallan and Brutus sit in deafening silence for a few minutes.

He re-emerges maybe ten minutes later, face a forced mask a neutrality.

“What are the… ramifications of a broken pinky promise again?” He asks in a strained voice.

You tear up immediately, lip quivering, “Sir! You promised! No killing anyone!” You sob, sniffling.

His jaw muscle twitches, neck straining as he grinds his teeth, and he turns and returns to the cargo hold a few more minutes. This time, there’s the sound of the hull being dented by Ceramite armor a few times.

He returns again, more collected, and sits next to you again. You are shaking with quiet tears, going through every worse case scenario of your new sort-of-boyfriend being shred into confetti by his father.

He sighs, pulling out a handkerchief from his armor that you're pretty sure he keeps just for you, dabbing your cheeks and rubbing your back with his other hand. You take the handkerchief and dry your eyes, sniffling sad little huffs.

“So.” He says, “How… long? And how serious?” He asks, resigned.

You sniffle, looking up at him sadly. “S-Since that first assignment we went on. And… I think p-pretty serious… I was going to ask you for your blessing, when I got back, and Cato wanted that…” you rasp through a tear thick voice.

He sighs a long, drawn breath. “…I… need to think about this.” He says softly. “I'm not saying no. But this is… a lot.”

You swallow hard and nod. “Um, th-they were fighting because… well honestly I think they just hate eachother for starters. But, Titus said I can't consent to dating an Astartes cause I'm dumb, and Cato called him jealous, and- well, it happened so fast…” you say with a frown.

Guilliman grimaces, furrowing his brow. “Wait, Titus called you dumb…?”

You roll your eyes. “Ok, he said I'm like, not intelligent enough biologically, cause Astartes brains are better, but… I mean, same difference.”

Guilliman lets out a tired chuckle, shaking his head. “What has gotten into my sons lately…?” He sighs.

“I won't hurt Cato, but I will need to talk to him. If it was any other two astartes and mortals, I wouldn't do this, but… I'll think about it.” He finally says. “Only think, no promises.” He adds.

You sniffle a little, giving a small smile. “Thank you, sir.” You say in a soft, tired voice, leaning against his side.

He sighs and pets your hair. “You bring such chaos with you sometimes for such a nervous, orderly mortal, little one.” He chuckles.

_____________________________________________

Cato and Titus sit at either side of a table back at the dining hall, arms crossed and staring away from each other. Their bruises and scrapes have already healed completely, leaving them merely covered in dried blood and mud.

Cato was seething, glaring out a window, while Titus tried to bore a hole into the table with his stare.

Cato glanced at him. “…this is your fault.” He grumbled.

Titus didn't look up.

“If you'd just left the Ambassador and I be, and not thrown a sucker punch like a child, we'd be fine.” He continued, looking back outside.

Titus leaned forward and put his head in his hand, anxiously running his hands over his short hair.

Cato watched him a moment. “…that's why your hairline’s receding you know.” He mumbles.

Titus shoots him a look and Cato puts his hands up defensively before they go back to their respective sulking.

A nervous waiter comes and places two cups of recaff in front of them. “Your Kaffe, sirs…” he says politely. “Made from special beans grown in our mountains, like plant grown recaffe-” The waiter stops his spiel when they give him a warning look and scurries away.

Titus goes back to nervously preening his hair, and Cato takes a sip of the drink and scrunches his nose.

“Eugh.” He huffs under his breath.

Titus stops his fidgeting and raises an eyebrow, then takes a sip of his own drink. He scrunches his face as well.

“Eugh.” He agrees.

“Plants aren't meant to make recaff.” Cato mumbles, pushing his cup aside.

Titus tests another sip and follows suit, shivering at the unpleasant taste.

“What's wrong with regular recaff? Why make it from beans?” He grumbles.

They sat looking out the window in silence a few minutes before Titus grumbled again.

“…You're a shit dancer.” He says, still looking away.

Cato snaps his head to him with a what the fuck dude face, and Titus shrugs and holds his hands up.

“What? You are. You looked like a robot. The Ambassador had to carry you through the whole thing.” He retorts defensively.

Cato gives him an incredulous stare for a minute. “You wanna try?” He says dryly, gesturing toward the dance hall.

Titus chuckles, “Don't be sensitive, it's constructive criticism-”

Cato laughs incredulously, “You want constructive criticism? How about if you sucker punch your Captain, you don't fucking miss.” he says through a dry laugh, shaking his head.

Titus scoffs, “I didn't miss-”

Cato barks a small laugh, “Oh? You were aiming for air and accidentally his my jaw?”

Titus laughs properly now, “Oh, fuck you-” he chuckles.

“Fuck me?” Cato says, picking up a steak knife and pointing it toward Titus, but still laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. “How about fuck you, you're the one who started a fight because I caught you checking out my girlfriend for like, the 10th time.”

Titus scoffs again, “I was not- put the knife down Cato you're not going to stab me-” he chuckles, the insanity of the day wearing on him now too.

“Oh? I'm not?” Cato says wryly. “I think I'm earned one, since you were staring at my girlfriends ass and then sucker punched me over it” he says, raising a brow and turning his head a bit, holding the knife a bit higher.

Titus was giving him a look. “Cato, really?”

Cato raised his brow and tilted his head a bit more in a go on, try me gesture.

“Emperor's balls Cato you're not going to- AH! FUCK-” He jumped as the small knife flung into his arm.

He started laughing hard, pulling the knife out, the wound almost immediately starting to close. “You little shit-” he laughed hard enough tears started forming in his eyes.

Cato laughed the same, putting his head in his hand on the table, then jolted when the knife flung into his arm instead, “FUCK- No! Hey! Unfair, I was owed a free one!” He laughs, pulling it out of his arm.

They both double over a bit laughing until they are weak. The anxiety and anger and absolute disbelief that they were caught fist fighting over a woman by their genefather wearing on their raw nerves.

“You're such an asshole.” Titus chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye.

“And You're a massive dick- oh yeah, what the hell was that about her being to unevevolved?” Cato chuckles back.

Titus pouts, “Okay I did not say that, you said that, and it made her think I said that-”

“No, no you definitely were saying something along the lines of her being too monkey brain to date me.” Cato retorts, shaking a finger at him.

Titus pouts harder, crossing his arms. “You're making me sound bad on purpose, asshole.”

Cato chuckles and shakes his head, “Don't give me that, I'm not the one implying she's some child with no capacity to make her own choices.”

Titus stares angrily out the window, huffing. “Not as bad as, wait, how did you get here?” He asks, raising a brow as Cato stops laughing and pouts himself. “Did you hijack a ship?” He asks, starting to chuckle again.

“I can't hijack my own ship.” He grumbles, crossing his arms.

Titus laughs again, “you fucking didn't— you just got on your ship and left? Didn't tell Guilliman??”

Cato slumps in his chair, pouting harder. “You're a dick.” He grumbled as Titus laughed again.

Titus jumps again as a fork now finds its home in his pec. “Fuckin- stop that!” He laughs as Cato joins in with a chuckle again.

The waiter walks towards them, sees Titus pull a fork from his muscle, and turns on his heel without missing a beat, making both of them melt into cackling again.

“We're really fucked.” Cato says through manic giggling.

“We're so fucked.” Titus agrees, trying to catch his breath. “How do we even ‘find our own ride home?’”

Cato clears his throat and sighs a laugh, “I hijack a second ship…?” He says with a wry smile, making Titus devolve into another laughing fit.

[mandos-mind-trick]

Close Call

Summary: Midnight’s seen a lot over the course of this war. She’s had her own close calls many times, she’s saved the others from close calls too. She’s tired of fighting, her mind and body finally beginning to burn out after months of almost non-stop missions. This one might be the grain of sand that breaks the bantha’s back. This might be the end for her.

Pairing: Echo x reader, also implied poly bad batch x reader

Warnings: Very intense in the beginning, violence, blood, injuries, brief gore (It’s very brief), so much angst, NSFW, smut, p in v sex, fingering, toys, language.

A/N: This one is a lot darker than the rest of the series. I really debated going this direction but I decided to explore it anyway. It's very long, the longest part in the series (so far) with a lot of foreshadowing and setting up the rest of the series.And yes, I made my own Jedi for this part.Also if anyone gets the reference I will literally send you cookies.

< Previous | Next > | MASTERLIST

“The goal of this mission is stealth. Get in and get the data without being seen.” General Coltil says. “That’s why the three of you will be going in alone.” 

Midnight tries not to look nervous, but she feels like she might be sick. She’s standing next to Echo, trying not to lean too close to him. She’d love to cling to him, seek any sort of comfort she can, but she knows that’s not an option. Not in front of a Jedi General. 

“Echo can get into the system and download the data directly. Midnight will be the failsafe. She’s the smallest and stealthiest of our group.” Hunter says. 

General Coltil nods. “My Padawan can assist with any resistance you find inside. Scouts have reported very little movement. It seems they may be operating on a skeleton crew. We must try and succeed without engaging directly, but we will be on standby if things don’t go according to plan.” 

“We’re ready, sir.” Commander Ghost says, approaching the General. “Everyone’s taken point.”

The General turns to Midnight and Echo. “Good luck.” 

They both salute him, Midnight trying hard not to let her fear show on her face. The General leaves them to their last minute checks, Midnight’s stomach doing somersaults. 

“You’ll be fine.” Hunter says, turning to her. Of course he could sense her anxiety. 

“This is a bad idea.” She says, looking up at him as he checks her armor one last time. “Why does it have to be me? I don’t know anything about Separatists systems.” 

“Tech will walk you through it if it comes to that. Plus, you’re small enough to fit in a standard ventilation shaft, should something go wrong.” Hunter says.

Midnight turns her gaze to Tech. “Is that why you had me crawl in there?” 

Tech adjusts his goggles. “One of the reasons, yes.” 

Midnight opens her mouth to protest, but thinks better of it and stays quiet. There was no getting out of this one. It should be easy, theoretically. In and out without being seen. She’d spent much time on Coruscant running around, trying not to be seen. This wasn’t much different, though she’s not sure if she prefers sneaking around droids or the things that lurked in the shadows of Coruscant’s underworld. 

Hunter squeezes her shoulder, his gaze intense as he stares at her. She knows he wants to say more, knows he wants to do more, but they can’t. They can’t give any hints that something was going on between them. Between any of them. 

“Take care of Echo in there, okay?” Hunter says, squeezing her shoulder one last time. 

Midnight nods, the lump in her throat blocking her from saying anything. How she wishes she would have, as she glances at the other four members of her squad one last time. Oh how she’d come to regret not saying anything else. 

*****

Hunter shifts on his feet nervously, fingers toying with the knife sheathed on his vambrace for the thousandth time. It had been close to an hour since he’d sent them off, since he’d watched Midnight and Echo disappear over the ridge they were hiding behind. 

He had trusted they could do this, but now as time stretches on, he wonders if they made the right decision. If they were discovered, the Separatists wouldn’t think twice in killing them both. It would be a mercy, compared to the other things that could happen to them. 

The thought still makes Hunter uneasy. Dying was a part of war. They had it ingrained in them that losing someone was expected, that they were going to lose fellow clones. Midnight’s not a clone, though. She’s so much more than that, and the thought of losing her makes him sick. The thought of losing any of his squad made his stomach ache. 

Wrecker is pacing as well, looking upset by the situation. He had been in agreement with Midnight and her doubts when Hunter had first briefed them on this mission. Tech is quietly tinkering, his own tell for his nerves about this. 

Crosshair is quiet, having taken point along the ridge with a few others of the 141st. They would be the first to alert them to the movements of the three sent into the base. Or, in the worst case, if something else happened. If something went wrong. 

“We’re inside.” Echo’s voice comes over the comms. 

Hunter breathes a quiet sigh of relief. They were still alive, at least. 

“Good.” General Coltil’s voice comes over the comms. “How many droids have you seen?” 

“Hardly any.” Midnight’s voice comes over the comms. “Maybe two at the front door. None since then.” 

Hunter’s brow furrows, something itching in the back of his mind at her words. It doesn't feel right, even for a skeleton crew. If a base housed such important data, he would think it would be crawling with droids and Separatist personnel. Of course, not being seen by any droids was the whole point of the mission. 

It makes him uneasy. 

“Uploading the data now.” Echo updates over the comms. 

The silence that follows makes Hunter’s skin prickle. Wrecker has stopped pacing and even Tech has stopped his tinkering. It feels like the entire planet is holding its breath. In a way it is, all of them waiting for some answer. The success of the trio, the confirmation in their safe exit, or the horrible news of their failure. 

“Echo!” 

Midnight’s frantic voice through the comms has his heart stopping. What’s happened? She sounds so scared. Maker, why had he sent her on this mission? Why didn’t he keep her close where he could watch her? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Echo. It was the uncertainty of this mission that had him questioning everything. 

The entire 141st shifts uneasily. Something shifts in the bushes behind him, Hunter’s sensitive ears picking up on the sound. His hand lowers towards his blaster as the sound gets louder and louder. 

There’s lots of movement in the bushes around them. 

“It’s a trap!” Midnight’s voice has the entire battalion pausing, Hunter’s breath catching in his throat. “It’s a-” 

The silence after the cutoff rings loud, seconds before chaos erupts around them. 

“Commando droids!” 

****

Midnight startles awake, inhaling sharply. Her eyes dart around frantically, hands closing around the thin sheet. She jumps as a hand touches her shoulder, blinking to try and clear her vision as a face leans in close to her. 

“Easy, cyare.” The gruff voice begins to drag her out of her confused state, vision clearing to reveal a familiar tattooed face leaned in towards her. “You’re alright.” 

“Hunter?” She rasps out, wincing at the dryness of her throat. Hunter holds a cup to her lips, cool water hitting her tongue. She drinks greedily, soothing her dry throat. “W-Where...” She tries to speak, but she feels like her brain is moving in slow motion. 

“A med station.” Hunter answers, already guessing what her question was. “The 212th was called in for backup. They brought us here, with the other survivors.” 

She blinks at him. “Wh..what?” 

“Don’t worry, we’re all fine.” He says, leaning his arms on the side of the cot. “I can’t say the same for the 141st, though.” 

Memories slowly swirl back into her mind, tears brimming in her eyes. It had all gone wrong, all of it. Her hand presses against her chest, still feeling the phantom pain, the horrible pressure. She’d been so sure she was going to die. She had thought they all were going to die. 

“Echo?” She asks, trying to distract herself. She wants to reach out, wants to take his hand, but they’re not alone. 

“He’s getting checked over by the bio engineers.” Hunter says. “Making sure none of his cybernetics were damaged. Last I heard, though, he’ll be fine. Tech’s with him.” Hunter stares at her for a moment, dark eyes shining in the bright light of the room. “They’ll want to know what happened. I’ve already spoken to them, as did Commander Ghost, but they’ll want to speak to you too.” 

Midnight swallows thickly, tears sliding down her cheeks. She doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to remember. 

Hunter ignores the fact they’re not alone, ignores the possible repercussions if anyone saw, if anyone assumed anything, as he cups her cheek gently wiping her tears with his thumb. “I’ll be right beside you. Commander Cody will be there as well.” 

Midnight closes her eyes, leaning into his touch. She wasn’t scared of speaking to the Generals. What she had seen in the few times they’d been on missions partnered with the Jedi, they were all very understanding, patient, nice. She’s more afraid of having to relive it all again. 

“Night,” Hunter says, tracing her face with his thumb. “What happened in there?” 

*****A Few Hours Ago*****

It’s eerily quiet. 

It had been quiet since they first made it over the ridge. Crossing the barren expanse between the treeline and the base had been the most nerve wracking. There was little cover, and the risk of them being spotted was high. 

“You’re brave for doing this.” General Coltil’s Padawan, Zaid, says as they duck behind a rock. 

Midnight glances down at him. He’s young, no older than fifteen or sixteen. Just a child stuck in a war. Midnight doesn’t know much about Jedi, but it doesn’t seem right. Or maybe she just had a soft spot for kids that were forced to grow up too fast. “I’m not sure if brave is the right word for it. Crazy, maybe. I mean, I did voluntarily sign up for this.” 

“All clear.” Echo says, the three of them moving forward. 

Midnight can see the front entrance now, guarded by two droids. Something doesn’t feel right as they make their way around to the side of the base. Two droids to guard the entrance? Sure, it could have been a tactic, making the base seem like it’s not well guarded when there’s really an entire battalion inside. If that’s true, though, that was not going to spell good for them. 

Echo makes quick work of the grate, leading them into the garbage compactor. She’s not excited about having to wade through trash, but if it gets them inside faster, and the mission over with faster, then she’ll hold her complaints. 

They make their way across the massive heaps of garbage. Thankfully it’s all mostly metal, components of broken down droids and who knows what else. Tech would have had a field day, spouting off all the different things they were stepping on. 

The door on the other side opens to the lower levels. It was a matter of sneaking their way up three floors to where they’d find a control room to download what they needed. They had to do that without being seen, or at least without raising any alarms. 

It’s quiet as they make their way to the elevator. They slip inside, holding their breath as the doors close. 

“It’s too quiet.” Midnight says. “I don’t like this.” 

“She’s right.” Zaid says. “Something feels off.” 

“The quicker we can get the data, the better.” Echo says. 

The elevator slows to a stop, all three of them holding their breath as the doors open, half expecting to come face to face with droids. Yet, there’s nothing but an empty hallway in front of them. Echo peeks his head out, checking both ways before signaling them to move. 

“We’re inside.” Echo says into his comm as they pause at a corner. 

“Good.” General Coltil’s voice comes over the comms. “How many droids have you seen?” 

“Hardly any.” Midnight answers as they begin moving again. “Maybe two at the front door. None since then.” 

They pause at another corner, Echo checking for any droids. “The control room should be just up ahead.” 

“The sooner we can get out of here, the better.” Zaid says, having taken up the rear behind Midnight. 

They creep up the hallway, Echo locating the door they need. Echo uses his scomp arm to open it, Midnight scanning the room, finding it empty. Something nags at the back of her head as they enter, the door sliding closed behind them. 

“This feels too easy.” She says, looking around the room. 

“Uploading the data now.” Echo says, sticking his arm into the scomp link. 

Midnight steps closer to a panel on the wall, narrowing her eyes. It seems out of place. Too new for a place like this. Her hand drops to her blaster, fingers curling around the hilt. 

That’s when everything goes wrong. 

The sound of an electric pulse has her spinning around, Echo’s body jolting before going limp and falling onto the floor. 

“Echo!” She cries, rushing to his side. He’s out cold, Midnight terrified he’s dead. 

The panel she had been staring out slides up, battle droids filing out. Midnight begins firing, Zaid using his lightsaber to slice through them. 

“It’s a trap!” She yells over the comms. “It’s a trap!” The main door opens, more battle droids entering. Her suspicions had been correct. It had been too easy, on purpose. 

“We need to go.” Zaid says as they finish off the last of the droids. Alarms are sounding, the familiar clank of metal feet getting closer. 

Midnight heaves Echo’s body into a seated position, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders. “Get yourself to safety.” She says to Zaid. “Use the vents. I can’t leave him behind.” She should. She’s not sure if he’s dead, but he is dead weight that neither of them could carry alone. 

Zaid debates the suggestion for a moment before slinging Echo’s other arm around his shoulders, both of them lifting him to his feet. They drag him between them, making their way back to the hallway. If they can get to the elevator, then they can get back down to the garbage compactor and find a way out before they’re swarmed by droids. 

Of course, that would work if there weren’t droids swarming the hallways. 

“Come on.” Zaid says, leading them in the opposite direction. 

They had all seen the layout of the base, spent time studying it. Of course now, with the adrenaline coursing through her system, Midnight can hardly tell up from down. She shoots droids with her left hand, the other trying to keep Echo steady as they drag him through the hallway. They might have been able to make it without him, but Midnight wasn’t going to leave him. Not again. 

“This way.” Zaid says, directing them down a hallway, blocking blaster bolts with his lightsaber. The weapon had intimidated Midnight a bit, but she’s glad to have someone capable of wielding one with her now. 

They make another turn, both of them stopping dead. Midnight’s blood runs cold, her pulse echoing in her ears. This is it. This is how she’s going to die. 

“Ah, how disappointing.” The modulated voice grates on her ears, spiking her fear higher. She adjusts the grip on her blaster, despite knowing it’s not going to help her. Not in this situation. 

“General Grievous.” Zaid says, adjusting his grip on his lightsaber. He turns to her, letting Echo’s arm slip from his shoulders. Midnight buckles a bit under the weight, but she forces herself to stay standing. “Get out of here.” 

“What?” Midnight stares in disbelief as the padawan steps closer to the cyborg. 

Midnight had learned about General Grievous during her training. She’d learned about all of the commanding officers in the Separatist forces. Despite her many missions with the boys, this is the first time Midnight has come face to face with one of the higher ranking members of the Separatists. 

Of course it would be the trained Jedi-killer. 

Midnight adjusts her grip on Echo, turning and firing at the droids coming at them from the back. She knows Zaid isn’t going to win this fight. Grievous with four lightsabers against his just one? She’s no expert in dueling with lightsabers, but her knowledge of fighting tells her the odds aren’t good. She can’t just leave him, but she knows it will be her death too, and Echo’s. 

She takes out the droids at their back, her eyes spotting something along the wall. A garbage chute. She forces her body forward, dragging Echo along the floor. She pries the cover off, letting it hit the floor with a clang. She pushes Echo, shoving him inside, watching him disappear down the chute. She just hopes it leads to where they’d come in, or somewhere close to it. 

She turns her head, catching the moment Grievous drives two of his lightsabers through Zaid’s chest. She’s yelling before she even realizes it, her heart clenching. He was just a boy. A boy who had given his life for them to escape. She should take it, she should jump into the chute while she still has a chance. 

Instead she draws her blaster, firing at Grievous. He blocks the shots easily, laughing at her. It only fuels her anger more, drawing her away from her once chance at escaping. 

“Foolish girl.” Grievous laughs, swiping at her with two of his lightsabers. 

Midnight ducks almost too late, managing to tuck and roll behind him. She fires at him, but it does little against him. She barely dodges another hit from the lightsabers, taking a hit from his arm instead. It sends her flying back into the wall, stunning her. 

So this is how she dies. Foolishly fighting an opponent that was far more than she could handle. Hunter would be disappointed in her. At least this way, she’d died doing everything she could. It was always a risk. She’d known that from the beginning. 

The air is forced from her lungs as Grievous’ foot comes down onto her chest. His clawed toes press into her skin, her hands trying to relieve some of the pressure, even though it’s no use. She desperately tries to take in a breath as the pressure intensifies, Grievous slowly adding more and more pressure. He was going to crush her to death. 

What an awful way to die. 

She stares up at those yellow eyes, refusing to look away. She wanted his face engrained in her memory before she died. The thing that finally killed her. He wouldn’t remember her. She was just another faceless casualty. 

His gaze leaves hers, drawn somewhere behind her. She hears the buzz of a lightsaber igniting through the intense pulsing in her ears. He’s going to kill her. The pressure is almost too much, her chest practically creaking at the strain. Her hand reaches to her side, fingers wrapping around the hilt of a knife. The one Hunter had given her. 

If she can get his foot off of her, all she has to do is roll to the side and pull herself into the chute. Her hand grips the knife, fingers finding a gap in his leg before she drives the knife into it. The cyborg lets out a cry, the pressure leaving her chest instantly. She inhales sharply for a second, adrenaline pumping as she drags herself into the chute, sliding headfirst away from the fight that was about to happen. 

She drops from the chute, landing on her back. It knocks the air from her again, her chest spasming painfully. Blood rushing into her throat, choking her. She can’t cough, her chest throbbing as she tries to breathe and tries to expel the blood blocking her airway. 

She pushes herself onto her side, finally forcing the blood up. It splatters across the metal garbage, painting the droid parts in red dots. It’s rather symbolic. The Republic should use that in their propaganda, she thinks. The truth of this war. The things no one saw unless they were in it. 

She digs the commlink out of her belt, lifting it with a shaky hand. “Hunter?” She asks, voice weak and hardly more than a rasp. 

Silence. 

She tries again, tears pricking her eyes. She’s not sure she can move. She knows she can’t carry Echo, not on her own, not in this state. 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end. She curses, throwing the comm in frustration. A quiet groan in the quiet of the garbage compactor has her perking up a bit. 

“Echo?” She breathes, voice hardly more than a squeak. Her chest feels heavy, every breath laborious. 

An answering groan has her pushing herself up to sit. The pain is almost blinding, but her desperation is stronger. Echo had rolled from the top of the pile when he’d fallen, landing in a valley between piles. Midnight slides down, coming to a stop right against him. Another groan leaves him, his flesh hand moving just slightly. 

He’s alive. 

Midnight breathes as much of a sigh of relief as she can, shaky hands digging through the pouches on his belt. She knows he has to have one. They all usually carried one, all except her. 

She nearly cries as her fingers wrap around the small tube. She pulls it from his pouch, sucking in a deep breath before injecting the stim shot into her neck. Immediately she feels the effects, the pain numbing to nothing. Her head clears, the shake in her hands subsiding. She feels energized, more than she had before they started this mission. 

“Come on.” She wraps an arm around Echo’s shoulders, pulling him to his feet. “I need you to help me. 

Slowly they begin making their way towards the exit. She knows it’s only a matter of time before droids break down the door and begin searching for them. She’d rather take a risk outside than die in a garbage compactor. She wants to die staring at the sky. 

She knows she’s dying. She can still taste blood, feel the drip of it sliding down her chin. Every breath is labored, even if she can’t feel the pain of it. She wasn’t going to let Echo die here either. He’d been through that once already. She’ll be damned if it happens again. 

Midnight gets them through the grate, forcing her way through with her blaster. She drags Echo through, collapsing to the side for a moment. She wishes she still had her comm. She might have been able to reach Hunter, or someone, now. Of course, if they had planned a trap inside, then there had to be one outside as well. They could be dead for all she knew. 

Midnight forces herself up, lifting Echo up as well. He’s come around a bit more, taking slow steps with her. She can feel the stim shot beginning to wear off as they make their way through the clearing. She doesn't care about stealth now. They were so far beyond that. 

Her knees buckle before she can reach the ridge, dropping her and Echo to the ground. She lays flat on her back, feeling the blood pooling once more in her mouth. At least she’d get her wish. At least she was going to die staring up at the sky. 

*****

Midnight fights the emotions welling in her chest as she finishes telling her side of the story. She feels comforted by Hunter’s presence beside her, even if she can’t seek comfort in him like she wants to. 

“It was a well-laid trap and we walked right into it.” Hunter says, thankfully drawing the attention away from her for a moment so she can collect herself. 

“Someone else must have laid it.” General Kenobi says. “It’s not Grievous’ style. We can’t even be sure there was useful data stored there to begin with.” 

“Echo did manage to get some data before the system was wiped.” Cody says. “It’s being analyzed now.” 

“You did well.” General Kenobi says, turning his attention back to Midnight. “Managing to survive something like that is impressive, and managing to save someone else along the way.” 

“But I couldn’t save everyone.” Midnight says, unable to get the image of Zaid with the lightsabers sticking through his back out of her mind. 

“Grievous has killed many well-trained, highly skilled Jedi. To survive an encounter with him is no small feat.” General Kenobi puts a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t feel guilty about something you couldn’t have prevented. You did good, even if it was all a trap.” 

Midnight feels herself relaxing, like a blanket of calm has been wrapped around her shoulders. She nods her head, General Kenobi giving her a small smile before leaving the room. 

“You had us worried for a moment.” Cody says, stepping up to her. “But I’m glad you’re alright. Get some rest, both of you, while you can. I don’t doubt you’ll be sent on another mission soon.” 

Midnight deflates a bit at his words. Of course they would be. It is all they’re good for. 

*******

The Marauder is quiet. It usually is after missions, but it’s usually an exhausted quiet. This is something else. Something different. 

Tech is in his usual place in the pilot’s seat, staring out into the blue of hyperspace. Wrecker is tucked in his bunk, Lula squeezed tight to his chest as he stares at the bunk above him. Even Crosshair is unusually still, glaring into a cup of caf in the hull. Echo’s in his own bunk, eyes closed but he’s not sleeping. 

Hunter is standing in front of Midnight’s door. 

They haven’t seen much of her since they landed at the medical station. 

Hunter had been terrified. The commando droids had come out of nowhere, and an entire battalion of droids had appeared from the base. He knew his squad could handle themselves, and they had the 141st backing them, but for all he had known, Midnight had been on her own inside. If there had been that many droids coming at them from outside, how many had been inside? 

He had sent her and Echo to their deaths. He had just known it. 

It had been General Coltil’s immediate distress call that had saved them in the end. The 212th had been one jump away and had arrived quickly, but not quickly enough to save them all. They had been greatly outnumbered, and with the element of surprise, the droid army had wiped out most of the 141st, including its general. 

In its aftermath, he had been scouring the plains between them and the base, looking for any sign of Midnight. The comms had gone dark, the signal blocked by the base until General Coltil and the troopers he’d taken in had shut off the jammers. 

Of course, none of them had come out. 

Hunter had paced restlessly, Crosshair watching the base carefully, looking for any sign of movement. He had been on edge, terrified by the thoughts running through his head. Midnight and Echo were gone. There was no way they had survived. 

Until Crosshair had alerted them to the figures slowly making their way across the plains. He had almost taken off running, and Cody had looked like he wanted to as well, but the 212th medics had been faster, using a landspeeder to reach them. 

He’ll never forget what he saw when they got back to the transport ships. Midnight was still conscious, her breaths were harsh gasps and rattling horribly. They had put a breath mask on her, and it was splattered with blood inside. 

She had said something to the medics before she’d been put under. Echo had been electrocuted by the scomp link. He was barely awake, but moving. Midnight had half carried him most of the way out of the base. He’d learn later she’d used his stim shot to make it. 

Hunter had stayed by her side as long as he could. He had wanted to hold her, to take her hand, to make sure she really was there, rules be damned. He knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t put them at risk like that. He couldn’t lose her so soon after almost losing her on the mission. 

Thankfully his concern had been taken as nothing more than concern for his squad-mate. Cody had been concerned as well, to the point he felt partially responsible. He had put her on the squad to begin with. Thankfully Cody had enough to worry about that he could distract himself. Hunter had been forced to sit and suffer through his thoughts. 

He had gone to see her as soon as he could, at the urging of his other squad mates. He was the most level-headed of them all, and was the least likely to betray his feelings, except maybe Crosshair. Crosshair showing concern for anyone would have raised too many questions. Tech had been more than willing to stay with Echo, letting his curiosity distract him from the worry about Midnight. 

Hunter had stayed by her side as she slept off the sedatives. She’d spent a few hours in a bacta tank, coming out mostly healed. It had been torture, sitting in the medical station, but he wasn’t going to leave Midnight to wake up by herself. Not after what had just happened. 

After she had been cleared by the medic and had told General Kenobi what had happened, she had briefly gone to see the rest of the squad before she’d left for the civilian bunks to rest. The rest of them had opted to bunk on the ship, preferable to bunking with the regs even if it was just for a night. 

The last time he’d seen Midnight had been when she’d boarded the ship as they were getting ready to leave. She had immediately shut herself in her room, and hadn’t come out since. She had slept for a while, Hunter listening to the quiet, even breaths. Far better than the horrible rattling gasps he’d heard. 

Then she’d cried. 

It was muffled, like she was trying to do it quietly, but he had heard. He may not have, if he hadn’t been paying attention, but he’d been focusing on her since they departed the medical station. Even though she had been completely cleared, he was still worried. Her injuries had been substantial. How she had managed to make it that far, and carry Echo, was astounding. Even with the stim shot, she shouldn’t have been standing. 

Now it was silent. No muffled cries, but she’s not asleep. He can tell by the rate of her breaths, the slightly faster beat of her heart. He can’t hear anything else. He wonders what she’s doing. 

“Are you going to talk to her, or just stand there and stare a hole through the door?” 

Hunter turns his head, frowning a bit at Crosshair. He wants to say something, but his mind is too frazzled. His shoulders fall, his gaze turning back to the door. “I don’t even know what to say.” 

Crosshair steps closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. “For someone with sharpened senses, you can be very dull. Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing at all. She’ll tell you what she needs. You just have to pay attention.” 

Crosshair moves past him, heading for his bunk. Hunter watches him before sighing, looking back at the door. He had a point. Midnight did have a way of saying everything without uttering a word. Maybe he should listen instead of trying to talk. 

He presses the button to open the door, stepping inside. He had considered knocking, but he’s not sure she would have answered. She’s sitting on her bed, leaning against the wall. Her knees are pulled to her chest as she stares at the wall across from her. He makes his way over, sitting on the bed beside her. He doesn’t say anything, not wanting to jump into the wrong thing. Instead he sits with her in silence, wanting her to be the one to talk first. 

“I couldn’t save him.” She says, voice hoarse from crying. “I-I couldn’t do anything. He was just a kid!” She shakes her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I knew it didn’t feel right. I knew something was wrong. I should have pushed to turn back. We shouldn’t have continued.” 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Hunter says, wanting to reach out to her, but he’s not sure he should. “I shouldn’t have sent you in like that. Not with such a high risk.” 

She sniffles. “It’s our job though, right? We do the hard stuff no one else wants to.” She shakes her head. “All of those clones, General Coltil and Zaid, all dead because I didn’t say anything until it was too late.” 

“Hey,” Hunter reaches out, gently turning her face towards him. “I didn’t even know until it was too late. There was a lot that could have gone differently. We can’t change it, though. You did everything you could. Echo is still alive because of you. It may not mean much to the Republic, we might not mean much to the Republic, but it means a lot to us.” 

“I couldn’t leave him.” She says, looking at him with shining eyes. He can hear the rapid thump of her heart in her chest. He’s glad to hear it. “Not like that. If I hadn’t...” 

“Don’t.” Hunter cuts her off. “You don’t know that. I wouldn’t have left any of you. I wanted to go in there, track you down, get you out. I would have fought through the Republic and a droid army if I’d had to. Rules be damned. You’re worth far more than to leave behind like that.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to defect for me.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking your permission.” Hunter moves his hand, cupping the back of her neck. “I’d do it in a heartbeat. We all would. We were all ready to.” He pulls her against his chest, letting her relax into him. He’s glad he removed his armor, letting her hear his own heartbeat. “I think you need a break.” 

“What?” She tries to pull away but he keeps her in place. 

“I’ve put you on leave for the next mission. You need to recover.” 

“I have recovered.” She says, pushing against his hand until he relents, letting her sit up. 

“Your body has,” Hunter keeps his arm around her, her hand still pressed against his chest. “But I don’t want you freezing in the middle of a battlefield.” He pulls her back into his chest. “I know you’re tired. I can tell. Every mission it’s getting harder and harder for you. I don’t know where we’re going yet, but I want you and Echo to sit the next one out.” 

“Is that an order?” She asks, tilting her head to stare up at him. 

“I can make it one.” He wraps his arm around her tighter. “I just don’t want something to happen to you after what you just went through.” 

Her hand fists into the fabric of his blacks, the saltiness of tears stinging his nose. “I know it’s supposed to be our job. I know it’s not supposed to get to us, but I can’t help it. He just...he died right in front of me. He was just a kid!” 

Hunter holds her tighter, trying his best to comfort her. “I know. It gets to all of us sometimes. Whatever you need, I’m right here. We all are.” 

She sniffles, tucking herself tighter against his chest. “Just...don’t leave. Not yet.” 

He leans down, kissing the top of her head. “Never.” 

********

“It will be a quick in and out, nothing more than a small insurrection.” Hunter says. “Nothing the four of us can’t handle.”

“Still...be careful.” Midnight says, leaning against the wall next to the bunks as they get ready. 

“We should be back in two days. If we’re not, you can send out a distress signal.” Hunter puts a hand on her shoulder. “Stay on the ship. Both of you.” 

Midnight nods, already knowing she can’t argue with him. Still, she worried a lot about them going off on their own. What if something did happen? It could happen so easily, so fast, she’d never know until it was too late. 

It made sense why Hunter wanted her staying behind for this mission. She can already feel the panic beginning to bubble. 

“Don’t worry about us, cyare.” Wrecker says, bending down so they’re face to face. “We’re tougher than we look.” 

Midnight smiles a bit, cupping his face. “I know. I still worry.” 

She leans in to kiss his cheek, but he turns at the last second so the kiss lands on his lips instead. 

“Cheater.” She murmurs as he pulls away, letting out a triumphant laugh. 

Midnight watches them go until they’re out of sight, closing the hatch and locking the ship. She stands still for a moment, nervously wringing her fingers for a moment. She’s on edge, being left behind on this mission, but at the same time she’s glad. She liked to think she’d be fine, she wouldn’t freeze as soon as someone pointed a blaster at her face. She knows that’s not the case, though. 

She heads back to her room, pausing for a moment to stare at Echo’s bunk. It’s empty. He had hardly left it since they took off from the medical station, or at least that’s what Hunter had said. 

She hasn’t spoken to Echo since their brief reunion on the medical station. She hadn’t meant to leave so abruptly after, but she’d wanted to take advantage of the civilian’s quarters and a semi-real bed. That, and she hadn’t been sure she could stand being close to them so soon. She knew they’d hover, she knew they’d worry. She had just wanted space.  

She can’t even imagine what Echo’s feeling. To have gone through what he did, and then going through something like this...

She heads for the hull, finding him sitting at the table. He’s hunched over, back to the door. She debates leaving, giving him more space. She doesn’t know if he wants to see her, or if he even wants to talk about it. She hadn’t wanted to, not until Hunter forced his way in. She does feel better, but at the same time, she knows she'll carry that guilt for a long time. 

She decides to move forward, taking slow, quiet steps. “Hey,” she says quietly, alerting him of her presence. He glances up as she moves to sit across from him. “How are you?” 

“Fine.” He answers, nodding his head like he’s trying to convince himself. 

She nods, unsure of what to say. What did one say in this situation? She had almost died trying to save him, she had gotten others killed trying to save him. As much as everyone tried to convince her otherwise, she knows it's the truth. 

“It was stupid, you know.” He says, staring back down at his empty cup. “Trying to fight someone like Grievous with nothing but a blaster and a knife, and for what? For me?” 

“It wasn’t just for you.” She murmurs, dropping her gaze like a scolded child. She’s never seen this side of Echo, at least not directed at her. 

“You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have almost died for someone like...” 

“What? Someone like you?” She cuts him off, looking up at him with brows furrowed. “You think you’re not worth it too?” 

“Not when there were other lives involved too.” 

“I made the decision.” She says, feeling anger bubble up in her. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it now. Would things have gone differently if I had left you behind, I don’t know. I chose to take the risk because I couldn’t leave you. You are worth it. I’m not the only one that thinks so.” 

Echo’s shoulders deflate, his face softening a bit. She knows her words are getting to him. It’s the truth. She would have taken the risk regardless of the situation. She’d always take the risk, no matter who it was. 

“You’re worth it to me.” She thinks back to Hunter’s words during their conversation. “Even if we wound up running from the Republic as defectors. At least I’d be with the men I love.” 

Echo meets her gaze, his eyes shining. “Thank you. For not leaving me behind.” 

Midnight reaches forward, taking his flesh hand. “I couldn’t leave you like that. Not after everything. I think I’m starting to understand why the Jedi aren’t allowed to have attachments.” 

“Good thing you aren’t one, then.” The corner Echo’s lips lifts in a smile. 

“I’m already a terrible soldier. I’d make an even worse Jedi.” 

Echo laughs, his thumb tracing her knuckles before his hand shifts, grabbing her forearm. He tugs her forward out of her seat so she’s bent over the table, leaning forward to kiss her. 

She gasps against his lips, surprised by the sudden, bold move. “Echo...” 

He shushes her, pressing their foreheads together. “We almost died before I got a chance to experience this.” He kisses her again. “Let me thank you for saving my life. 

Midnight stares into his eyes, captivated by their depth for a moment. She’s never seen this side of Echo before either. She nods, pushing herself up onto the table. 

Echo wraps his arm around her, pulling her so she’s on her knees, pressed against his chest. His flesh hand slides down her back as he kisses her, grabbing a handful of her ass. She moans into his mouth, trying to press even closer to him. 

“You’re so kriffing beautiful,” He says, nipping at her bottom lip. “Back when I was a reg, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” 

Midnight giggles, shifting so she’s sitting on the table. “Well, depending on how well you could shoot your shot, I might have agreed. Of course, it would have had to have been before I fell in love with and fucked my squad.” 

“Do you know how much trouble we’d be in if anyone found out?” He says, pressing her back against the table. 

“Immediate termination of my contract.” She says, wrapping her arms around him. “And they’d probably find some reason to throw me in prison.” 

“The rest of us would be decommissioned.” He says, kissing along her throat. “We’d be lucky to end up as janitors.” 

She giggles, pulling his face back to hers. “Then we’ll just have to never get caught.” 

He kisses her hard, pressing his body closer against hers. She’s so soft under him, so pliable. Everything he’s not. He pushes those thoughts aside as she moans softly against his lips, pressing even closer against him. She’d told him many times she doesn’t care about his looks, his cybernetics, the hard edges of metal that dug into her supple skin every time he was close to her. 

He leans on his scomp arm, his flesh hand trailing down her side. “I want to see you.” 

She’s breathing hard, chest heaving. Her lips are parted and kiss-swollen. “Uh huh.” She nods, hands tugging at her pants. He helps her, tossing her pants and underwear behind him on the floor. 

He traces his hand over her hip, staring down at her. He’s never seen her naked before. He’d seen her in various states of undress sneaking back and forth from bunks to her room, or to the fresher. This, though, is a new sight to him. 

“Echo?” She asks, leaning up on her elbows. She looks nervous at his hesitation, legs starting to press closed. 

“Don’t.” He puts a hand on her inner thigh, stopping her. “You’re just so beautiful. Can’t believe you’d ever go for a guy like me.” 

“Oh Echo.” She pushes herself up to sit, cupping his cheek. “I don’t really care what you look like. That’s not why I fell in love with you. Or any of you boys, for that matter. Looks are just an added bonus. Though, I guess you could say I have a type, since you’re all technically clones.” 

Echo pushes her back onto the table, putting a finger to her lips. “Stop talking.” 

She nods, swallowing thickly. 

He slides his hands down to her legs, parting them once more. He holds them open as he kneels between them, bringing himself to eye-level with her. He runs his fingers through her slick folds, her breath hitching. He circles her clit with his thumb slowly, watching the way her chest lifts as she arches her back. 

He does love her tits. 

He presses a finger into her, her body opening for him. She’s wet and tight, a quiet groan leaving his lips. He stands up, pumping his finger slowly. Her lips are parted, hands over her head gripping the edge of the table. 

“Kriff, Echo!” She moans, eyes fluttering closed as he curls his finger inside her, his palm brushing her clit as he stands over her. “You’ve done this before.” 

“Once or twice on leave,” He says. “Back when I was a reg. None of them measure up to you, though. They wouldn’t look twice at me now.” 

Her hand closes around his scomp arm, pulling him down closer. She kisses him, her hand sliding around the back of his neck. She whines against his lips as he slips a second finger into her, hips pressing against his hand. 

“Echo...” She moans against his lips, her other hand closing around his wrist. “Don’t stop.” 

He curls his fingers again, her back arching as a loud moan leaves her lips. He had overheard the others talking about her, about how beautiful she is when she’s lost in pleasure. To see it is something else entirely. 

“I’m close,” She whines, grinding her hips against his hand. “I’m gonna cum.” 

He continues for just a second longer before pulling his fingers from her. She whines in protest, eyes snapping open. “Not yet.” He says. “I’ve got something I want to try first.” 

He slips an arm around her, lifting her into his arms. He carries her to her room, depositing her on the bed. He reaches down, pulling a box out from underneath. 

She stares at him, mouth agape. “How long has that been under there?” 

“A while.” He smirks. 

A horrified look crosses her face. “What else is under there?” 

He pushes her back so she’s laying on the bed before opening the box, pulling the device out. 

Her mouth opens once more, pussy clenching at the memories of the many test phases she’d gone through. “Oh.” 

“I’ve been wanting to try it out for a while.” He says, opening a panel on his cybernetics. “Just haven’t had the right moment.” He snaps it into place, feeling it warm in his hand. 

Midnight sits up, staring at it. “So this is what you two were doing when you disappeared for a while.” 

“Yeah.” Echo inhales shakily as her fingers run over it. “Took a little longer than we thought it would.” 

She gently pushes him, rearranging them so he’s laying flat on her bed. She kneels between his legs, closing her hand around it. He groans quietly, eyes lidded as he stares at her. “Can you feel that?” 

He nods. “Tech made it so it connects to my nervous system.” 

Midnight bites her lip, pumping her hand a couple times. “I do love that nerd.” She climbs off the bed, digging through her box to find the lube, thankfully back in its place. “You’re sure about this?” 

He nods, groaning as she spreads lube over the device. “Yes. I want to feel you.” 

“Then who am I to deny you?” She smirks, straddling his waist. 

She lines herself up, slowly pushing herself down on the device. She rocks her hips, slowly working more and more of it into her. She moans quietly at the stretch of it, legs shaking as she finally seats herself against his hips. 

She curses, pausing for a moment. “How does it feel?” 

“Just like I imagined.” He says, holding her thigh with his hand. 

She shifts slightly, cursing as it shifts inside her. She peels her shirt and breastband off, letting them fall to the floor. Echo’s eyes immediately fall to her breasts, watching them as she slowly begins to move her hips. 

She grabs his hand, placing it on one of her breasts. “I think we’re a little past needing permission.” 

He holds his hand there, feeling her breast as she begins rocking her hips faster. It’s not the first time he’s felt them. He’s used them as a pillow a few times. It is the first time he’s seen them though. Her own hand lifts to her other breast, fingers tugging at her nipple. He does the same on the other side, teasing her nipple as she rides him. 

“Yes, just like that.” She moans, using her other hand to brace herself on his stomach. 

He can feel the pleasure coursing through his body. The warmth of her, every squeeze around him sends pleasure spiking through his cybernetics. His eyes roll back, his hand squeezing tighter around her breast. 

“Maker, Echo!” She cries, hips stuttering. “I’m gonna cum!” 

He wants to feel her cum. He needs to feel her cum. He drops his hand from her breast to rub her clit, her head falling back as she cums with a cry. He lets out a cry of his own as she spasms around him, his own orgasm rocking through him. 

She slips off him before she collapses against his chest, breathing heavily. He wraps his arm around her, breathing equally labored. They lay in silence for a few moments, both of them coming down from their highs. 

“Remind me to thank Tech later.” Echo says, lips brushing her forehead. 

“I’m gonna suck the genius out of his dick.” Midnight murmurs. 

Echo makes a face, desperately fighting the mental images. “Was that...good?” 

Midnight lifts her head, smiling sleepily at him. “Consider me satisfied.” 

“Good.” He kisses her forehead again. “We should probably clean the table.” 

She hums. “We have time.” She snuggles closer against his chest. “Besides, Tech will clean it when they get back anyway, just in case.” 

*****

Hunter sits in the pilot’s seat, eyes trailing over the five other members of his squad. They’re all tired. Putting an end to the insurrection hadn’t taken long, but he can tell they’re all beginning to feel it. Something shifting in the war, something building. They’re coming close to something. He can see it on all of their faces, even without his enhanced abilities. The strain of the mission before this one, almost losing Midnight and Echo, had taken its toll. He wishes he could give them time to rest. 

“We’ve already received our next orders.” He says, breaking the silence of the hull. All eyes are on him, waiting. He ignores the exhausted stares, the dark circles. “We’re heading for Kaller straight away. General Billaba has requested urgent reinforcements. Get some rest while you can.” He glances to the back of the cockpit where Midnight and Echo are standing. “All of us will be going. We’ll need all the help we can get.” 

Taglist: 

@lo0nylexi, @amyroswell, @dangraccoon, @hunnythebee​, @lokigirlszendaya, @kriffingmeshla, @storm-breaker7​

[peachymilkandcream]

Kingdom of Ash and Greed|Part 3|King Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: This one's a bit shorter than the last but like I've said in the past, I post every week so one chapter being shorter than another is not a big deal. I still hope you enjoy!)

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, etc.

================================================

Levi rolled off of her with a sigh of finality. She was trembling and bruised in several places. This vile man had just taken what was most precious to her on a whim because he lived for a power trip.

Blood and cum oozed out of her, a sight which made Levi looked at Evelyn with slight disgust.

"Shit, you're filthy." He stands and rings a small bell, a few moments later a maid appears and bows low before him. "Clean her up and bring her back here. And have someone clean my room, and this time, make sure it's a decent job."

As quickly as Levi came he left, brushing past the both of them and leaving the room. Now that he had been satisfied why stick around? He had servants to ensure she was taken care of and cleaned. Aftercare was what whipped men did to make sure their wives weren't riding another's dick.

Not him. Unless the bitch killed herself by jumping out the window there was no where she could go. All those he would allow close to her were women, and seeing how petty and jealous women got he was sure Evelyn would ride him with a little more enthusiasm next time to ensure she kept her place.

==============================================

Once cleaned, Evelyn reached to pick up her dressing gown for some sense of modesty to hide her shame. But the maid with her quickly snatched it up.

"I'm sorry you can't have that anymore."

"Then what can I have to cover myself?"

"I was told to bring you nothing. His Majesty wants you kept like this it would seem."

"You can't be serious- just give me the gown-" She reaches for it again, but it's still kept out of reach, the maid pushing her harshly to the ground.

"You don't get to order me around you royal bitch. You may have had it high and mighty back home, you might even think you do because you have our king's favor, but you're not. Don't you get what you are? You're not his queen, you're not his concubine, you're not even his servant. You're just a slave, less than an animal, made to keep him satisfied and nothing more unless he decides to show mercy and give you his heirs. Don't you get it? That's all you are, that's all you'll ever be until the day you die."

"I didn't start this war between our two countries, it was my father, why do I have to suffer for it?"

"If you truly wanted us to believe you didn't support this war then you would've poisoned your father years ago and offered yourself as a tribute to King Levi."

Evelyn remains silent a moment, stunned. "How dare you-"

"I would shut your mouth if I were you. Unless I decide to tie you up and leave you so Levi can have his way with you whenever he has the whim to do so."

She shuts her mouth so hard it's audible, forcing back the heated retort. Evelyn could probably take this girl in a struggle, but she was tired, hungry, and weak, she didn't want to risk it. "I don't want to be enemies, even if we're not friends I just want us to get along civilly."

"Give my king an heir and we can talk about it after."

[isleofdarkness]

Final shard ROUGH DRAFT

This is the rough draft of the final part of chapter 7, which I will refine in the morning but I desperately want you guys to see it. But, because I am tired... I'm going to take the bad route and just copy-paste the content warnings for the entire chapter as the warnings for this. I am sorry.

Warnings- medical procedures, near-death experience, medical info, gun pointed at child, blood, murder, slight body horror, war, swearing, gang violence, trauma, flashbacks, slavery, chronic pain, selling souls Implied/referenced; genocide, starvation, character death, noncon, minor noncon, childhood prostitution, child sexual abuse, child abuse, torture, grievous injury, massacres, terrorism, gang violence

Mal was seething, Evie was... astral-planing or whatever with Maverick, Carlos was helping Agony fiddle with her bionic arm, Claudine was curled in the corner with the band of her headscarf pulled over her eyes to block out the meager light of waiting room, and Audrey was doing whatever with her phone. That left Ben.

It felt a bit selfish, using Ben to keep his mind from spiraling back to nightmares of his father, but Ben looked like he was spiraling, too. Maybe he and Jay could distract each other. Or, at least, Jay could answer the questions written all over Ben's face without murdering him.

The questions, of course, started the second Jay sat down next to the future king. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Fuck, that was exactly what he wanted to not think about. Jay managed a flippant smile. "I'm good, just not in the mood to talk about it. What about you?"

Ben let out a small sigh and gestured helplessly in Maverick's general direction. "Was she telling the truth? Is the Isle really that bad?"

That was the million-dollar question, and Jay had a feeling Ben wasn't going to like the answer. "Yeah." Ben groaned is dismay, burying his face in his hands. "Actually, she's been holding back. It gets way worse." There were some details even the Maverick wouldn't discuss unprompted, details like Jay's father. She'd come close in one of her comments earlier, but she'd moved on too fast for Ben to latch onto it.

"How could it possibly get-"

Jay smacked Ben on the shoulder, hard, before he could finish that damning question. Ben turned his head, giving Jay a weird look. "Dude, unless you're Harriet Hook, you don't ask that question. The second you pass through the barrier, Murphy is your only God and his law is gospel. You don't tempt him unless you've got equal or greater power behind your name. Something catastrophic will happen and it will be your fault." There were some people Isle kids didn't try and Murphy's petty ass was near the top of the list.

"Murphy's Law," Ben chuckled, straightening. It was no laughing matter but hey, at least it got Ben to stop spiraling for a moment. "Who's Harriet Hook?"

Fuck, how to even describe Harriet Hook? "The list of people on the Isle absolutely no one fucks with directly is short. We have the occasional suicidal who'll challenge Maverick, Justice, Ginny- but no one's ever had the audacity to get into it directly with Harriet Hook. She's the queen of the Isle, basically. The first tragedy." He wasn't supposed to say that last bit. Jay scrambled, trying to move on before Ben could ask about Shirley. "The only person I've ever see argue her orders is Grandma Gert, and she only does it if she has a damn good reason."

Thankfully, Ben's next question was about the new name. "Who's Grandma Gert?"

"She's..." Allah, how to even start on the enigmatic Grandma Gert? He'dnever needed to explain her- it was Isle genetic memoryto never fuck with Grandma Gert. "I don't know that much about her. She's Maverick's grandmother, I think, but everyone calls her Grandma Gert because she told us to. She's extremely powerful. Powerful enough to make Maverick look like a joke if Mav's right, and you have no idea how that bar is. Apparently she even predates the Endless and she could take all seven of them at once and win without breaking a sweat.

"Predates the..." Ben's eyes lit up, understanding something Jay didn't. "Black woman, on the shorter side, with eyes so black they make you feel like you're staring into the eternal abyss of outer space?"

Huh? He hadn't been expecting Ben to know Grandma Gert of all Isle residents. Jay himself had only actually seen the woman twice. But the description matched, so he nodded.

"Her name is Night," Ben told him. "She's the mother of the Endless."

Wait.

If Grandma Gert was the mother of the Endless, but also Maverick's grandmother, wouldn't that make Maverick...

Would that mean that Maverick's father was one of the Endless?

She called herself Destiny, she had a book shackled to her wrist, Mara had said she'd overrode Destiny- no, that didn't make sense. Maverick wouldn't be that much more powerful than her parentage. At best, if Maverick's father was Endless, she would be able to match him. But overriding Destiny? There was no way that math worked out. Being related didn't explain why Maverick was as powerful as she was.

Unless- he wasn't sure how Maverick related to Grandma Gert. It could be she was Gert's son, not grandson- but that would make her-

No. There was no way Maverick Fucking Mim was one of the Endless. There was no way the most anarchist man in existence was secretly Destiny of the fucking Endless.

Jay shook his head to clear the thought. He was exhausted, his mind was making Olympic-level jumps to conclusions without being rational. Thankfully, Ben had the sense to change the subject. "Who do you think needs off of the Isle the most?"

Another good question. "Honestly, everyone. But if I had to pick one person..." he couldn't, that was the issue. The people who needed off of the Isle had siblings, partners, friends, family, children, people they were protecting. He couldn't endorse plucking someone away from the people they cared about. The closest he could get- "The Hearts kids. Ace, Rose, Andi, King, and Queenie."

"Why them?"

Even though Rose and Ace were fine with people knowing their trauma, it still felt wrong to air it out without their permission. He'd have to censor it. A lot. "Their mother wouldn't care if they lived or died and their father doesn't do shit, but if Rose or Ace defy the Queen, it's a few months in her dungeon, at the mercy of her guards. And the guards..." lashes across Ace's back, bruising and welts from where the lashes ended to halfway down the backs of its thighs, crisscrossing its inner thighs, severe enough to bleed across its chest. Bruises from hands so much larger than its own, hands that had grabbed it, held it down, pulled its tiny body to meet every brutal movement. Hickeys and bites that bled joining the feathered pattern of scars on its neck and across its bony shoulders. Lips bruised, eyes red from tears, voice almost gone. The hopelessness in its eyes as it begged Mal for help, the naked terror when any of them touched it. And then what had happened later, when the guard who had reduced it to that state found it. How he'd tied Jay up and humiliated Ace... How Ace had been too scared to even consider fighting back. "Well, let's just say the guards are pretty nasty to them. But they stay to protect the three younger kids from the same abuse. They're sheltering around a hundred kids hidden in Salazan's Grum, but still... those guys need off of the Isle. It's a miracle they haven't been killed by their parents yet."

"Are they..." Ben paused, choosing his words carefully. "Good?"

"It's not that simple. You've gotta take into account what they've been through- the Isle shapes us and Rose and Ace were shaped by the constant threat of brutality and abuse from pretty much every adult in their lives. I think..." he paused, remembering the story behind Ace and Evie, how it had reassured her and protected her without asking anything in return. "I think they can be, if you show them how. They aren't monsters, they've got some good, strong morals that they will never compromise. They just haven't been taught."

The Hearts twins were their own special grey area. Each one was a ruthless killer, the mist efficient on the Isle, and had no problems with torture or hurting kids if they were told to. Then there was Ace's magick, that whole blood thing, and the possibility that Rose had an ability just as lethal or worse.

But then there was so much good in them.

He didn't know as much about Rose (even less about Andi, King, and Queenie,) but those who knew her spoke highly of her. Even those more conservative with their praise, like Ursula, had only nice things to say about her. Jay personally knew her to be polite but quiet- not as quiet as her twin, not by a long shot, but certainly quieter than most. Unless she was on stage. He'd only ever seen one of the shows at the broken down theater, held in a half-collapsed church, but he didn't think he would ever forget it. It had been something about cats and she was playing... Victoria, maybe. It started with a V. It was clear she shared Ace's superhuman strength, leaping higher than a human could, and she was agile and fast enough that it felt like she really was a cat turned human. Rose loved theatre. She loved singing, sewing, dance, and had a soft spot for children that she didn't shy away from showing. She was ruthless, sure, but all of that was normal teenager stuff, features she shared with even Auradon girls. She wasn't villainous, just Isle like everyone else.

And Ace... there was not doubt in Jay's mind that Ace could be good if given the chance.

Theirs was an odd dynamic, one Jay struggled to put into words. They were far closer than could be considered platonic, even on the Isle, but they weren't in an actual relationship. Up until a year or so earlier, they almost would have fit best as siblings. But that label was probably the least accurate one now.

Whatever that one new addition was, it complicated the rest to all hell. It had been easy to label Ace a close friend before. He trusted the redhead to not steal from him, poison him, murder him, assault him, or use him to bring down Mal's gang. He could sleep near Ace without fear, spar with it without worrying it would genuinely hurt him, and he knew it had his back in a fight. He trusted it with his life, to the same level he trusted Mal, Evie, and Carlos. Enough to not kill it when it figured out his best-kept secret.

The streets of the Underland district were rife with predators- it was the only place where no one dared enforce, seeing how much effort, manpower, and resources it would take to clean it up. On these nights where Jay desperately needed cash to appease his father, despite Underland being closer, Jay usually went to the northern half of Harriet’s territory, maybe to the neighborhood at the edge of Mischief Mile, the one where Hook's pirates lived because gods knew those guys had a complex. But, if he couldn't do either of those or wasn't getting clients for whatever reason, he went to Underland as a last resort.

That was where their whole... thing had started

-

Jay had been at the corner, well aware of the group of drunken creeps eyeing him up and praying they would hire him rather than just rape him, when the group had startled. So fast he nearly missed it, they scattered into the shadows.

Then Jay heard the very familiar gait that told him exactly why.

Ace of Hearts had a limp, a weird, loose, kind of side-to-side walk. It worked with it pretty well and the limp didn't make it any less graceful or fast (and definitely didn't impact how silently it could move around if it wanted to,) but Jay had always wondered about it. He'd long ago assumed it was from a broken leg that hadn't healed right, but it wasn’t the kind of limp he usually saw from an old injury. It also didn't seem to flare up with weather or overexertion but just randomly, which was weird.

That night had been on of the random times Ace's limp was particularly bad, which combined with the foreboding fact that it was even out at night to make Jay very much no want to cross it. It didn't notice him for a moment and he tried to slip into the shadows, but the movement caught Ace's attention.

It had him pinned to the brick wall in half a second, ever-present dagger to his throat. Jay slowly raised his hands, surrendering, until it recognized him and let him go.

"Jay? The fuck are you-" Ace cut itself off as it noticed his tighter-than-usual pants and opened vest. Despite him being a good half-foot taller than it, it managed to cuff him upside the head. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make Jay feel kind of stupid. "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious?! I knew you were suicidal but I didn't know you were as bad as me! There's easier ways to kill yourself! Are you trying to get yourself kidnapped and tied up in someone's basement as a fucking sex slave for the rest of your life? Cause you're doing an excellent job towards that if you are. Bloody hell, man-"

"I need money and no one else is buying," Jay defended himself.

Ace groaned and reached into its boot, pulling out a decent-sized pouch and forcing it into Jay's hand. "That enough? Go the fuck home."

But Jay tried to push the bag back into Ace's hand, as much as it pained him to do so. It would probably be enough to satisfy his father for months, based of the clacking or rocks that somehow sounded expensive. Ace raised an eyebrow and refused the take the bag- probably until Jay told it why he couldn't accept being a charity case. "If I takevit, I'll owe you."

Understanding flashed across Ace's face. All Isle kids understood owing and why they needed to avoid it. A debt could be used against them in the most horrific ways that Jay knew far too well- he owed a lifelong debt to his father for four years of being raised without earning his keep, and more debt was added on with every transgression. He didn't want to owe anyone else anything, it would just make his life harder.

Ace blew out a long breath, clearly thinking hard. "Alright, fine. Answer this and consider it even cause I really wanna know." A bag of gems for a question answered? That didn't seem very even. "I don't like touch. You can imagine why." Jay winced. Yeah, he definitely could. He knew some of the shit Ace had to deal with, even witnessed it. He could definitely get why it wouldn't like touch. "But you and Evie are fine with it, you'll even lean into it." It paused and Jay nodded, figuring it wanted him to confirm its observations. "How do I do that? Get touch without panicking, I mean."

Fuck, it wasn't going to like Jay's answer. "Me, I just had to get used to it. I'm used to all kinds of touch, I just trained myself to stop reacting. But Evie, Malcolm did this weird touch thing to... acclimate her, he said. Started out small, just touching her hands until she was completely comfortable with that, then he'd hold her hands until she was good with that, then her wrists, arms, shoulders, back- you get the idea. That's how she got used to it."

Ace had kind of deflated as he'd spoken. It looked crushed, disappointed beyond measure. "Oh." Its voice was kind of quiet, sad. "Alright. Thanks."

Yeah, he'd assume the option wouldn't seem viable to Ace. It didn't have anyone it trusted like that, other than maybe its siblings, but it wouldn't want its siblings to do what Malcolm did.

Jay couldn't help but feel bad as Ace started to walk away, still looking sad (it would probably look pissed to those who didn't know it, but Jay knew it well enough to catch the tiny changes in its expression and what they meant.) He'd felt like he'd just told it it would never be able to be touched ever again. It probably thought that its situation was hopeless. Fuck, Jay felt like he'd killed its hope right in front of it.

"Ace," he said before he could really think about what he was going to offer. But it paused and turned back to him, and he couldn't back out. That would make him feel even shittier. "You know, I'd rather not go home right now. If you're okay with it... I've seen Malcolm do the touch thing with Evie. We could try it out. See if it works for you."

That hopeful spark came alive again, but Ace seemed to be trying not to let it get too far. "Would you be comfortable with that?"

"Absolutely." Ace was Jay's... not friend, there weren't friends on the Isle, but they were close enough. "Plus, if it turns out being something that works for you, we can do it whenever. Such as nights where I would definitely benefit from snagging something from your mother."

"You wouldn't have to," Ace promised instantly, mood quickly picking up. "I have way more rubies where those come from, I can just give you some- like paying you, only not for sex."

He could definitely get behind that. "That works. It's a deal?"

Ace was lit up like a firework. "It's a deal!"

-

"Jay?" Ben's voice startled Jay out of the memory. Jay quickly fixed his expression, realizing it had slipped into something stupid and fond. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking," he missed Ace, just like he missed Lydia, Diego, and Mischa, but there was no way in Hell he was going to admit to that. "Haven't seen Ace in a while. I was just wondering how it was holding up."

Later, he would figure he'd come close enough to challenging Murphy. Because, before Ben could respond, Maverick and Evie both snapped back to awareness. Maverick put her fingers to her temple and her face went grim. "We'll continue this conversation later. Ginny?" Ginny finally looked away from Sunshine, recognizing that Maverick's dire tone meant trouble, "I'm really, really sorry, but we're about to have three Sanctums coming in and it's all-hands-on-deck."

Ginny nodded, face slipping into her professional mask as she carefully handed Sunshine to Anthony. "Who are they and what happened?"

"Rose, Ace, and Andi-" and fuck, that told Jay everything he needed to know about what had happened. If Rose or Ace called Sanctum, they were dying. If both did, something catastrophic had happened. And if Andi was hurt enough to need to call Sanctum with them- that had never even happened before. He assumed it would be apocalyptic. "It was the Demons with one of Maleficent's weapons. Fifteen arrows in Ace's torso, front, two in Rose and a lot of burning, and Andi... no one can figure it out, that one will be played by ear."

The Demons?

If Jay had time, he probably would've gone into another panic at what Maverick was implying. The Demons were one of the gangs on Maleficent's side during the War, one of the ones wiped out, and the ones who had put Jay through two captured weeks that were so horrific he couldn't remember them or the three weeks he spent in flashback after flashback until Mal and Evie managed to snap him out of it. If the Demons were back, that would sure as fuck explain the Sanctum.

He couldn't be useless right now. Ace and its sisters needed him to be ready to help.

"Get Shan Yu and anyone you can spare," Ginny ordered Shan Sarangerel, who had come running into the room when she'd heard Maverick say someone had called a Sanctum. "Bring out the Last Resort Kit. Mav, call in Lydia and Zevon. We'll need an evacuation of Salazan's Grum-"

"We can't," Maverick argued, jaw tight. "It's gone. The entire castle is rubble. I don't know how they managed the firepower but those three-"

"Are the only survivors," Ginny finished as Shan Yu and around a dozen "staff" members came into the room. "We still completely booked?" He nodded grimly. "Fuck it, I don't need a surgery room. Just get everyone you can in here. 'Rick, how far out?"

"Grandma is waiting on my okay before she brings them here, she wants us to be prepared before she takes them out of the time-stop." Oh fuck, Grandma Gert was involved? As if the situation wasn't bad enough, apparently it was worse- so bad that Grandma Gert herself was involved. "It's not exactly safe for mortals to be in a time-stop, if that influences your answer."

"It does." Ginny's sharp eyes cut across the room, taking inventory of the people she had to work with and the medical supplies she'd been bought, which looked like nothing compared to Doctor Sweet's closet. And why did the Last Resort Kit look so depleted? It usually only got pulled out once or twice a year. What she had wasn't going to be enough, so she turned to the Auradons. "Any of you know medicine?" Four people- Aurora, the blue gorilla guy, the Latina woman, and the red-haired woman, stepped forward. "Follow my lead or sit down and shut up, got it? A second of hesitation can mean the difference between life or death in my hospital and if you think you can take that chance, don't bother helping. We clear?" Four nods. Ginny nodded to Maverick. "Ready as we'll ever be."

Jay's heart was pounding as Maverick put her fingers back to her temple. The air seemed to get sucked out of the room in those few horrible, eternal seconds, as she communicated with the only person keeping the Hearts kids alive and telling her to remove them from what was basically Auradon's "life support."

For an agonizingly long time, no one even moved.

Seven figures, four supporting three who couldn't even stand, appeared in the center of the room.

And Jay's world ended for the second time that day.

[eevee-eclair]

It’s me! Back with another fic for someone else’s AU! This time, it’s @doctorsiren’s Snapshot AU! I watched the whole thing yesterday and was obsessed with it, so!! This! (Like always, if she wants me to take it down, I will)

TWs: crying, implied violence, implied war(?) (tell me if I missed one)

THIS ONE HAS AN AO3 LINK!!!!

———

And, oh, where did he go?

“I’m scared.”

Zed jumped a bit at Ren’s sudden words. They weren’t harsh, they weren’t sad, just… empty. It was so uncharacteristic for the normally energetic man. He frowned and turned to him. He was just staring at his sword, at his reflection.

“We’ll do it,” he said, just as flat. “We’ll win this.”

Ren sighed and lowered it, staring at him, instead. “Not of the battle, dude.” He sounded tired. Exhausted. “Of…” He trailed off and waved a hand. “Y’know…”

Zed snorted blandly and crossed his arms. “No, I can’t say I do.”

He turned his attention to a wall, and Zed wished he could see behind those sunglasses. “I’m scared of them,” he mumbled. “I’m scared for them…”

Suddenly, Zed understood. His shoulders slumped and he looked down at the hard floor. “Oh.” It’s all he had to say. What else was there to add? He could make a witty joke, but he knew it would be inappropriate for the situation.

“Yeah…” Ren’s hand went to his chest, where he grabbed a fistful of his own shirt. Beneath the glasses, his eyes were wet and red with unshed tears. Again, not something he usually does; cry.

Zed fiddled with the buttons on his sweater, still not looking up. They both knew who they were worried for the most, but neither could actually say it. The words hung in the air like barbed wire. They ducked under it, but one wrong bend of the knee and they’d be tangled.

“I’m afraid for Doc.”

There it was. That was the bend they were avoiding. Zed nodded, finding a certain groove in the floor very interesting. He didn’t know what to say without seeming rude or inconsiderate. People weren’t redstone, you couldn’t just keep trying over and over again until you got it right. You got one shot–two if you’re lucky. But he couldn’t just ignore him, either.

“I’m afraid for Tango and Impulse,” he sighed after some time. “I know how you feel.”

Then, Ren did something Zed had never heard. He sobbed. He let out a small, broke hiccup and wrapped his other hand–the one not clenched around his shirt–and hugged himself. A tear rolled down, past his sunglasses.

He finally looked up, eyes wide with shock. “Ren-?”

The glasses were removed, and Zed got an eyeful of how much pain he was going through. Ren looked up and made eye contact. His heart ached for him and he took a step forward, his arms raising for a hug.

Two steps in, and he had an armful of a shaking, sniveling Ren. He did his best to console him, but he didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know if they were okay, if they would be okay, or if they’d even get them back in the end. It was a mystery, and he was frustrated he couldn’t solve it.

He held Ren a bit tighter as his own tears started to build up in his eyes. “We’ll get them back,” he croaked. “We will. There’s no way we won’t.”

Ren nodded and pulled back, wiping at his eyes. They were red and puffy, full of sorrow and defeat. He looked up, dark blue eyes meeting sky blue. They stared at each other for a long while before Ren offered him a tight smile. It wasn’t a patented Ren Dog Grin, just a curve of his lips to indicate he was fine.

‘At least he’s still smiling though,’ Zed thought as he grinned back.

“Thanks, dude,” Ren rasped, his voice sticky. He lightheartedly punched his shoulder and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. We will get ‘em back. Because we’re smarter than some dumb robot with a fancy glove!”

He offered a slightly more real smile and Zed felt a bit of hope blossom in his chest. He grinned stronger, too, and nodded. “Without a doubt!”

Because, no matter what, they were hermits. And hermits loved to wage war.

And win.

[neonacity]

ARCANE : INIZIO | CH.5 | NCT DREAM X READER

Summary: When human deviants granted with the abilities of the legendary Arcana cards find themselves racing against devious forces, they are left to make a choice that might change the fate of the world itself: be the victims of the game, or become the masters of it themselves.

But will this war end with a crowned hero?

Or will it just create another mad villain?

*****

Note: This is the second book of Arcane. The happenings in this story is a prequel to the first installment which you can check in my Masterlist. Since the lore is highly dependent on the first book, I highly suggest you check it out first—otherwise, new readers might have a hard time understanding what is happening here. Expect lots of time jumps and flashbacks throughout the chapters.

Pairings: Dream 00’ Line + Mark x Reader

Trigger Warnings/Themes: romance, violence, torture, trauma, poly dynamics, suggestive themes, language, psychological, mystery, sci-fi. The concept of the tarot or Arcana cards will be loosely used throughout the series. Note that I am not a trained doctor so there may be some slips here and there about medical things. Again, this is a work of fiction and I am not implying any likeness between the characterization here of the boys to their real life counterparts. I also reserve the rights to all my work—I do not post anywhere else other than tumblr. Minors DNI. Please do not repost. I only publish my works in Tumblr.

© neonacity, 2022

Previously > CH. 1 | CH.2 | CH.3 | CH.4

[Rosewood Academy, One year before the Cypher Project]

Your hurried footsteps echoed through the hallowed hallways of the academy. It was still a few minutes earlier than the time you were asked to report to the Head office, but you didn’t care, your pace steady as you made a beeline towards that white door at the end of the hallway that has become so familiar to you throughout the years. Working through the nervous blockage in your throat, you tried your best to swallow your escalating anxiety since you first heard about your father’s return. When Ten announced that he refused to see anyone the moment he arrived, you knew right then and there that something has gone terribly wrong. 

Your heart was beating hard against your chest when you finally stopped at the lone doorway in the corridor. You were about to knock when it opened all of a sudden, Ten’s face popping on the other side. He only looked mildly surprised to see you there, though he didn’t get to say anything as your eyes dropped to the tray he was holding. One look at the bloodied bandages there made you push the door open and slip past him in a rush.

“Darling, wait—”

“Ten, it’s fine. Let her in.”

Your gaze easily found the man sitting behind the oak desk at the head of the room. His clothes were clean and pressed, but even his sleeves didn’t manage to fully hide the edges of bandages circling his arm. The room was silent as you stared at him, and it was only the gentle closing of the door that made you unfreeze from your stance. Your father’s face was impassive as he looked at you, but he was the one who first broke the silence as he waved his hand slightly to motion at something—or someone in the room. For the first time, you noticed that it wasn’t just the two of you there.

“We were just about to finish, honey. If you could just give us a couple more minutes.”

“No, her timing is perfect. It will save us time if she is here.”

The person sitting directly across from him was the last you were expecting to see. You have only met the man a couple of times before, but there was no mistaking the ice cold stare that seems to pierce through everything and anything on its way. Mark’s father…

Junho Lee.

“What is going on?” you asked carefully as your gaze moved from him to the other. Looking at your father more closely now, you noticed the tired lines on his face and the uneasy set of his lips. He looks pained. Worried.

“Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

The fact that both men didn’t have an immediate answer to your question made your stomach drop. You were already starting to feel the beginnings of panic again when Junho spoke.

“He has come across an unexpected circumstance a couple of weeks ago. He is fine after my men managed to find him before things got worse.”

“Is that why you decided to give him your time first instead of talking to your daughter?” your tone was cold and hard as you kept your gaze steady on your father. You absolutely refused to acknowledge the other man, incensed by the way he seems to be taking command on what should be a personal topic of conversation. You didn’t give a damn about who saved who at the moment. Pleasantries and thank yous can be given later. For now, you need to talk to your family. Alone.

The edge in your voice was definitely not lost on the Headmaster. Peering at you over his wire-rimmed glasses, he silently turned to his friend after and spoke carefully to cut through the tension in the room.

“I think it’s best if I explain things to her alone first. We can have another talk later with both kids.”

Both kids…? What the hell is going on?

For a few seconds, the other didn’t even look like he wanted to budge in his seat. He simply sat there, until the corner of his lips finally twitched to a smile. It wasn’t genuine, that much is obvious, but you still internally sighed when he dipped his head a little into a small bow.

“Of course. I will check on Minhyung first. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my boy after all.”

You remained on your spot, eyes on anywhere but the man when he finally picked himself up from his chair and strolled past you. You only allowed yourself to breathe properly again when you heard the door close behind him.

“Papa—”

“Please take a seat, love. I’m fine, if that’s what you are worried about. Sit down so I can tell you everything.”

You didn’t waste another second to go straight to the closest chair to him. Reaching over, he easily received your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. His shaky grip told you that his injuries might be serious, though he did try to keep his hold on you steady. Your worry was escalating, but you managed the push out the first pressing question you could think of. 

“Your injuries, are they bad?”

He shook his head and smiled.

“I had Ten patch me up. He said they aren’t serious, but I can still ask for help from Chenle later if that will make you feel better.”

You barely gave a nod. “What happened? They said you left in a hurry.”

Your father’s face fell a little. At that moment, with just the two of you, you realized how on edge he really was about the situation. The fact that he seemed unsure of how to explain the everything only made your worry flare up even more. He was only silent for a few more seconds, but it felt like forever before he finally found his voice again. 

“Someone is after us, love. And we need to get into hiding soon. You most especially. They can have anyone but you.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but this definitely wasn’t it. The man has always been overprotective of you, sometimes to the point of madness, but this was the first time you felt and head real fear in his voice. You frowned, utterly confused by his words.

“I don’t understand—”

“At the start of this month, the Kims gave us a tip about strangers stalking the grounds of Rosewood. I had requested for them to send more of their men to observe, just to see if they are from any rogue families, but they weren’t able to pin any names to them. From the way they can’t pass through the borders of the forest though, I’m sure that they aren’t members of the Arcana bloodline.”

A cold chill ran down your spine at the realization. If they aren’t part of the family, then….

“Humans…?” you whispered softly. Your father’s gaze on you was unwavering, the worry in his expression more obvious now than ever.

“They know about us. Someone has leaked the secret of the Arcana to the outside world, and now they’re hunting us one by one.”

“But who could have done it?”

“Anyone. We are a big circle. Someone could have sold the information or was coerced to give it away. Regardless of who it is, we have been betrayed. There’s a war coming, and we need to leave before we get taken down by it.”

You stopped at his choice of words. Something was not adding up and you don’t like the path this was going.

“What do you mean we need to leave? Papa, we just can’t flee,” you said tensely. The look on your father’s face made your hands turn cold. You shook your head slowly at him.

“No… you can’t force all of us to go into hiding.”

“We have no other choice. We can’t let them get to us.”

“They won’t if we fight back! Why should we let them bully us into retreating?”

“Darling, you don’t understand—”

“Papa, we are the ones with abilities! If we want to, we can make anyone—”

“Stop. Don’t talk like that.”

Your voice died at the look your father gave you. Ever since you’ve been a child, there have only been a few emotions that you see in him that never fails to gut you. The first one is his immense grief for his lost wife, and the second, that hollowed look that sometimes clouds his eyes every time he looks at you. You don't have a name for it, but you've always known what it means.

It's the look of fear about the possibility of you turning out just like your mother… the very woman who wiped out almost all the previous Arcana masters after being driven mad by her own powers.

The pressing feeling in your chest as you looked back at the shadows on his face was overwhelming. This is a scared man, a haunted man, a man who had never forgiven himself for a minute after the tragedy of losing his wife to the Arcana. And yet after all that, the IL Matto had to choose you as its new master, as if The Fool itself was mocking him for claiming his own daughter as its new wielder. Sometimes, the thought alone makes you want to peel the skin off of your own bones, strip yourself down to the core until you are a nobody, just so that you wouldn't be a living torture for your own father.

"Listen to me. And I need you to really, really listen, my girl,” he continued, clutching your hand tightly. “The Arcana abilities cannot be released into the world. It wasn't granted to us so that we can use it against humanity. If we start doing so, or if we fall in the wrong hands, everything would be ruined. Normal people are not ready for us—that's one thing you should understand."

Your head was spinning and his nails dug on the skin of your palms but barely even noticed his iron hold on you.

"Where have you been? Why did you leave?"

Your father's eyes flickered before looking away. For a second, it looked like he wasn't planning on even answering your question.

"I came to look for an old friend. I am not so sure how I can reach him since he had cut his ties with me a long time ago, so I tried to seek him out. I didn't realize I was being followed before I could even get to him."

Something about his explanation didn't sit right with you. If there's one thing you know about your father, it's how he acts when he is trying to protect someone. Right now, he is doing the same for the person he is talking about.

"Who is he and why is he so important that you risked leaving the safety of Rosewood?"

He didn't answer. That, however, was enough of a giveaway for you to piece things together. There were a lot of things about your father's life that you don't know, but logic was enough for you to arrive at a conclusion.

"Is it IL Mondo? The last of the Triad?"

A fleeting emotion that looked akin to pain flashed through his face. You know next to nothing about the last Arcana master completing the Triad. Just like you and your father's identities being hidden to the wider network of the bloodline, IL Mondo's face and name has also been shrouded in mystery. However, it is a well-known fact among the family that the person had long since burned its connections with the Arcana circle, the same time the great fallout caused by your mother happened. You knew, because even their face and record were burned off the Arcana Archives that only current masters have access to.

"We need to get to him before our enemies do. Each Master is important, but it's the three of us who need to run away the most. If they get to any of us, the other Arcana powers can be controlled, even by mundanes."

"Where is he then? Do you even know where to find him?"

Your father slowly let go of your hand. "Yes. He is in plain sight, but contacting him has been hard. When he left… he made it clear to me that he doesn't want to hear from me again. He is in a position where he can put as many walls between us as he wants."

You frowned. From the way he is describing him, you could only assume that he is talking about someone with power. Who could it be? A politician? A businessman?

"What's his name, papa?"

The look he gave you was sharp and pointed.

"You don't need to know who he is. Just as he shouldn't know anything about you being the new IL Matto."

You couldn't bring yourself to argue with that. You didn't have the chance anyway because before you could even say anything, he was reaching out for your hand again. He cradled it carefully this time, as if he was afraid he would break you.

And he almost did. With what he said next.

"Honey, I need you to do something for me..."

"I need you to marry Mark."

The way your heart almost physically stopped in your chest made you unable to immediately give a reaction. You didn't know how long you looked at your father until the shock and confusion of everything settled in.

"You're not serious, are you?"

The look of resignation he gave you made bile rise to the back of your throat. You have expected this day would come, but never in this frame or situation. All along, you've thought it was a silly little agreement, one you and Mark can easily both say no to.

"I have already talked to Junho about it. He will share everything to Mark and—"

"Papa, are you hearing yourself speak right now? You've talked to him but you have never asked me about this?! How about Mark? None of you are in the position to make this decision for us!"

You hated the way your voice rose. Standing up from your seat, you pulled your hand from your father's hold so you could put some distance between the two of you. All of a sudden, the room seems suffocating, the heat from your frustration climbing up to your temples. All the while, he simply looked at you with guilt that only made everything as worse as it is.

"This is the best way we can take care of the situation. I don't know how long I can protect you, love. The Lee family is the most powerful name in our circle. You'll be safest if you become a part of them. They have already sworn allegiance to you. A marriage would make that stronger."

"Oh for fuck's sake, cut the crap, Father," you blurted out, unable to control your words any further. The idea is preposterous, but you hate how he is treating you like a clueless child right now. He can phrase it however he wants, but he can never fool you. Never you.

"I know why you are selling me to that family. I've always known. You're scared of them, aren't you? You're scared of Junho turning his back on you for what mother did to his wife. That’s why you've always kept him close to you—so you could watch his every move. It's been part of your plan all along—I know because you always have one. Do you really think marrying me off to Mark will keep them from hurting me if they want to?"

The storm of emotions that flitted behind his eyes were a silent confirmation for what you’ve always known. He didn't dare deny it, knowing full well he can never hide anything from you. If there is anyone who could pick his brain apart, after all, it would be you.

"If you do the Blood Link when you marry, they can't hurt you without hurting their own son."

For the second time that night, you found yourself freezing on your spot. You’ve always known the logic behind your father’s plans, but not in a million years did you realize how deeply they ran. You've only read it once, but the Blood Link is an archaic practice that joins two Masters together in a lifelong union. It used to be a sacred practice, one that the older generations religiously followed to keep their abilities within their families. When the blood of an Arcana holder is joined with another, their life forces are intertwined to become one. The connection is unbreakable, that even death wouldn't be able to come between it.

"You're not… We are not going…" you whispered now as you still tried to process everything. The set of his lips made you take a step back, your hand holding on to the nearest chair you could reach.

"It's the best way to do it. If you marry Mark, you'll be safe forever. You'll have their protection, and they will also strengthen their bloodline if they have you. Junho gets as much here as you and I do. Do you really think Mark won't hurt you without this kind of arrangement? He is still a son of that family. He still lost his own mother because of yours."

The words beat inside of your head painfully as if your father screamed them. There were so many emotions coursing through you, but one thought made them all stop. Your father may be right about many possibilities, but you're also sure of one thing. Mark…

Will never betray you.

"He doesn't need to marry me for him to not hurt me," you said softly now as your gaze slowly met his. You saw the way he paused, not expecting your words. "I trust him."

You didn't wait for him to say anything before you turned around and walked towards the door. He didn't call out to you, even as your cold hand wrapped around the knob to pull it open. The moment you stepped out of the room though, your heart dropped to your stomach once again, this time for an entirely different reason.

Standing outside, their eyes quietly on you were Renjun and Haechan. Jaemin stood to the side, his face unreadable, but it was Jeno's silent gaze that made your breath stop.

******* "I've been looking for you."

You didn't immediately turn around at the sound of the new voice behind you. You were leaning against one of the low walls at the academy's rooftop, your eyes set on the fields that stretched beyond. You could see everything from this vantage point, from the fields you used to play on to the fringe of the forest with the ancient oak tree.

"Has your father talked to you already?" You asked without even moving from your spot. You waited for Mark to join you before finally glancing his way, the set of his lips obvious as he settled beside you. 

"They wanted us to get married as soon as possible."

"Were you surprised by it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The same reason you aren't. We knew this was coming. I just didn't expect it to be this soon."

You looked away again, your thoughts running a mile by the second. You came here to clear your head after everything that has happened, and yet you're not even close to a single answer to any of your questions. Mark was quiet beside you, his eyes also watching the sea of green beyond.

"What are we going to do, Mark?"

The question was rhetorical, so you weren't surprised at all when he didn't answer immediately. The hard truth is that the two of you could ask so many things, and yet nothing would still change the situation you're facing right now. Rosewood and the Arcana Famiglia are still in danger. Betrayals may happen—if they haven't yet. Your father wants to retreat and hide. And you still want to fight.

"Let's get married then."

His answer was so unexpected that your mind shut down for a second. Turning to him, you felt your heart start again in your chest when you saw the look on his face. It scared you, how his eyes met yours bravely.

"What?"

"I said… Let's get married," he repeated, his voice steady. It took you a few seconds to realize what it was about the way he was looking at you that was different. And then it hit you. Mark has always been careful around you, but right now, he has let go of the usual walls he puts up every time with you. The boy standing in front of you now was not afraid to show the extent of his feelings—feelings you've always known but have always avoided to acknowledge.

"Mark…"

"I like you," he said before you could even finish. He sounded so frustrated that you felt a part of you break just hearing his voice. "I always did. And I know you know it too."

"We can't do this…"

"Why are you so against this?"

"Because you're my best friend—"

"Fuck being best friends!" He blurted out, his voice rising so unexpectedly that you flinched. This was the first time he had ever raised his tone on you that it left you speechless and stunned. He ran his hand frustratedly through his hair now, looking at anywhere but you as if he was searching for something that can ground him again.

"I've tried, okay. I've tried so hard to just be your friend because I knew that's what you wanted. But I can't do this anymore. I love you. And if you can't feel the same way, then just tell me because I can't do another day of this anymore."

"Mark, I love you. But I can't marry you."

"Why? Tell me then. Give me a reason. Is it because of Jeno? Jaemin? The others?"

"It's not just that—"

"Then why?!"

"Because loving you can't make me unlove any of them, okay!" You finally shouted back, your voice cracking at the edges. You looked at him brokenly, tears just on the brink of spilling down your face.

"You think I didn't try? I did, Mark. Every day. All logic says to choose you. But I can't help it. I'm just as connected to them as I am to you. Do you really want to get into a marriage knowing that?"

He didn't answer. He simply looked at you, his broken silence gutting you even more than any reply he could have given.

"I can do anything for you. You know that," he finally said after a while. "I can accept anything you want me to."

"Can you kill me then?"

Your question made him stop. Your gaze on him didn't waver as you waited for his answer.

"What?"

"Can you kill me if you need to? I can go mad down the line, just like my mother did. Probably hurt people too, like she did. When that happens, can you kill me?"

The look of pain that flashed through him was palpable. He slowly shook his head and refused to look at you.

"You won't. Jaemin and Jeno, they won't let it happen. We won't let it happen."

"And if I lose any of them? What if the day comes when something changes and even they—or any of you—can't hold me back?"

"That's impossible—"

"Just answer the question, Mark," you gently cut him off this time. He paused, his jaw tightening.

"I can't. I won't do it."

"Even if my powers start to hurt people?"

"I don't care. I can't lose you."

The silence that followed was heavy. You simply looked at him, your gaze enough to tell him the things you wanted him to realize. He reflected your pain like a mirror, every bit of him as defeated as you felt.

"That's why we can't be together, Mark. You'll make the world burn for the people you love…" you finally said softly. The guilt that shot through him was immense, but he didn't say anything to deny what you just said. Slowly, you reached for his face, your palm cradling his cheek. It pains you to see him hurting, and you tried to chase it away by running your thumb gently over the corner of his eye.

"I'm so sorry…" you whispered. "I love you. But the moment I marry you is the moment I start to lose you. I can't afford it, Mark.

"Everyone, but you."

******* "Has anyone seen Mark-hyung? He's not in his room," Chenle asked as he slipped on the bench at their dinner table. The cafeteria was noisy with some of the students enjoying their meals before curfew, but their spot seemed more quiet today than usual.

"Maybe he's still with his dad," Renjun offered, though he didn't seem that convinced by his own answer himself. He peered surreptitiously at Jeno beside him then before exchanging a meaningful glance with Jaemin one seat down.

"I don't know where noona is too…" Jisung said hesitantly, his eyes moving from one boy to the next. He looked like he wanted to ask more, but the subdued tension clinging to their small group told him it would be better to not push it.

It would be an understatement to say that the rest of the afternoon had been strange. After the Tourney, each of them were called to the Headmaster's office to "catch up." The meetings were quick and nothing else was disclosed, but they have been told that certain changes might happen in the Academy soon. As vague as it is, that was enough of a sign to tell them that something odd is up. Because if there is anything that doesn’t happen much in Rosewood, it’s change. The Academy prioritizes tradition over anything else, because that’s how it keeps order to the whole Family. 

"My mom called me earlier. She said she's going to come visit next week," Haechan said carefully as he moved his food around with his fork. Slowly, he looked at the others, expecting for their reaction. Renjun finally sighed and leaned back on his seat.

"Mine too. They said we're coming back to China for a bit."

Chenle frowned. "Now? In the middle of the school year?"

Jaemin finally broke his silence. "Something must have happened. Whatever it is, it's big. My family reached out to me too and wanted me to come back as soon as possible."

"Which doesn't make any sense," Renjun said as he leaned over the table. "We were sent here in the first place for our protection. Rosewood is supposed to be a safe haven for all of those with the Arcana bloodline, especially the Masters. The Academy literally has borders that shield us from the outside world. Why would they want us to leave?"

"Because this is also the only place where the Arcana powers are concentrated," Jeno finally spoke, his eyes still set on his untouched plate. Everyone looked at him slowly in silent shock. "If someone wants to get to them, Rosewood is the perfect place to raid."

Haechan paled as the words sunk in. "You think someone…"

"Has definitely betrayed our existence to the outside world," Jaemin finished his sentence, his face grim. "They want us to leave. Probably go into hiding. We'll be harder to track if we're scattered across the world."

Everyone fell silent for a moment. For centuries, Rosewood has always stood as a symbol of safety and sanctuary for everyone with the Arcana bloodline, Master or not. There was no shortage of wars won and lost in the history of the family, but the Academy has always been there at the center of it all. Leaving it is like cutting off the umbilical cord that sustains the life force of something ancient.

"What's going to happen now?" Jisung asked, his voice worried. None of his older brothers immediately replied, probably fearing the answers themselves.

"We still need to know the full story of it, but for now…" Renjun paused as he looked at each of the strained expressions of his friends.

"I think we need to get ready to fight."

******* "The preparations are all done, sir."

Kun kept his tone low as he addressed the man staring out the darkened view from his office window. At first he thought the Headmaster didn't hear him, but then he slowly turned to give him a tight smile after. Even under the dim lighting of the room, he could still make out the strain of past events clinging into the other's face like ghastly shadows.

"Thank you so much, Kun. Please tell the rest of your family that we owe them a lot for lending us your fortress."

He bit back the words that wanted to leave him by bowing his head slightly in respect. The truth is that just like the others, he was given little to no context about the current situation. However, it also didn't take that much for him to come up with his own guesses when the Headmaster asked for his help in sourcing a safe space for his daughter. The man called it a 'backup plan’... but all warning signs point to it being an 'exit route' instead.

"It's the least we can do. Our family is always loyal to the Arcana."

His words made a shadow of an unknown emotion ghost through the other’s face. For a slip of a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, before he bit his words back and looked away. Slowly, the man lowered himself back to his seat, a look of contemplation on him. Kun remained silent, waiting for him to voice out his thoughts.

"How deep does your loyalty run, son?"

Kun wasn’t expecting the question at all. He was still trying to scramble for an answer when the other met his gaze head on, the look sending needles down his spine. The Headmaster has always been a kind man, but as the master of IL Giudizio, he still holds one of the most significant positions in the Arcana circle. He could intimidate anyone with his presence alone if he wanted to, especially a Legacy—a powerless member of the family—like him.

"I am ready to give my life to the family, should the Arcana ask for it, sir," he finally managed to answer. The man kept his gaze on him, thinking more, before finally clasping his hands together.

"We have been compromised, my boy. Someone has betrayed the family and told the humans about the existence of the Arcana powers. I don't think we'll have much time until everyone in the bloodline, Master or not, gets hunted down and wiped out."

Kun paled as he processed those words. So many questions started springing in his head, the confusion only made worse by the twisting nausea and fear that shot through him. The Headmaster continued, his eyes dark even with the reflection of the flickering flame in front of him.

"No mundane should have their hands on any of the major powers. When that happens, humanity will be damned. There will be no one who will win this war."

"What should we do?"

The other paused for a moment. The silence slowly gnawed at Kun's insides as he realized the gravity of the situation even more. If the gatekeeper of the Arcana himself is in doubt, then who else can solve this?

"We should keep the secret safe with us. All of us," the Headmaster finally said. "We need to try our best to protect our legacy."

"By running away?" He asked with a slight frown. The man's eyes flickered, as if his question reminded him of something else.

"Not all wars should be fought with force."

No other sound pierced the room for a while. Kun had so many thoughts he was trying to sift through, one as heavy as the next. His mind was rejecting the idea, but even his denial cannot cover the reality of the situation. The fabric of the Arcana is unraveling fast... and nobody is safe. 

"Kun, I need you to take care of my daughter."

He was so deep into his head that the Headmaster's next words sent him into a silenced shock. He looked at the other, unbelieving of what he just heard.

"What do you mean—"

"We're going into a war. We will be losing people along the way, that I can be sure of. I need someone to look after her. A circle of people she can trust no matter what happens."

"Sir, I'm sure you will be the best person to do this over anyone else. You have protected not only her but the whole family for decades."

He was about to say more when the expression on the other’s face stopped him. The look of resignation there was gutting. 

"The truth is, I don't know how much time I have left," the Headmaster said, his voice calm. "I can feel it… Something is going to happen. And I know there is only so much I can do about it."

The fortress… the calls to the biggest family names in the bloodline.

He was right. The man was setting up his last elaborate plan. 

"You've proven yourself trustworthy since you swore your service to us. I would feel most assured if you take over as her guardian in case something happens to me. Would you do it, Kun? Can you promise your loyalty to her?"

It took him a while to finally manage a reply. He has always been a close ally to the Masters, but even as he was inducted to the inner circle, there are still times when Kun questions his worthiness as a member of it. Living beside the holders of the Arcana while lacking any abilities himself is a constant battle. Except for his bloodline, he is pretty much a regular human.

How can a powerless person like him even protect one of the Triads?

"Power comes in many forms, son. Yours is different… Maybe even stronger than any ability. An honest heart, I believe, trumps out everything else. My daughter will need it more than anything soon enough."

Kun paused as he let that sink in. He wondered if he had accidentally spoken his worries out loud, but the Headmaster's prying eyes alone told him that he didn't need to hear anything to see through him. In that moment, a certain determination settled in him, eating up any self-doubts that have been trying to pull him under. Steadily, he held the other’s gaze before giving a slight bow of his head.

"I promise to take care of her, Sir… I will do my best to keep her safe."

He couldn't see the man's face with his head down, but he could clearly feel his thankful and approving gaze on him. 

"Thank you. I feel more comfortable knowing this. Don't worry, you won't do it alone."

Before he could even ask what that means, a soft knock made the two of them turn towards the door. Kun watched as it opened, ushering a number of people inside.

Behind him, the Headmaster stood up from his seat again. The newcomers each gave him their quiet greeting as he stepped to the middle of the room to face them.

"I think we have everyone we need here,” he started, his gaze touching each of the faces there. The room was silent and charged but there was a certain stillness and determination clinging in the air that made Kun's skin prickle. In that particular moment, he knew he was witnessing something that will go down in Arcana history. 

“I know that I'm probably asking for too much, but I want to thank all of you for responding to my call. As you may have already guessed, something unexpected has happened. It's been decades, if not centuries, since something has challenged the sanctity of the Arcana, but it is happening now, and we need to fight the best way that we can against it. We still do not know who our enemies are, but they are out there, and I know they will strike soon enough."

"We are now on the brink of war. All of us here, including the Masters and other Legacies not with us, have to come together to win this. I called for you because I know you can help move the important pieces in this game. I know this is going to be an elaborate battle, and each of us will take part in it differently, but I want to take this chance to appeal for your loyalty."

No words were needed to understand the collective response of the small group. Still, a young man with reddish brown hair answered for the sake of everyone.

"You have our word, Sir."

The Headmaster took that as the confirmation he needed. Clasping his hands behind his back, he addressed everyone again with equal power and respect in his tone.

"Thank you. Allow me to say your names, so that the Arcana source above and below us knows that you've sworn yourselves to the fight."

"Suh, Johnny, La Giustizia, Master of The Justice."

"Lee, Chittaphon, IL Carro, Master of The Chariot."

"Kim, Mijeong, La Forza, Master of The Strength."

"Jung, Jaehyun, La Torre, Master of The Tower."

"Nakamoto, Yuta, L' Appeso, Master of The Hanged Man."

"Moon Taeil, L'Eremita, Master of The Hermit."

"And Qian Kun and Lee Taeyong, first sons of the Qian and Lees. The Ace of Shield and Ace of Sword."

"I’m putting my trust in all of you."

*******

A/N: Yeah... an update. Who would have thought, right?

NEW Taglist: @effulgentfireflies, @kasperneo, @lostlovesoul11,  @byunniebaekhyunnie, @smolpeyy, , @dearj43, @bettyschwallocksyee, @babyksworld,  @yongboksfreckles,  @user103843, @lovehowdream, @glitching-wren, @jhornytrash, @coconuttiez8d, @negincho​, @stopeatread​, @ellatizw​, @huangberryyy​

[mamaspidershit]

THE WIDOW AND THE BOY

BY: sarcasticpinapple

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30398256/chapters/74943624

TW: graphic depictions of violence, blood and injury, nightmares

Natasha Romanoff is on the run after Captain America: Civil War, with Secretary Thaddeus Ross close on her tail. Back in Queens, she happens to run into none other than Peter Parker, the slightly annoying spider kid in spandex that Tony found on the internet somehow.

MY THOUGHTS:

I love, love, love this fanfic. It's one of my personal favorites, and I could read this a thousand times over and never get tired of it. Perfect grammar and punctuation, amazing formatting, and a smooth, consistent plot that's both in-character and makes me laugh out loud and empathize with the characters. They do an absolutely stellar job with the character's voice, and I could fully immerse myself into Nat's train of thought. If you want a lighter fic that's both realistic and kind of crack-ish at moments, this is definitely the fic for you!!

SECOND CHANCES DON’T COME EASY

BY: Watch_as_the_rain_fell

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30763790/chapters/75932426

TW: neglect? Slight emotional abuse (but it’s more implied than shown)

Natasha knows Tony was left by all of them. Let down by his entire team, including her, and she wanted to fix it in someway. What she didn't expect to find when she went to the tower was Spider-Man, much less him acting very differently to how she expected, less bubbly. What she really didn't expect was to care for the man without even knowing who he actually was.

She knew she had a long way to go to gain the trust of the two men, knew she'd made mistakes, but hadn't all of them? This whole mess had blown up quicker than any of them could have anticipated and their family was torn apart. Natasha knew that fixing her family was going to be hard but maybe Natasha wouldn't have to fix it alone.

My Thoughts:

I enjoyed this fanfic a lot, and this is honestly one of my first introductions to mama spider as a concept but it is firmly team Ironman (which I’m very anti-tony) but it’s still a great read, well-made but very angsty not going to lie. Grammar and spelling are really good, along with plot and storyline and it has proper formatting!!

DON'T HIDE THAT

BY: TheAsexualOfSpades

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27465043

TW: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Blood/Injury.

Spider strength is both a blessing and a curse.

Peter can hold this building up long enough for the others to get the people out. He can do so he has to do it. He grits his teeth inside the mask until the air squeaks out and still he clenches. Peter knows he’s not supposed to clench his jaw this hard, it fucks up his neck and his shoulders and his whole system, but he has to hold this building up.

My Thoughts:

Adorable and very hurt/comfort-y (which is my JAM) for those of you who prefer completed fics this is a wonderful option!!! Not a lot of overt mama spider (it's more in the background) but it's still great!

DIRTY WORK

BY: MiracleLiho

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39521496/chapters/98922948

TW: child abuse, blood/injury, panic attacks

"And maybe teenagers are like that, maybe that is what they do. She wouldn’t know.

But it all seems so wrong."

or

Natasha Romanov watches, Peter Parker is seen, and help is given. Tony is there as well, he's trying his best.

My Thoughts:

oh, my, GOD!!! IT'S SO GOOD!!! NATASHA CHARACTERIZATION IS THE KIND I S T R I V E TO WRITE AND THE FORMATTING AND EVERYTHING IT'S JUST *mwah * perfect chefs kiss beautiful

That's all for now, but go over and comment someone nice things because I n e e d more of this shit.

love you all! Stay safe and drink water ❤️

[battlinghurricanes]

Yeah! Sorry, I was just being snippy and hyperbolic in the tags so they come across more coarse than I really mean; I'll try to elaborate. I didn't mean that I don't like it when people enjoy Saphira- please do! No skin off my back. I meant when people suggest everyone else should feel the same way. Like in the poll you said you hoped no one would vote for her, and some people in the replies were threating however did. I know it's just exaggerating crudely for humor the same way I did in the tags, so I really don't take it seriously, it's no crime. It just implies something I notice often, which is that people act shocked or outraged at the idea of someone not adoring Saphira. Which can be tiring to me sometimes because I find her particularly uninteresting as a character.

I do actually like Saphira; I don't hate her, but I don't love her either. And it's because she doesn't have a character arc. You yourself bring up that she "never did something really wrong," and I completely agree. Which isn't to say you shouldn't like that aspect, you totally can, I just think it plays a big role in her underdevelopment. Which is a shame because the premise of her character is so strong, the potential for a character arc is overflowing!

Like if her vanity was challenged and she makes mistakes that prove she's not perfect, forcing her to face uncertainty and determine a way to make sure she's making the right choices beyond just instinct. If she realized she's not actually immune to the trauma of violence and struggles with the war as it esccalates. If she had difficulty fighting with Thorn because of empathy and her hope for the future of dragons, either holding back or lashing out against him as her emotions get the better of him. If her young age had more bearing, giving her difficulties with training and teaching her the benefit of relying on and learning from the strengths of others. If she was more effected by only growing up with humans and not dragons, feeling insecure in her own identity and striving to discover her confidence. If she resented how so many people consider her life only for it's usefulness in their war, wanting more for herself than that.

But none of that is included. She doesn't make mistakes, isn't challenged, and doesn't change in any meaningful ways throughout the books. The closest we get is when she pursues Glaedr to the point they fight, but we don't actually see her apology and it's never even mentioned. Saphira's only flaw that's really acknowledged, vanity, has basically no consequence in her story. That wasted potential is such a mark against the quality of writing in the series that it unfortunately sours my personal opinion of her character.

And I say none of that to try to convince anyone to not love Saphira! It's just to explain how I feel about her, like you asked for. When people enjoy loving any character, I'm glad for it! I'm not condemning that- belive me, I don't mind that she has fans. I noticed someone else's tags about this and I want to add that I don't feel like my opinion is "superior", because character arcs (or lack thereof) don't have to be a deciding factor in someone's opinion of a character. It is for me personally, but that's just down to preference and I respect that. You said there are valid reasons to love her and that's absolutely true, I'm not stepping on that. But there are just as valid reasons for me to find fault with her. (When I mentioned I wanted to be contrary, I was refering to solely the poll, and the implication that picking Saphira was somehow less acceptable than anyone else.)

I admit my tags weren't phrased super tactfully lol, but it was just expressing my annoyance with frequent jokes in the vein of "If you don't like Saphira, you're wrong." Because I find the insistance that everyone ought to adore her and threatening anyone who might disagree with that tiring and kinda silly.

Hopefully that clarifies what I was getting at! And I hope there's no hard feelings, I'm just used to being overdramatic in the tags and I didn't mean it to be taken too seriously.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[sokkastyles]

Abused kids are often not aware of or have trouble regulating their own emotions but tend to, conversely, be hyper aware of and tapped into the emotions of others. This is a survival mechanism in people who grow up with an abusive parent, because any sudden changes in the mood of the parent could indicate danger. See the scenes of Zuko when he is with Ozai, particularly in "The Awakening" and in the flashback to the war meeting in "The Phoenix King," when Zuko carefully measures his responses to his father's praise, because even accepting praise is dangerous and could be a trap.

Although Zuko is often oblivious in social interactions, he actually shows a pretty keen insight when it comes to mediating and understanding what the others need once he joins the gaang. He figures out that the loss of his firebending is connected to his change of coat, he helps Aang overcome his fear of fire at the same time he overcomes his own mental blocks with regard to his element, and he realizes that Sokka will go on a foolhardy mission to rescue his father no matter how much Zuko warns him that it's dangerous, so he resolves to go with him. Particularly in "The Southern Raiders" he pretty astutely figures out that the source of Katara's anger was her unresolved feelings about her mother's murder, and knew how to help her. He also shows keen insight into what Katara needs. Aang, though he means well, responds to Katara with moralizing that just makes her angrier and more determined to go her own way. Zuko offers her the means and lets her lead the way, and defends her to Aang after Katara had made it clear she did not agree with Aang. Zuko, in fact, gets angry at Aang on Katara's behalf, and interestingly, Katara, the person who regularly told off anyone who ever said a bad word to Aang and who, a few episodes ago, threatened to kill Zuko himself if he ever hurt Aang, says nothing in response to Zuko’s sarcastic words to Aang, only thanks Aang for understanding in a tone that implies that she doesn’t think Aang understands at all.

Zuko also seems to be aware of the tension between Katara and Aang at the end of the episode, as he purposefully leaves Katara on Ember Island and goes to speak to Aang himself about what happened when they confronted Yon Rha. This implies not only that Zuko knew Katara needed space to process her feelings, but that he knew that Aang and Katara would need time away from each other after the angry way they parted, and it also implies that Zuko wanted to explain Katara's perspective to Aang, fearing that Aang would misunderstand. Aang actually misunderstands anyway, wrongly assuming that Katara had forgiven Yon Rha, and Katara angrily tells him that she will never forgive her mother's murderer, but does forgive Zuko.

Zuko tells Aang that he was right about Katara, although that is contradicted by what Katara just said and the events of the episode. I know some people theorize that this was a result of a lack of unity in the writing, but I also don't think it's out of character for Zuko to say this, even though he also ultimately disagrees with Aang's stance on violence. Zuko is again playing a mediator role and playing both sides a bit, because the episode positions him between Aang and Katara, but he also leaves Aang with a challenge to his moral absolutism.

So I don't think it's a stretch to assume that in the very next episode, Zuko was also picking up on some tension between Aang and Katara when he sat between them. I'm not sure he knows about Aang's romantic feelings for Katara - although he would when he hears his actor on stage call Katara "the Avatar's girl" and sees Aang nod. But he does seem to pick up on Aang's irritation being about more than just a taken seat, as he responds with unprompted anger. Zuko also takes note of Aang’s increasing anger throughout the play, with a concerned expression on his face. 

Remember what I said about abused kids being hypersensitive to the changing moods of others? It might be that, or Zuko might be feeling anxious about his role in the play and feeling like he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, or it might be that Zuko is hyper aware of the conflict between Katara and Aang carried over from the last episode to this one.

Actually, this shot is particularly interesting because the rest of the gaang is laughing at the portrayal of Toph, including Katara, until Toph shows that she’s pleased by the play’s portrayal of her. Then we see Katara frown, her attention shifting to Aang. 

Katara is unhappy that her attempt to get even with Toph backfired, then when she notices Aang as the camera pans to her left, she looks even more unhappy. Then we see the shot above of Zuko looking at Aang with clear concern over the situation. I’m pretty sure that Zuko is aware that something is going on between Katara and Aang at this point. Especially since Aang’s anger at being played by a girl (which is made worse by Toph’s happiness at being played by a boy) is linked to his insecurity about his relationship with Katara, and the play keeps making jokes about it, meant for us to feel sorry for Aang for being put in the “little brother” zone.

I think Zuko was generally anxious going into the play. You can see when they walk in that he has his hood pulled up, to hide his face, because he's aware there's a chance someone will recognize him. So even before the play starts, with its incriminating and humiliating portrayal of him, he is probably already on alert and wants to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Aang's outburst is the kind of thing that would draw attention, and Zuko tries to minimize the attention by insisting that Aang just sit next to him. Zuko also reacts with defensive anger, as he is wont to do when he is anxious or upset, which of course would have the opposite effect from drawing attention away from them. But Aang acquiesces in frustration, and Katara, interestingly, notices the dispute, but just like when Zuko defended her to Aang in "The Southern Raiders," says nothing. Katara also is facing away, fidgety, and looks unhappy while the confrontation is going on. This is also consistent with (and probably contributed to) the way Katara reacts to Aang’s pushiness and accusations later on.

Zuko spends much of the back part of season three physically close to Katara, which is a visual way for the animators to show how close they have grown. It’s not necessarily an indication of romantic Zutara, although there is nothing wrong with interpreting it that way, and I find it hilarious how threatened some people are by shippers gushing over the idea that he wanted to sit next to her, particularly in this episode because this episode actually intentionally plays up the “love triangle” for the purposes of getting the audience to sympathize with Aang and root for him to “get the girl.” Regardless of whether we interpret it in a romantic context, I think it is a good indication of how Zuko feels about Katara once he has gotten her forgiveness. Given Zuko’s social ineptitude, it would make sense that he would be likely to want to stick close to the people he felt closest to, especially in situations where he is surrounded by potentially hostile strangers. Witness his behavior in “The Beach,” where he spent most of the time awkwardly glued to Mai’s side and it was when he was separated from Mai at the party that he ran into trouble with the other partygoers, who make fun of him. That might explain why Zuko, although he comes from the opposite direction when they enter the theater as everyone else does, walks all the way down the end of the aisle to sit next to Katara. 

It might also explain why he wants to sit in between Katara and Aang, as these are the two people who he now feels closest to. It also is very likely that he is subconsciously picking up on the tension between Katara and Aang, which comes to a head later in this very episode. It’s worth noting that Zuko is often positioned physically between Katara and Aang throughout this episode, which is meant to communicate to the audience Aang’s anxiety over Katara not returning his feelings (and Zuko plays an indirect part in that, or at least, his stage actor does).

Zuko is also positioned narratively between Aang and Katara as a mediator and comfort to Katara after her fight with Aang in the very next episode, “The Phoenix King,” in which Zuko tells Katara to let Aang figure things out for himself when he runs away after yelling at Katara.

So no, I don’t think the deliberate positioning of Zuko in between Aang and Katara is a coincidence, nor is it “lol Zuko is clueless!” I’m actually very tired of seeing people talk about how clueless Zuko is, especially since a lot of his reactions come from trauma. Even if Zuko didn’t pick up on Aang’s romantic feelings towards Katara he very obviously picks up on and reacts to and interacts with the dynamic between them. And it’s very telling that certain fans will complain about the “infantilization” of Zuko when it’s traits that make him seem sympathetic, but then talk about a traumatized abuse survivor as if they’re completely incompetent.

[peachymilkandcream]

Ok what about a oneshot or headcannon about post -war Levi x Evelyn where Levi is in a wheelchair and Evelyn is taking care of him✨

Evelyn Taking Care Of Injured Levi Headcanons

(A/N: Hi hi! I went with headcanons because we have so many oneshots and honestly headcanons are a lot of fun to write! I'm cranking these out because I'm going to be going on a trip shortly and I want to finish writing Kingdom of Ash and Greed before I leave. This is going to have lots of toxic masculinity insecurity from Levi and I'm here for it. Hope you enjoy and thank you for the request!)

WARNINGS: implied noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, graphic depictions of violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

===============================================

Levi would be super embarrassed about the fact that he was confined to a wheelchair. He was humanity's strongest soldier and now he was stuck here with bandages all over him. It was a sign of weakness over his stubborn and pregnant wife.

The fact he can't help as much as he wanted with the pregnancy drives him insane, he should be doing everything for her and now she was taking care of him? The man of the house? Ridiculous.

Evelyn was under the belief that she needed Levi for the sake of her unborn child. So she jumped right in and took care of him. Doing whatever it took to keep him well but never suggesting anything that would cost him his dignity.

She’s wheel him around the house wherever she went so that he didn’t feel lonely, realizing he liked to just sit and be with her most of the time. He honestly just wanted to be by her side.

Every day she’d take him on walks, bringing him as far as she could without getting dizzy and tired due to her ever swelling body. Eventually he would order they stopped so as not to trigger an early labor.

When they did go she’d either sit on his lap or bring a blanket and help him to lay down on it. They’d spend hours looking at the sky and talking about the future.

Bathing him and washing his hair was arguably the best part about being injured. Being a clean freak his personal hygiene is taken seriously and long soaks in the bath did wonders on his healing knee.

Levi’s barber was dead now due to an untimely run in with tainted wine, so Evelyn learned how to cut his hair and shave him since he had to get used to shaving with the other hand. Eventually once he healed he still let her do it because it was very intimate to him.

She changed his bandages regularly, taking care to remove his face stitches too when then time came. Everything was kind of moving through the motions to keep him alive and well.

Sex was her riding him at first and then it changing to gentle thrusts while spooning him due to her pregnancy. He was much more caring and attentive, but this time she always cleaned up.

Once he was healed enough immediately he started physical therapy and looking for someone to replace his fingers. With enough money you could get anything including metallic fingers that functioned well enough to his flesh ones.

During physio Evelyn helped him walk the whole time, holding onto him tightly as he did for her when her legs went bad in the underground.

After time he could walk with a brace over his knee made of steel and leather with a limp. He can without it but he’s faster with it on and can even run short distances with the extra support.

Ok this was really sweet to write 🥲

[kurlyfrasier]

First Encounter (The Holonet Reporter, Part 1)

You might wanna read The Holonet Reporter One-Shot before reading this, but it’s not necessary.

Synopsis: A holonet reporter finds trouble at an underground massif fight where she meets the Silver Mandalorian for the first time.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!OC (platonic)

Warnings: Threats, mild violence, implied child labor/slavery. Grogu is only mentioned, sorry folks. AU where there are holonet reporters

A/N: This takes place after TBOBF. Din has accepted his role as Mand’alore. We are pretending that there are reporters for the holonet, like we have newspaper reporters, ok? ok. We are also pretending the holonet newspaper can be read on datapads like you read books on a kindle or nook, ok? ok. I hope you ENJOY!

Word Count: 3135

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars/Mandalorian anything. OC is my own.

Mando’a Words:

- Mand’alor (MAHN-dah-lor): Leader of Mandalorians

Pronunciations found here.

Din Djarin stood frozen in the shadows. He was clearly tired, exhausted really, to be seeing her. It had to be a trick of the mind. Maybe the Force? A concussion, most likely. But there was no way that the woman on the other side of the market, haggling for the saddest looking beat-up blaster he had ever seen, was his mother.

For one, she couldn’t have been any older than he last remembered seeing her, if not around the same age. For another, she seemed a few inches too short. Then again, he had grown over the years. Maybe she was a clone? 

He shook his head.

Impossible.

“Oh great Mand'alor,” a hand smacked down hard on his pauldron, roughly shaking him to his senses. His eyes never left the woman across the bazaar.

“Who’s that,” he stated, knowing if any of his friends knew, Cara would. She always kept up with who was who and what was what. It came in handy during formal political galas. He always knew who was coming, thanks to her.

“Who- Oh,” he could hear her smile as she leaned on him as if he were a shelf, elbow resting on his shoulder. “That’s Dinna. A holonet reporter. The holonet reporter, actually.”

“The?” he asked, tilting his head in question. Ah, so not the force or a trick of the mind. A clone was still in the realm of possibilities though. He would’ve turned to look at Cara, but she made that impossible at the moment.

“The one who’s written all the stories about you.”

“There’s stories of me on the holonet?”

At this, Cara leans away, faux shock and hurt crossing over her features. “You really don’t listen to me when I talk, do you?” She shook her head. “My, my, how things have changed since you’ve become all high and mighty as-”

Din shoved her - hard - making her bark out a laugh as he turned back towards his small cruiser. The one that now held at least a dozen shaking, frightened kids he and a small team of his best Fighters had rescued from a slave ring a parsec over. They stopped in Navarro to resupply and refuel. Plus, he had a gift from Grogu for his Aunt Cara.

“Wait,” Cara falls into step beside him. “You wanna read one of her articles? I have it right here on a datapad,” she sing-songs, waving it in front of him, not truly expecting him to grab it.

He snatched it out of her hand, shocking her to a standstill, but not long enough to get rid of her. Din inwardly sighed, wondering if this is what it was like to have a sister as he scrolled down to the author’s name. He didn’t care about the story, especially if it was about him. Couldn’t believe half of anything on the holonet, anyway.

Her name had Djarin stopping in his tracks as he stared down at the datapad in his hand.

Dinna Djarin.

Impossible.

In a rush, it all came crashing back. The memories- joy- peace- the night before his worst nightmares came true.

***

“Din,” his mother had said, a smile on her face as she was helping him get ready for bed. “What do you say to being a big brother?”

“Am I getting a brother?” He had asked, curious how that suddenly just happens. “Is he coming tomorrow?”

“Or a sister,” his mother chuckled as she led him toward his bed. “And not tomorrow, but many months from now.”

“That seems like a long time to wait,” he mumbled through a pout.

“Babies take time to grow inside mommies,” she patiently explained, before changing the subject to something she knew he would enjoy. “What would you name a brother or sister?” He was naming everything during that time. From a pet rock to each of his mother’s scarves.

Din’s face scrunched in concentration before answering matter-of-factly. “I would name a brother Traven and a sister Dinna.”

“And why do you pick those names?” She tucked him under the covers, but he was being difficult, trying to sit up, getting excited about the prospect of a brother or sister.

“Traven because it’s a cool name and Dinna because then everyone would know not to mess with her since her name is like mine!”

“Oh so you’d be protective of her, would you? What about Traven?”

“I’d teach him to take care of himself, just like daddy teaches me!”

***

“Mando?” Cara’s concerned voice had his head snapping up to meet her gaze.

He hesitated before taking long, quick strides as he absently returned her datapad back. Any residents in his way parted when they saw who was coming. “What do you know about her?” His voice came out shakier than he intended. Thank Manda for his modulator.

“Not much,” Cara shrugged, easily keeping pace, and Djarin knew he was basically going to get a full briefing. The lady was writing about her friend’s exploits. There was no way she didn’t know as much detail as possible about the reporter. “Works alone. Writes interesting stories while keeping them as true as she knows them. No criminal background of any sort. From Aq Vetina-”

Djarin spun on her, tense, facing her as if she were the enemy.

“How-” he cleared his throat, attempting nonchalance and failing if the look Cara was giving him was anything to go by. “How common is her name,” it was a demand from a king, not a question from a friend. 

She didn’t even flinch. “I know I’ve never met anybody with that name- Dinna. Sounds like a kid named her,” she chuffed out. A sad attempt to lighten the tension surrounding their little bubble. She continued after immediately realizing it was futile. “As for Duhjahren- well, I looked it up in the New Republic database and it’s not common.”

“The ‘D’ is silent.”

“The ‘D’ is-” her furrowed brows raised in shock. “You mean-” She grabbed his upper arm and dragged him into her office a few doors down. She stood silent after closing the door behind them. 

Djarin didn’t dare speak. He wasn’t sure he could.

“Are you telling me that you have a sister?” Cara whisper-hissed, as if saying it any louder would be blasphemy. 

Djarin stayed silent, mouth dry, throat suddenly clogged. Cara was now inches in front of him somehow, lips moving, forming words, but he couldn’t hear anything except the buzzing in his ears. It had been a long few days of fighting, then calming young foundlings, then figuring out if they had any family, then hyperspace on the lowest amount of fuel he’s ever dared fly on, just to get off that awful planet where no good memories were had for the children.

And now this.

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

Dinna Djarin eyed her new - well, new to her - blaster and smiled, holstering it. The Toydarian earlier in the day was a tough negotiator (as most are), but she felt she had gotten the small blaster pistol at a good price. 

Where she was headed, she would most likely need it.

Dinna wrapped her scarf around her head, keeping warm on this unusually chilly Nevarro night as she exited her ship. She looked around the landing bay, noticing a group of kids with Marshall Dune (someone she needed to talk to first thing tomorrow) sitting around a fire, eating and chasing each other. Their laughter reached her ears, making her smile. Around them stood a few Mandalorians looking as though they were waiting to be attacked. Dinna wondered if their Mand'alor was around. Yet, another person she wanted to interview, along with the Silver Mandalorian she had been furiously following the past few years.

With a sigh, hoping they’d all be there in the morning, she headed back through the now empty market. If what she heard in the cantina earlier in the day was true, then the underground massif fights would be in the sewers. The same sewers she had heard a covert of Mandalorians used to live in before their Mand'alor reclaimed their planet and surrounding moons. 

Dinna didn��t know exactly what she was hoping to find in the sewers. If she could make a story about these illegal fights or if she was wanting some clue on how to find the Silver Mandalorian. All she knew was that she was at a loss on where to go next and her boss wanted another story about the Silver Mandalorian, or better yet, the new Mand'alor. 

She stopped in front of a tattered curtain that revealed stairs leading to the sewers. She knew because she had found it earlier, not wanting to get lost in the dark of night. With a deep breath and a quick glance around to make sure nobody was following her, she slipped in, following the deafening sounds of betting shouts and massif growls.

Once there, she immediately weaved through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, close to the fight so she could take a few discreet holoshots to show the marshall in the morning and found an out-of-the-way corner to hide in. She may have bought a blaster, but that didn’t mean she was the greatest of shots. Honestly, she probably shot worse than a stormtrooper. It was more of a confidence booster than anything. Granted, with the trouble she always seemed to find, it would’ve been smart to practice every once in a while. She shoved that thought aside, thinking she’s lived this long so there probably wasn’t much to worry about.

Until a Devaronian bumped into her.

“Fragile human,” he growled, his pale, red face and thick, dark horns making him look like the devil himself. “What are you doing down here? And with nothin’ but a little blaster.”

“For the fights,” Dinna replied, standing tall, never one to back down even with all the odds against her and thinking she definitely should’ve practiced with her old blaster more. Or maybe even a knife. Some close combat skills would’ve been smart, now that she thought about it.

“Really? Maybe we should make them more interesting,” he looked over his shoulder. “What d’ya say, boys?” Behind him was a Twi’lek who looked more gray than blue and a pale pig-faced Snivvian.

“What did ya have in mind, Boss?” The Twi’lek moved closer, eyeing Dinna, a knife twirling through his fingers. 

“Hmm… I was thinkin’ she could join the fight.”

“Good idea boss,” the Snivvian bobbed his head, arms stretching out to grab her.

“Now wait a second here,” Dinna stepped out of his reach, hitting the wall, eyes frantically searching for a way out. “I’m just here to place bets, just like everyone else.”

“I don’t think so, little human,” the Devaronian shook his head, towering above her. “I’m the one in charge here and I say you join the fight ‘cause I heard about you.”

“About me?” She squeaked, mind scrambling as she tried to keep her voice steady, shrinking into herself. “I’m nobody.”

“That’s not what I hear,” the Devaronian chuckled darkly. “I hear you're that nosy reporter who likes to make the galaxy a better place.”

“You’ve got the wrong-”

“Well the Outer Rim isn’t the Outer Rim for nothin’. We like it messy,” he shrugged. “And what’s messier than a human being ripped-”

“She said you’ve got the wrong person.”

All three spun on their heels, leaving Dinna in their shadows, hidden from sight. She wondered who just spared her a few more seconds of life.

“This ain’t your business, Mando,” the Devaronian spit out.

Mando? She wondered, slowly attempting to creep out of the corner.

“It is when she’s done you no harm.”

“I liked you Mandalorians better when you weren’t gallivanting about the galaxy, helping everyone in need.”

Now almost out from behind the thugs, about to make a run for the crowd, Dinna froze, unable to believe her eyes.

The Silver Mandalorian stood before them, looking bored, the low light reflecting off his armor making him look mystic. The Devaronian continued speaking nonsense until he suddenly wasn’t.

Dinna’s wide eyes followed the sound of a heavy thud to find the Devaronian body lying still. It took no time at all for the Twi’lek and Snivvian to make their move, both jumping the Mandalorian at the same time. He swiftly side-stepped them, effectively causing them to ram into each other, knocking themselves out. She searched the crowd to find they hadn’t noticed a thing. Perks of fighting in an already overly-loud, rambunctious place, she supposed.

“Follow me,” the modulated voice said while grabbing Dinna's wrist. Gently, but firmly, he guided her through the throng and out onto the still dark market street where he let go. 

Following his quick strides, Dinna’s reporter instincts kicked in.

“Can I ask you some questions?” She asked, voice filled with hope.

The soft thud of his boots on the ground and dark, flowing cape were her only answer.

Maybe he wanted her to show her appreciation first?

“Thanks, by the way,” Dinna started, hands speaking just as much as her mouth. “For, you know, saving my life. No way would I have been able to get out of that one.”

She was met with silence.

“I’m Dinna.”

Not even a head tilt or a sigh or any sort of recognition was shown that he heard her.

“Hey,” she jogged a few steps ahead of the Silver Mandalorian and stopped directly in his path, facing him.

It worked. He stopped. He stared. Or, at least, she thought he was staring. It was hard to tell through the darkened visor.

“I’m a reporter,” she paused. “For the Holonet.”

Silence.

“Well, if you don’t want me to interview you, then could I get an interview with the Mand'alor?”

He stiffened.

Ah, so he was listening.

“Would you mind asking him for me? Or her? My boss would love it if I actually got an article in on time,” Dinna rambled nervously before this silent man, hands gesticulating as she continued. “Not that he’s a mean guy or anything. I’ve just been having trouble- I write about you, actually! I’ve written about you killing the Krayt Dragon, helping out those villagers on Sorgan, about that guy Koresh. Apparently a lot of people hated that guy. How you helped Boba Fett. Granted, I didn’t actually get to talk to the man himself. He was offworld at the time. I’ve even ran into a couple of New Republic X-Wing pilots-”

“Sounds like you’re all caught up.”

“What? Not at all. I’ve been hearing rumors about you putting dents in the spice trade and freeing slaves,” she trailed off as he started moving again, stepping around her.

“Do you know Bo-Katan?” She asked, following after him, not realizing they were headed to the landing bay. “I’d like to ask her about pledging her fealty to the new Mand'alor. Although I suppose it’s been a few years since you all got your planet back…Still, I’m sure she remembers what she felt back then.”

Dinna thought she heard a short bark of laughter from him, causing her to stumble mid-step at the sound. It sounded oddly familiar, but she shook the thought away and continued her badgering, now realizing where they were headed as she looked beyond the Silver Mandalorian.

“Those kids…” she thought aloud.

“What about them,” the Silver Mandalorian stated. Dinna decided to take the chance given.

“I was just wondering if you helped save them?”

“This is the Way,” he replied, turning back towards the landing bay.

“Okay,” she drawled, not noticing her ship as they walked past. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Mind telling me how it went?”

Silence.

Dinna let out a long-suffering sigh. “Do any of the other Mandalorians with you talk as much as you?” 

Silence.

“A name!” She shouted, surprising the group they were now in front of. The food was all gone, but the fire was still going strong with kids chasing each other while the other Mandalorians and Marshall Dune stood guard. “Please, can I get your name? I am so tired of calling you the Silver Mandalorian in my articles.”

The entire camp stilled, including the children, and seemed to listen for his answer. 

“They do know your name, right?” Dinna leaned over to whisper at him after a few beats of silence, considering how intently they seemed to be waiting for his answer. She could feel the pins and needles in the air.

“Mando,” he finally replied and the camp relaxed, kids continued to play. “And yes, they know my name.”

“Mando?” She was incredulous and unsatisfied. “But everyone calls you Mando,” her arms raised in exasperation. “Even that Devaronian called you Mando.”

“A Devaronian,” Marshal Dune cut in. “That sounds interesting.”

Dinna was thankful that somebody was willing to talk to her. “Well, aside from the fact that he almost had one of his henchmen throw me in the massif fight, it was.” 

Marshal Dune balked, taking in Dinna’s small frame. Mando’s relaxed hands fisted, leather gloves creaking in that quiet moment.

“Mando saved me,” she unnecessarily pointed out. “Oh! I have holoshots of the fight to show you, Marshal Dune. And I can show you where it’s at-”

“I’ll show you in the morning,” Mando stated before settling his attention on Dinna. “You don’t need to go back there.”

“But I have to,” Dinna shot back. “The whole reason I was down there was to learn about the Mandalorian covert that used to live there.” Or possibly write a story on the illegal fight, but Dinna figured he would be more sympathetic if it was Mandalorian related.

The helmet stared her down, silent as a grave. Dinna looked around uncomfortably, hoping someone would jump in to help, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to their conversation except Marshal Dune, who was obviously siding with Mando as she stood by just as silent as the man standing between them. When she glanced back up at Mando, he was walking up the cruiser ramp.

“Hey,” she shouted after him, moving to follow. “Where are you-”

“You get used to it,” Marshall Dune stopped her with an outstretched arm.

“Oh,” Dinna’s shoulders slouched, suddenly feeling exhausted after…everything. Being threatened to be torn to shreds, meeting the very person she’s been writing about the past few years, having an actual conversation with him - well, sort of. It was late. He obviously didn’t want to talk and she was tired. “I’ll just…get some sleep then. Mind if I stop by your office in the morning to give you those holoshots?”

“Sure,” the marshal replied. “See you then.”

With one last look into the small cruiser, Dinna stepped away from the camp with hopes of speaking to Mando and Dune in the morning.

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

Mando’a Words:

- Mand’alor (MAHN-dah-lor): Leader of Mandalorians

Pronunciations found here.

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[witch-apologist]

I'll never get where people come from that somehow Catra hurting Adora when they are fighting in battle is abuse. Like kinda undermines Adora, she's fighting back, she's not helpless, they are pretty much equals, heck Adora has more power then Catra cuz you know She-Ra. Like come on, understand war violence and ACTUAL abusiveness.

^^^^^^^^ was catra emotionally toxic to adora before the reconciliation? Yes. But Adora was also emotionally toxic to Catra for many years. They had a codependent GC/SG dynamic those aren't going to be healthy while either of them are still under the influence of the abuser. And then after the portal they don't exactly see each other a lot until STC and when they do its in battle.

But funny enough even though these relationships are toxic and often codependent most trauma-informed therapists will ENCOURAGE reconciliation between a scapegoat and a golden child because whoa what? They understand and acknowledge that true blame for the toxicity lies in the abuser and if the the GC and SG can reconcile its a HUGE FUCKING HEALING STEP.

Also I've been in both sides of the GC/SG dynamic. I'm so fucking sick an tired of ppl acting like adora never did anything toxic to catra. She gaslighted catra, continued to seek praise from and idolize catras abuser, and didn't realize the horde was bad until seeing strangers get hurt, not yknow the years of watching Catra be abused. What was it Adora said when Catra complained that she's constantly looked over by Shadow Weaver? "You are kinda disrespectful" so yeah she literally somewhat blamed Catras abuse on her instead of Shadow Weaver. And what did she say to catra in that promise after seeing catra be abused "It doesn't matter what they do" and "Nothing really bad can happen" implying both that catras abuse doesn't matter and that its not really bad. Adoras not fucking infallible. And I say this as someone who LOVES adora who KINS adora for goddsake.

Also im so sick and tired of ppl using Shadow Weaver and the GC/SG dynamic to say they're siblings and therefore incestuous.

1: I'm a literal several time GC/SG survivor who goes to therapy. I have been GC/SG with someone who was not my sibling. Just because most of the readily available information on the dynamic is about siblings doesn't mean that non-sibling GC/SGs don't exist.

2: Orphans in an orphanage/child soldiers with the same commander are not fucking siblings. Imagine going up to a couple who met in an orphanage and calling them incest that is so fucking shitty. Nowhere in canon or in anything actually approved BY THE CREW are they refered to as or refer to themselves as siblings. And its super fucking disgusting and insensitive and disrespectful to ACTUAL INCEST SURVIVORS LIKE ME. To fucking insist that meeting your s/o in the orphanage you grew up in is incest.