#i’m surprised he didn’t incinerate the entire bar

[oooohno]

This is not an exaggeration, I’m crying like a baby :’). This is one of the most beautiful stories I’ve ever read!

"You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth.

Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don't say them."

This passage right here shifted something inside of me, I had to put my phone down for a second to gather my thoughts. It’s just this moment of pure intimate domesticity between them & it’s like you’re right there with reader when she comes to terms with her feelings & idk this is just the most perfect scene to me 🥺

TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage

wc: 14K+

Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.

You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.

Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?

It feels awfully lonely.

Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.

“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.

“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.

“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.

“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.

Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.

“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”

You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.

“It wouldn’t be a problem”.

Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.

But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.

After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.

You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.

Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.

Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.

Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.

But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.

Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.

You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.

There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.

The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.

When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.

His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.

As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.

Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”

Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.

Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.

“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.

You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.

Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.

The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.

“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.

“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.

“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.

Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”

“The day after, then”.

“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.

You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.

You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. “You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”

Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.

The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.

You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.

“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.

“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.

The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.

“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”

“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.

You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.

The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.

“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.

“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.

“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.

“But I don’t want you to”.

You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.

Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.

“Way to rub it in”.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.

The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”

“Thirty”.

You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”

“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.

“…Fine”.

Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.

The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.

It made sleeping difficult.

You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.

Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.

The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.

Things started to change.

A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.

You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.

Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.

shouto : 1 minute ago

There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.

You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob. 

Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it. 

shouto : just now 

ヾ(=^・ｪ・^)

Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline. 

you : delivered 

aren’t u supposed to be on patrol? 

The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever. 

shouto : just now

Divine intervention. We should get a cat. 

The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent. 

An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay. 

When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”. 

“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”

“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”. 

Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.

Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.  

shouto : 4 minutes ago

An older cat would be nice. 

shouto : just now

Should we order tonight? 

My treat. 

Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out. 

you : delivered 

it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง

The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be. 

“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change. 

you : read 

be safe ok? I’ll see you at home. 

When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours. 

Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense. 

You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility. 

Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch. 

Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend. 

Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this. 

Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon. 

You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds. 

Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers. 

You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers. 

Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings. 

When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote. 

You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat. 

Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area. 

You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body. 

There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple. 

“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second. 

The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table. 

That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece. 

Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come. 

The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click. 

You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep. 

That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out. 

Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse. 

After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way. 

Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour. 

The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway. 

Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?” 

You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white. 

“Did something happen?” 

The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief. 

He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”. 

“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”. 

He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide. 

You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words. 

“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”. 

“You blame yourself”. 

Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat. 

“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”. 

You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”. 

His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks. 

“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.

Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight. 

“You know what I think?” 

He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs. 

“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”. 

The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze. 

“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place. 

“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down. 

“What is it?” 

“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”. 

Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font. 

“Mug cake?” he repeats. 

“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!” 

“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours. 

“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?” 

Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together. 

Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”. 

You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle. 

“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.

He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”. 

You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?” 

Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing. 

“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”. 

You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle. 

Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in. 

You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?” 

“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”. 

“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”. 

“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”. 

The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better. 

“Did you hear me?”

You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”

“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”

“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”. 

Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling. 

“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”. 

“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?” 

The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout. 

A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped. 

“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”

“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”. 

You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote. 

“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?” 

“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.  

“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”. 

Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”. 

In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips. 

You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them. 

Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy. 

Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs. 

After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks. 

“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”. 

You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”. 

“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”. 

Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear. 

“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”. 

“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”. 

“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”. 

“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?” 

He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”. 

You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him. 

“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”. 

You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”. 

“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind. 

Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”. 

“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”. 

Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?” 

“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.

A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?” 

You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”. 

His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks. 

You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say. 

Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise. 

The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe. 

Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear. 

Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.  

“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. 

Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy. 

Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”. 

“Hm?”

“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”

Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away. 

When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow. 

Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie. 

“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”. 

The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray. 

“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?” 

It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”. 

“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness. 

He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”. 

“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at. 

Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur. 

Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite. 

“Are you not leaving for work?”

Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects. 

Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”. 

Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it. 

“There’s a secret ingredient”. 

You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”. 

Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks.  The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”. 

Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him. 

Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”. 

Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”

You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.  

Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself. 

“I’ll text you, then”. 

The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready. 

Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.  

You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.

The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere. 

People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in. 

Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing. 

You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses. 

Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music. 

“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”. 

Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright. 

“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”

You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view. 

You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless. 

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room. 

Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over. 

The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation. 

You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention. 

Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said  he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency. 

“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand. 

“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”. 

You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”. 

The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs. 

“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”

“Fuck do I look like to you?”

“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human. 

Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.

“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?” 

The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you. 

“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave. 

“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often. 

You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window. 

He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins. 

Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”

“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?” 

He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”. 

You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls. 

Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”. 

“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.

The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck. 

“Leech”. 

“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”. 

“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!” 

Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically. 

Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”

“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”. 

You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter. 

“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction. 

“Everything alright?” 

Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”. 

For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?” 

“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up. 

Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.

“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”. 

“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”. 

“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”. 

“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”. 

Shouto blanched. “I can help—”

“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”. 

The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had. 

“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest. 

Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin. 

You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in. 

Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last. 

“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”. 

Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth. 

Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?” 

Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”. 

Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement. 

“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans. 

“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug. 

“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”. 

“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air. 

“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it. 

Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”. 

“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”. 

“Oi!” 

“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass. 

The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers. 

You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing. 

Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.

Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”. 

Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown. 

Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp. 

Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”. 

“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”. 

He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”. 

Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”. 

“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”. 

“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper. 

“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”

Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness. 

Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water. 

“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip. 

Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?” 

He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”. 

Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips. 

Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”. 

“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!” 

The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is. 

You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving. 

“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?” 

A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches. 

He seems so… guilty. 

“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”. 

Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears. 

“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?” 

You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur. 

He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?” 

What you hear is: will you be patient with me? 

“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”

Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”. 

That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”. 

You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.  

“He did?” 

“Yes,” he says. 

“So where is it?” 

Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”. 

You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this. 

“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”. 

The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”. 

Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones. 

From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty. 

Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture. 

The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest. 

You lie in bed waiting for him to knock. 

He doesn’t. 

Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow. 

There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all. 

Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing. 

Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that— 

You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled. 

Holy shit. Shouto was jealous. 

A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation. 

Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto. 

“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed. 

You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door. 

Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this. 

The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen. 

Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other. 

“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver. 

You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”. 

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”. 

Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink. 

“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.

The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be. 

Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”

“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”

“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?” 

Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder. 

What had you been so afraid of? 

You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo. 

While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in. 

It felt like home. 

You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”. 

You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”. 

“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”. 

You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”. 

Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?” 

“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”. 

It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it. 

You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask,  “…Why?” 

A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”. 

You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take. 

Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”. 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”. 

“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.  

Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in. 

“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm. 

Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes. 

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”. 

Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity. 

Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead. 

“Again,” he mumbles. 

The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own. 

“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold. 

“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?” 

He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do. 

At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.  His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.

“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”. 

Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle. 

“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?” 

Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing. 

“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.  

It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home. 

You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders. 

“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?” 

[somnambulants]

omg i think it’s considered a little bit of a pride mont hate crime that you don’t have MORE nat fics 🥺 so hehehe how about i request some pouty jealous!nat?

Notes: omg thank u! happy pride 💛 this went super off topic BUT i hope you still like it! jealous!nat is my new favorite thing. 

Summary: Natasha may have a little bit of jealous streak. You discover you don’t mind. Word count: 3.8K

You are not a jealous person.

That’s not to say that you aren’t prone to bouts of insecurity, you definitely are, and especially at the beginning of your relationship with Natasha. For the first few months after you’d begun dating, you’d been on edge the entire time; in a constant state of wondering, agonising, for the day she’d finally realise you weren’t good enough for her and up and leave.

Through all of that, you’d never given a lot of thought to whether your girlfriend is the jealous type. Mostly because Natasha is the most beautiful person you’d ever seen but also because it’s not like she would ever have a reason to be jealous; the minute you’d met, you had never so much as wanted to look at another person.

The thought never crossed your mind. It was laughable to you.

As unbelievable of an idea as it is, you’ve been together for just a few months when it slowly begins to dawn on you that you may not be the jealous type, but Natasha most definitely is.

--

In all – although admittedly, there weren’t a lot – of her relationships, Natasha has never cared enough to worry about being jealous over a significant other. 

This is why the visceral reaction she has to watching people flirt with you comes as such a surprise to her.

The first time it happens, you’d only just begun dating and were at one of the many events the avengers were required to attend. Still wanting to stay as low-key as possible, you’d both privately agreed to not spend the night attached to one another. 

Something Natasha is now beginning to regret. Immensely.

Currently, you’re across the room, talking to a woman Natasha vaguely recognises as a reporter and all she can focus on is the way the woman is looking at you. 

It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up because Natasha knows that look; has given you that look many times over the course of your relationship – a hungry, I want you right now, kind of look.

“Nat!”

Steve suddenly materialises beside her and the fact that she didn’t see him coming is evidence of how distracted she is. It makes her scowl even harder. Taking in her expression, he all of a sudden looks like he’s trying not to laugh as he follows her gaze to where you were standing. “You feeling okay? You’re looking a little…green.”

She resists the urge to kick him in the stomach. “Bite me, Rogers.”

He snickers and starts to say something else, but whatever it is, it’s lost on her as the sound of your voice across the room acts as a honing beacon and regains her attention immediately.

She watches, grip tightening around her drink, as you throw your head back, laughing at some joke the woman must’ve made. Seeing this as a green light, the woman leans in, brushing a lone piece of hair over your shoulder. 

It doesn’t matter that Natasha can see how your spine immediately straightens up, or how you step back to widen the gap between you and your admirer.It doesn’t matter that you very clearly don’t return the attention being given to you. 

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters because all Natasha can see and feel is red. If she had the ability to burn people with her eyes, that woman would have been incinerated on the spot. There wouldn’t even be tiny little dust particles left behind.

In the midst of her rage, she doesn’t even register the glass in her hand shattering until she’s covered in glass and red wine and there’s blood running down her wrist.

The sound of the glass breaking makes a good portion of the room’s occupants turn around to stare, you included. Instantly, you’re at her side, cradling her hand between your own.

“What happened?”

In its current state, Natasha’s brain seems to be lacking its usual quick thinking, and she just stares at you dumbly for a second until she spots the reporter you’d been talking to skulking in the background, watching with a petulant look on her face, evidently irritated by the interruption and the white-hot rage comes flooding back even more ferocious than before.

God, that insipid woman is lucky this event was specified no weapons allowed because if Natasha had a gun right now, she --

“--Natasha?”

You’re looking at her with worry in your eyes and as much as she’d love to go ‘accidentally’ push that woman off the edge of this very tall building’s balcony to a very certain death, she feels her insides soften into mush as they often do when you’re around.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Accident.”

It’s a flimsy excuse and one that wouldn’t fly on a normal day, especially not with you. She watches you purse your lips, giving her a doubtful look but you seem to make the decision to let it go as you lead her out of the room with the intent to find something to clean her up with.

--

You may not be a trained spy or even the most perceptive person on your best day, but you can still sense it when something is up – especially with Natasha. After the party, you’d had an inkling that maybe your girlfriend wasn’t telling you the whole truth and that something else was actually going on but after seeing the look in her eye, you hadn’t pushed her.

In spite of her unwillingness to share, a few weeks later your inkling is confirmed.

“I’ll order this time,” you yell over the loud music at the bar you were currently at. It was not your scene at all – or Natasha’s but Carol had recommended it on her last trip back to this earth and after a long, long week, you’d both agreed you deserved a night out, away from avengers’ duties and this is where you’d ended up.

Natasha gives you a nod and you stand, only having to wait at the bar for a few seconds before the bartender makes a b-line for you, ignoring the grumbles from the patrons that had been clearly waiting a lot longer than you.

“What can I get you?”

You recite Natasha’s drink, then your own and the bartender makes them with record speed. When you try to hand her the bill to pay, she waves her hand dismissively and gives you a grin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t –“

The bartender, who you now realise is quite pretty, runs a finger along the back of your hand and gives you a wink that is definitely more flirty than friendly. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure.”

You sigh in defeat, giving her a smile in thanks and turn back around, making your way back to your table in the corner of the room where your girlfriend is still sitting but now with a face like thunder. 

To anyone else, Natasha would probably look neutral but to you – well, you can see the irritated look in her eye and the slight crease between her brows and you know she’s pissed.

In the future, you’d look back and want to slap yourself for not seeing it straight away but in the present it just makes you a little worried.

“Everything okay?” you ask, setting the drinks down on the table. You think about all the possibilities of what could’ve happened in the short time you’d been gone and try not to panic. “Did something –"

“No,” Natasha says and then seems to realise the sharpness in her voice because her face softens in apology. She leans over to give you a quick kiss and it makes you relax slightly. “Everything’s fine.”

Comprehension starts to trickle in when she scoots over so she can wrap an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, and when you follow her line of sight, you realise she’s glaring over your head at the bartender, who pales immediately and doesn’t so much as look in your direction again.

Oh, you feel your eyes widen as it finally hits you: oH.

You look down into your drink and try to hide your disbelieving smile as you finally understand: she’s jealous. 

If it were anyone else, you think you probably wouldn’t feel like this – would likely be outright irritated and a little offended at the behaviour -- but with Natasha you can’t help but find it kind of … cute.

A little giddily, you lean over to press a kiss to her jaw and feel her relax a little against you. “Wanna go after this one?”

Natasha’s face doesn’t change but you see a little shift in her eyes as she nods and pulls you in for another kiss, this one a little more heated – for your benefit or the bartenders, you don’t know, and don’t particularly mind either way as you let yourself get lost in it.

--

After that night, it becomes so apparent to you and you don’t know how you’d missed it all this time. It happens all the time. All. The. Time.

On the street, if someone so much as glances your way, she’s already staring back at them with an expression that would be terrifying even to you if she directed it your way.

At work one day one of the new recruits, a kid, really, comes up to you and asks you, voice trembling if you’d let him take you out someday and the next day Natasha knocks him on his ass so hard and so many times that you’re kind of surprised – and a little impressed—that the poor kid doesn’t quit right on the spot.

Even in your apartment building, one of your maybe-slightly too friendly neighbours gets similar treatment in the elevator one night when you and Natasha are returning to the building at the same time as her. 

Just as you enter the elevator, you hear the voice of your neighbour calling out.

“Hold the door!”

Panting, your neighbour enters the small space. “Thank you so much, I have had the worst, oh –” her eyes land on Natasha beside you and she looks at her with something you can’t quite place in her eyes. “Who’s your …friend?”

“Oh!” you exclaim and you know you must sound surprised. Was it not obvious from how Natasha was always here that you were dating? “This is Natasha. My girlfriend. Nat, this is Charlotte, my neighbour.”

You can see Natasha in the reflection of the elevator walls, so you see the smug self-satisfied look she gives your neighbour as she wraps an arm around you possessively.

So, yes while you notice it all now, you still don’t say anything because a small – and by small, you mean large, massive actually – part of you kind of likes it; likes the fact that the Natasha Romanoff, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life is somehow yours and even more unbelievably, somehow she thinks you’re worth getting worked up like that over.

--

At this point, you’ve been dating for over a year and somehow it must’ve slipped the memo to let all of the avengers know because somehow every time you’re at the office, it seems like a new person is finding out about your relationship. 

It’s really hard to keep up with everyone and their individual missions, which is how you find yourself in your current predicament.

“--ah, well-well,” a familiar voice calls out and you look up from the report you’d been studying. “If it isn’t the most attractive and coincidentally my favourite honorary avenger.”

In the doorway of your office, Sam is grinning at you in that playful, flirty but also joking kind of way that’s distinctly Sam Wilson. You grin back and stand to let him pull you into a hug.

“Did you just get back?” you ask, vaguely remembering him telling you he was going on a mission at least six months ago. You think it was in Istanbul, but you can’t quite remember the specifics. 

Sam pulls back and goes to open his mouth but doesn’t get the chance to speak as Natasha appears in the doorway.

“Samuel,” she drawls his name, eyeing his arm around you. She visibly brightens up when she looks at you, though. “Y/N”

You can’t see yourself, but you know your face must light up as your eyes land on her by the sudden realisation that crosses Sam’s face. The casual kiss she drops on your cheek comes as confirmation.

His mouth drops open as he looks between you both. “Oh damn, you two?” he asks, smiling genuinely. “Damn!”

To the naked eye, Natasha doesn’t seem amused by his revelation, but you know her well enough by now to be able to spot the glimmer of humour in her eyes. 

Sam, however, doesn’t seem to be adept at reading her as you are and so when she advances a little closer, his eyes widen and he immediately backs away.

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” he exclaims, hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry!”

The expression on Natasha’s face turns sinister in nature. You watch and try not to laugh at her theatrics, attempting to adopt a sympathetic expression when he desperately looks to you for help.

“Well,” Natasha says, faux-friendly. As she passes by him, she gives him what looks like a bone-shatteringly hard arm squeeze – if the pained expression on Sam’s face is any indication -- and comes to stand beside your desk. “Now you know, buddy.”

“That I do,” he says, backing up until he reaches the door. “Anyways, I gotta, uh –"

Not even finishing his sentence, he high-tails it out of the room so fast you barely see him leave. You turn to Natasha with a frown. She looks back at you innocently, but you catch the way her lip twitches a little bit before she breaks into a full blown smirk.

“You’re going to give someone have a heart attack one day, you know,” you say, half-serious. “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t already.”

Unbothered, Natasha shrugs and reaches out to tug you closer to her in order to kiss you, a little more intensely than you would normally allow at work. You melt into it with a sigh, smiling a little. 

Eventually, you have to pull away when you start to struggle to breathe and your head starts spinning. Natasha makes an unhappy sound, trying to follow, but you stand firm.

“Nope, you’ve got to go before I’m the one that has the heart attack.”

With a pout, she gives you one more kiss before she gives into your request.

--

You’ve never seen Natasha drunk before – hadn’t even thought she could get drunk but tonight she’s definitely wasted -- all thanks to Thor and whatever is in the mead he’d bought with him.

One thing you quickly realise about drunk Natasha is drunk Natasha also means confrontational Natasha.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about –”

Her and Tony are almost nose to nose at this point, about ten minutes into what was now a heated conversation, and you’re kind of wondering if either of them even knows what they’re arguing about. You don’t think so and by the looks on the other avengers faces, they seem to have as much of an idea as you do.

As Natasha and Tony continue to argue, you look to your left and the young waiter who’d been hovering by your table a little too attentively all night is immediately by your side. 

So Natasha can’t see you, you quickly mouth the word water to him and thankfully he seems to understand because he gives you a quick nod and then disappears, reappearing just as swiftly with a glass in his hand.

“Here, Miss –"

“No!” Ending her argument with Tony as abruptly as it began, Natasha jabs a finger at the waiter, who looks to you for help while she glares up at him balefully. 

The poor guy looks terrified, so you quickly intervene, touching Natasha’s knee to bring her attention back to you. It does the trick, but she seems to underestimate how close in proximity you already are and she ends up half in your lap to the delight of the other avengers in attendance, who all let out various different whistles.

“Mine,” she says childishly into the crook of your arm. You only just manage to pick it up so you know you must be the only person who heard her. With your help, she sits up a little and makes eye contact with you as she repeats herself, more seriously, as if you hadn’t understood the first time: “mine.”

“I – oh --okay,” you say, grabbing her hand as it starts to creep a little too low to be polite in your current company. “How about we get you home?”

After hurriedly saying your goodbyes, twenty minutes later you park in your driveway and begin the not-so-small feat of getting her inside.

“Damn,” you grunt a little under her weight as you help her up the stairs to your apartment. “What do they put into that Asgardian mead?”

You make a mental note to ask Thor about it and then promptly forget as you reach your front door and fumble around, looking for your keys. 

Even in her inebriated state, Natasha somehow pulls herself together enough to reach into your bag and pull them put for you so you can unlock the door.

Which she promptly falls through. You just manage to catch her before she hits the floor, and she leans against you, burying her face into your neck.

“Come on,” you order gently, softening as she groans into your skin. “Bed.”

“No.”

As if to emphasise the word, Natasha shakes her head, but to your surprise, she starts to make her way to your bedroom anyway. She’s still a little unsteady on her feet but nothing like you’d be if you’d drank as much as she had. If it were you, you would definitely have been comatose about seven shots and multiple hours ago.

“Alright, you get into bed,” you say. “And I’ll get you some water, okay?”

Natasha scowls. “No,” she says. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh at the petulance you hear in her voice, shadowing her to the bed, where she immediately sits down and attempts multiple times to take off her heels with little success.

“No?”

Finally having enough of watching her struggle, you lean down and undo the straps of her heels, gently pulling them off her feet. You watch as she flops back on the bed and then covers her face dramatically with a groan. “You don’t get it,” she says unsteadily.

“I don’t get what?”

“You’re mine,” she repeats her earlier words, uncovering her eyes to look at you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Am I now?”

You thought you’d managed to cover your amusement pretty well until you see the glare she shoots you that says she can see it loud and clear. After a beat of silence it becomes clear she’s not going to say anything else.

With difficulty, you slowly manage to get her into a sitting position and help her out of her dress, pulling the covers up around her and retrieving a glass of water that you place on her nightstand so she can drink it in the morning.

You then change yourself and go the bathroom to remove what makeup you’d had on. To your surprise, she’s still awake when you emerge, half-propped up against the headboard and looking at you with bleary, unfocused eyes. It makes your heart turn to mush immediately and you get into bed beside her as quickly as your feet allow.

She immediately curls up into you and you wrap an arm around her, pulling her as close to you as humanly possible. 

“I am yours, just so you know.”

There’s a second of silence where you start to think that maybe she’s fallen asleep, until she shifts against you to meet your gaze, looking a little more alert and coherent but still out of it.

“Good,” she says softly.

The next morning, you wake before Natasha and slip out of bed to make her coffee and to find some pain killers, having a gut feeling she’ll probably need them. Your feeling turns out to be right. When you re-enter the bedroom, she’s laying face-down but clearly awake by the muffled groaning you can hear coming from her.

“Whys’it so bright,” she mumbles into the mattress as you approach the bed, turning her head ever so slightly so she can meet your eyes. You grin down at her.

“Ah, it awakens.”

She scowls up at you and you laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek as you slide back into bed, careful not to jostle her too much. She leans her head against your leg, slowly sipping the glass of water you’d left for her last night before reaching for the coffee on the nightstand.

You fall into a comfortable silence; you running your hand through her hair as she drinks her coffee, humming contentedly.

“How are you feeling –"

“I don’t like it when people look at you,” she interrupts suddenly, staring down into her coffee mug and sounding uncharacteristically nervous. You freeze but since she’s not looking at you, she doesn’t seem to notice. “But it’s not because of anything you do. I just don’t … like it.”

“Okay?” you hedge cautiously, not really understanding.

“I’m sorry if it bothers you,” she says. “Me. Being like that. I didn’t know I was even the type to –"

“It doesn’t bother me.”

At your quick interjection, she looks at you for the first time and whatever she sees on your face makes her smile faintly. “It doesn’t?”

You bite your lip. “Not at all.”

She mirrors you, now smirking. “Oh.”

After this, it starts to become a game: one you feel like you win every time.

[stubbychaos]

A Dishonest Woman

Chapter 9 of Saviin’ika

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6|Part 7|Part 8

Masterlist Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Paz is determined to have the one that has caused you so much pain to kneel for you, though you’re surprised to find another begging for forgiveness at your feet after all is said and done and blood has been shed.

Rating: M

Word Count: 12,700

Warnings: There’s some pretty intense injuries and mentions of having to pop bones back into place, as well as blood and stitches. There’s also brief mentions of the aftermath of the sexual assault attempt.

Just a quick mention as well: I wanted to thank @lackofhonor for giving me the inspiration for a cute little idea for this chapter about the other Mandos being mischievous :) Also thank you to @datmando​ for always letting me scream at you about all my chaotic ideas <3

Author’s note will be at the end, but one last thank you to @coredrive​ for blessing all of us with that beautiful gifset of Paz!!

You nearly cry the second you see Paz inch the bounty hunter’s helmet upwards to the point where the tip of a scruffy tan chin is revealed. 

Horror fills your heart and soul at the thought of watching a Mandalorian’s helmet be removed. 

You jolt forward, but Ima is quick to wrap her arms around your waist, effectively stopping you from accidentally getting hurt and even though you feel a pain shoot up your side from your cauterized wound, it doesn’t stop you from screaming out right before the helmet is just below his bottom lip.

“Paz!”

Immediately, the room is cast in silence and even though you should feel terrified at the fact that dozens of t-shaped visors are now pointed in your direction, you can only focus on the way Paz lets go of the bounty hunter, not even realizing you had been watching the entire fight. Immediately, the unconscious man slips to the ground with a loud ringing noise that has you cringing as you try to wriggle desperately against Ima’s tight hold. Everyone’s visor watches you struggle feebly against the young warrior and she hisses at you desperately to stop--that it is dishonorable to interrupt such a battle.

You gasp when Paz easily flips the bounty hunter over onto his back, pressing his boot harshly against his cuirass and you panic as you listen to the hunter’s gurgling noises from underneath where the lip of his helmet is still miraculously resting on his chin.

“Tell her you’re sorry, Djarin!” Paz roars, circling around him like a predator taunting its prey and your shoulders hunch up a little, “Maybe I’ll give her your helmet when I’m finished with you--bet she could sell that for a lot more than five hundred credits. How much is that shiny Beskar worth? Probably far more than the pathetic price put on her head.”

When he doesn’t respond, Paz sends a mighty kick to the hunter’s ribs--one similar to what he had dealt to your father--and you let out a small whimper and turn your head up to colorful Mandalorian, emphasizing the contempt in your voice as much as you possibly can.

“If you don’t let me go, I won’t ever look at you or Paz the same again.”

Ima doesn’t say anything and you seize up when you watch Paz produce a vibroblade.

The blade that had been taken from you the night before after slaying the trandoshan.

“Do you realize what you made her do with this?”

The bounty hunter remains lifeless as Ima stares down at you and fear grips your heart so tightly when you hear the young Mandalorian groaning from the intense pain. He doesn’t even attempt to choke out pathetic little apologies and you’re certain he must be unconscious underneath that scorching hot helmet.

“Please,” You beg her, a tear trickling down your cheek as you think of someone having their life ruined just because of you, “I am supposed to help those who are hurt, not watch them suffer.”

Angrily, Paz tosses the blade onto the floor, seeming to prefer to use his hands to inflict pain and it makes everything seem far more personal, considering weapons were supposed to be a part of his religion.

“What?” Paz grabs him by his cowl to bring him to his knees, though he’s slumped forward in a weak position; you squeeze your eyes shut and recoil when your warrior all but picks him up and slams him into the slim steel bars on the side of the forge, “Can’t handle a little pain, vod’ika? She seemed to handle it just fine when you were delivering her to her death! Managed to even fight back against the one you sold her to, you fucking coward--you’re not even going to try to fight me?”

The bounty hunter is lifelessly propped up against the forge.

Finally, Ima lets out a deep sigh and reluctantly lets go of you.

Immediately you surge forward, not caring there’s a possibility that you can get hurt in the intense altercation.

You cry out Paz’s name again when he sends a harsh blow to the side of the bounty hunter’s helmet with a powerful swing of his huge, heavy gauntlet and you are quick to stop him in his attempt to further hurt the bounty hunter.

He pulls his arm to the side and back, ready to deliver another heavy hit to the bounty hunter’s helmet and you quickly latch onto the big yellow gauntlet, careful not to press any buttons so you don’t incinerate yourself or anyone else with his flamethrower. You feel the way he instantly stops himself from swinging his huge appendage forward, perhaps out of fear of hurting you and his helmet quickly snaps to the side to look at your teary eyes that barely poke over his bicep. 

He could easily shove you out of the way, and even though you just watched the damage he inflicted on one of his own, you still trust him not to hurt you.

But you will not let him do this--you refuse.

“What are you--?”

“I would not let you put him through anymore,” You plead in a desperate, hushed whisper, trying to keep your conversation private from the others, though you’re certain they all hear it, “I would not let you put him through the same pain that I have gone through--of losing his family.”

Paz doesn’t even move an inch or say a word, but he allows you to put yourself between him and the bounty hunter and simply stares at you; you’re certain if you were anyone else, you would have been dead the second you challenged him. 

You’re not just anyone though and you finally understand that.

You’re the one he had confessed his love to only the night before and had trusted enough to bring to his tribe; you were the one that he had taken his helmet off for, even if it was in the darkness of a safe place. While you understood that his anger came from a place of intense pain from nearly losing the one he loved, you could not just stand by and watch while he made that sort of decision for you, not when you couldn’t mentally handle watching someone have their life taken from them so soon after the Trandoshan incident.

No, even though Paz so desperately wanted his revenge, it suddenly did not feel like his duty to seek vengeance for you when you were still alive.

“Please Paz,” You crouch down next to the bounty hunter, pressing your fingers to his neck to check for a pulse point to make sure he’s not actually dead, “I think he has endured enough punishment, don’t you?”

“No, I fucking don’t think he’s learned his lesson! What he did to you was unforgivable!” Paz seethes and you let out a little sigh of relief when you finally detect a steady pulse, though Paz’s thunderous voice has you on edge, “You’re really going to let this go so easily?!”

He’s never raised his voice with you and even though you can tell it’s most likely from the adrenaline, you feel your worry slowly give way to anger.

“Please, do not yell at me,” You whip your head to give him an incredulous glare over your shoulder and you hear some of the others murmur to one another as Paz takes a small step back, though he is quick to compose himself, “I did not say I forgive him, but I do not wish to see any more bloodshed because of me, Mandalorian. I know what he did--I was there.”

“Then why won’t you let me make him apologize to you?” He hisses in a low voice, watching as you inspect his dislocated shoulder with great tenderness, “He doesn’t deserve your help when he showed you no such courtesy.”

“Because I am a nurse and it is my job to help others, Paz. He is your family and even if you or I do not like him right now, I do not wish for one of your own to die when I could have saved them,” You turn to face him once again, your brows pinched together in frustration you’ve never felt towards your blue warrior and you hate the fact that you’re even arguing with him over the bounty hunter in the first place, “If he is to apologize to me, I want it to be because he truly feels sorry for what he did, not because you beat him within an inch of his life. Now please, would you help me take him to… wherever it is the wounded are treated here?”

Paz is frozen to his spot and it feels like you’re staring each other down for eternity, everyone else watching the silent interaction with what you’re sure is curiosity and shock that their heavy-infantry warrior is letting his little nurse talk to him in such a way. You realize suddenly how stubborn this man can be--even towards you--and for some reason that only makes your irritation grow as you think of how soft and easy-going he had been with you the previous night when it had just been the two of you.

Is he doing this because he’s afraid of looking like a pushover in front of his tribe?

“He didn’t even want you here,” Paz eventually sneers, pointing his thumb and index finger in the unconscious man’s direction, choosing to argue even more with you and you feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach, “He is the reason why I was fighting so hard for you to be a part of the tribe in the first place! You think the one who was so insistent on not having you here is suddenly worthy of being tended to by you? While you were suffering, he was planning your death and I was begging for your place in the tribe.”

“I’ve been suffering my whole life, Paz,” You remind him with an angry lilt in your voice, lightly tapping the bounty hunter’s helmet in an attempt to wake him, though he simply offers you a garbled noise in response, “This is no different than anything else I’ve been through, okay? Just let me take care of his injuries and then the three of us can talk it out and--”

Then he says your name in the most contemptuous tone you’ve ever heard from him and ice pumps through your veins at his next words.

“Sometimes, I think you are too fucking soft for your own good.”

You immediately freeze, staring up at him in shock as you register the warrior’s bitter tone and you don’t even know what to say or how to process the intense pain and sadness that threatens to overwhelm you like a raging tidal wave.

You think of what he had said upon admitting his love for you the first time, how he had spoken sweet words of the way he admired how compassionate and soft you were--how utterly devoted he had sounded--and you begin to doubt yourself.

“And what would you do when he grows tired of you?”

You remember your father’s cruel words and tears instantly fill your eyes at the fact that you’re letting him get to you in a place where Paz had promised you’d be safe from him and you hear the other Mandalorians murmurs grow more tense. They must be admonishing you for talking back to such a powerful member of their tribe, but you suddenly don’t care what they think and hastily wipe away a tear that slips down your cheek, shaking off Paz’s unusually bitter words.

But you can’t shake it off, you realize, as your bottom lip quivers as his words hang over your heart heavier than what his Beskar must weigh down on his own shoulders.

Paz immediately seems to forget his anger towards the bounty hunter, his shoulders falling a little as he hears yours sniffles when you turn back towards the unconscious man at your feet, your hands now shaking.

Anger and confusion swells deep within you as you keep thinking of your estranged father’s words, leaning lower to grab the bounty hunter’s uninjured arm to tug it around your shoulders; you want to cry harder as you try to stand up and support his weight, though he is far too heavy for you to lift. You hear Paz step forward, but then you also hear Imalia’s hushed, angry voice, followed by hasty little footsteps making their way over to you.

“Go cool down somewhere else, I’ll take care of this, di’kut,” Ima says in a firm voice, crouching down next to you as she wraps her arms around the bounty hunter’s waist and helps you haul him to his feet. You’re too angry and upset to admire the physical strength this teenage girl has and a part of you is half tempted to ask if she can knock some sense into your blue warrior.

Paz is staring right at you as you risk a glance up in his direction as you and Imalia guide the unconscious bounty hunter to the tribe’s infirmary and you hate that he’s refusing to say anything to you, so for once, you speak up first.

“You are not a cruel man,” You whisper fiercely to him, clenching your jaw a little when you notice his tight fists unfurl as he sees your tears burning your eyes like lit coals, “And I do not believe you to be one, but I do not like seeing this side of you and I pray I did not make a mistake coming here if this is how I am to be treated by you in front of your sisters and brothers.” 

“Saviin’ika, I shouldn’t have--”

“Do not call me that, right now!” You snap with a shaky cry, earning a few more murmurs from his armored family, and you watch as Paz recoils from how upset and raw you suddenly sound, “I am not some sort of punching bag or target used for practice, Mandalorian, and I am sick and tired of being used as one. I would not let you tear someone away from their family--the ones he loves--because of me!” You argue fiercely, hating that you have to force yourself not to flinch upon hearing the bounty hunter’s pained groans as his scorching helmet slips to the side and onto your shoulder, “I may love you, but I refuse to watch you ruin this man’s life because he made a foolish mistake. Shouldn’t this be my choice?”

“But--”

“Are you even listening to what she’s trying to say?” Imalia is quick to snap at him as well, not holding back nearly as much as you did, “This isn���t your fight to fight, okay?! Saviin is right, if he’s going to apologize to her, he should do it because he genuinely means it.”

“And how do you know he will apologize in the first place?”

Everyone stares at you, but you’re still focused on Paz and how tense he is as he listens to Ima’s insistent voice, “Because, Saviin is the reason why he still has his helmet and his family, despite the fact that he nearly took everything from her; only a demagolka would not say sorry to her. Trust me, he will apologize upon hearing that she protected him from losing so much. Please, just go cool down Uncle, you’re not thinking right.”

Then Ima lowers her tone a little, sounding softer when she realizes you still have tears in your eyes, “Mirdir be pehea gar kelir sirbur Ni ceta at kaysh.”

Even though he’s tried to keep his composure in front of his people, you instantly see the way his shoulders slump completely and his helmet drops at the soft bite in the young Mandalorian’s hushed words as you and her continue forward, the Beskar sea of huge Mandalorians parting to let the three of you through. The bounty hunter mumbles incoherent statements as Imalia tells you which way to turn your body and you think that he’s most certainly concussed by the way he slurs his sentences.

You pray that they have bacta.

“I’m sure it is not as fancy or professional as what you’re used to, but this is our little infirmary. It hasn’t been used in a long time, but I’m sure you could spruce it up a little,” Ima sighs and grunts as she gracelessly flops the Mandalorian onto a creaky cot upon entering a little alcove, though you find it not too terribly different than your own tiny office at the village infirmary except for the fact that everything is covered in a thick layer of dust, “I am not sure if you are able to help him too much or if you even want to, but--”

“Can you find me whatever medical supplies your tribe may have?” You cut off her sheepish ranting, not hesitating to remove the Mandalorian’s pauldrons, utility belt, and cuirass as you inspect the severity of his dislocated shoulder and a deep gash that Paz had managed to inflict upon his lower abdomen, “Tools for sutures, bacta patches or shots, disinfectant--things like that? Soapy rags and perhaps a bowl of warm water?”

Ima immediately grows silent and you’re surprised by the teenager’s willingness to help you as you turn away to wash any germs from your hands with hot water, not allowing your blue warrior’s harsh words to get the best of your nerves. Immediately, you’re pulling drawers open, gathering whatever antibiotics and disinfectants you can find, thinking that this Mandalorian probably needs whatever he can get after taking such a beating from Paz.

“Goodness,” You sigh, shoulders falling as you inspect the deep gash that is just stretched along his left hip and you shake your head a little as you think of the wound he’d forced you to cauterize as Ima hastily approaches you with what looks to be an unused suture kit.

“Your name… it’s Din Djarin, right?” You question quietly, not even sure if he’s fully conscious or if he’s completely gone as Imalia approaches you with a metal tray with several supplies lying on top; immediately, you perk up when you see a tiny bottle filled with bacta and a syringe. She watches in silence as you are hasty and efficient to fill the syringe with the miracle substance, stabbing the long needle somewhere underneath his helmet, near the base of his skull to hopefully help with whatever brain trauma he’s experiencing.

“You--” The bounty hunter is slurring his words as he attempts to sit up on the little cot, though Ima is quick to force him back down with a steady hand against his chest while you get to work on untucking his dark tunics from his pants so you can get a better look at the damage, “Y-You’re helping me?”

You don’t say anything as Ima hands you a warm wet rag to clean the blood away from his skin and you lean in a little closer to make sure there’s no debris in the wound or that it doesn’t already look infected. You gracefully begin the process of stitching his severe wound at his tanned abdomen, earning small grunts and groans from the young bounty hunter who is clearly uncomfortable in his current position, though he seems more coherent and aware of his surroundings. Ima remains behind you and a part of you wonders why, if she’s worried the bounty hunter is going to try something with you or if she’s simply fascinated by simple medical procedures.

“Are you bleeding under there?” You ask the injured man quietly, referring to his shiny helmet that you think must still be scorching hot; he continues to stare up at the ceiling and you hope he hasn’t passed out again, fearing what kind of damage Paz might have caused to his brain. He could be on the verge of death and you wouldn’t even know, you realize with disdain, not liking that you can’t properly treat your patient.

“Even if I was, I wouldn’t let you take my helmet off, outsider.”

You scoff and shake your head, though Ima is diligent and hasty to admonish the hunter, “I do not think you are in any position to be giving our nurse any attitude, not after she stood up for you in front of nearly the whole tribe.”

Finally, he rolls his helmet to the side to peer down at your hunched over form as you take your time to stitch the deep wound, “Stood up for me?”

“Yeah, di’kut,” Ima huffs and you hear her shift around behind you, “Uncle Paz was about to take your stupid helmet off and saviin’ika stopped him right before he could, even defended what little honor you still possess; she even got in a fight with uncle over you. I don’t think you really deserved her mercy since you didn’t even want her here in the first place--since you sold her for five hundred credits.”

Your cheeks flare up and you shake your head a little, trying to think of your life being worth more than a pouch of credits.

He’s quiet for a few thoughtful moments and he lets out with a pained grunt as you eventually finish stitching the wound, “Why?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and let out with a sad sigh as you clean the blood away from the bruised skin around the sutures, shaking your head a little, “I know what would happen if he would have removed your helmet, Mandalorian. You would have lost everything and everyone you love--those you call family--and I would not wish that upon my worst enemy.”

“But I--”

“I know what you did to me,” You scowl, plastering a large bandage to the stitches to protect it from any debris, “Trust me, I know, but I’ve also felt the loss and grief that comes from losing your loved ones. I lost my mother and… and someone so very dear to me when I was a little girl and that kind of pain is one that you never recover from.”

“I…” The bounty hunter seems to be at a loss for words and you think he must not know how to express his feelings with words nearly as well as Paz, “Thank you.”

You huff a little and urge him to lay down flat on his back so you can properly treat his dislocated shoulder, “Just because I understand your pain does not mean I would ever forget what you’ve done. I would only tolerate you for your family.”

You hear him groan a little as you place your hand just underneath his armpit and use the other to grab his wrist, lightly guiding his arm to the side and closer to you, “What are you doing?”

“I am popping your shoulder back into place,” You frown when he reaches out towards you with his uninjured arm, but he is quick to drop it upon seeing you flinch and Ima tensing up.

“I can do it myself,” He says stubbornly, though you simply keep your hands in place, your brows furrowing when he begins to undermine you, “That requires a lot of force to put it back into place and you don’t look like you can--”

With as much strength you can muster, you yank his arm harshly towards you until you hear the sickening pop of the head of his humerus slipping beyond the lip of his shoulder cup and you hate that you feel a little inkling of satisfaction when you hear his pained groans and erratic wheezing. You think of the several times you’ve had to pop your own shoulder back into place after taking a rough beating, and how excruciating the first time had been--how you had nearly passed out--and you wonder if this is the first time he has experienced such pain.

"I know how to do my job, Mandalorian," Your cheeks burning fiercely with irritation towards the man you stood up for, “I can’t say the same for you.”

Ima snorts her amusement from behind you as you fashion a sling using his cape, all while dealing with the fussy bounty hunter who you’re certain is struggling to not give you a piece of his mind.

“You could have at least done it slower so it wouldn’t be as painful.”

“I would say I am sorry and that I feel bad, but I am not a dishonest woman.”

You hear Ima wheezing behind you, struggling to contain her giggles, though she eventually loses the battle and lets out loud guffaws that have you shaking your own head with amusement.

Eventually, Imalia takes her leave when another Mandalorian enters the room to inform her that the armorer requires the teen’s presence, the larger warrior eyeing the way you’re hovering over the young bounty hunter with an irritated expression on your face before leaving the two of you alone. You’re in the process of stitching yet another smaller cut on the inside of his elbow that you had somehow missed during your lengthy inspection and you wonder just how long Paz had been fighting the bounty hunter before you showed up.

“I’m…” You barely tilt your head up at the sound of his raspy voice before turning back to your handiwork, thinking he’s going to say something rude or snarky, “I am sorry, for what it’s worth--for all the pain I’ve caused you and Paz.”

Your brows quirk up in response to the shock his words cast on you, though you shake it off and glance up at his visor for a quick second, “I don’t know if I can forgive you knowing that you knew what the Trandoshan wanted to do with me, but I appreciate the apology.”

He seems to relax a little and lets out with a crackly sigh as he continues to stare at your concentrated facial expression, “You mentioned your dress when I was taking you back in the speeder,” Instantly, you freeze at the way he speaks so nonchalantly about something that will haunt you forever, “Did he…?”

“N-No,” You murmur weakly, suddenly feeling nauseous as you struggle to not think of the harsh pressure of the Trandoshan’s hand groping you, “He uh--I s-stopped him before I… Paz’s blade.”

Even though you can barely string together a coherent sentence, the Mandalorian still manages to understand, “Does Paz know?”

“No,” You say a little more firmly, finishing up with tending to the minor wound and giving him a cursory glance, “And I plan to keep it that way.”

You find a bacta patch on the tray of items that Ima had left for you on the bedside table and carefully take it out of its plastic wrapper, placing it tenderly along the area on his ribs where Paz had kicked him.

He’s quiet as you help him fix his tunics and put his armor back in place, sheepishly holding out the pauldron that you advise for him to not wear on his bruised, swollen shoulder for at least a week, though you doubt the stubborn man will listen to you. You half expect him to get up and leave the room the moment you stand up and wash your hands in the little sink, though he simply lets out with another crackly sigh as he continues to lay on the cot that is much bigger than the one from your old office.

“He would not think of you any differently if you told him of the criminal’s intentions with you, if that’s why you’re afraid to tell him.”

You sigh, thinking of the words Paz had spewed at you earlier and you slowly plop back down on the chair as you reluctantly keep the bounty hunter company, crossing your arms over your chest, “Let’s not talk about this anymore, okay? Besides, it’s not like it matters, not when I got into a fight with him and yelled at him in front of his tribe. I disrespected him and I’ll probably be out of here by the end of the day.”

“You won’t--I’m sure of it,” He rasps in that cool tone, though there’s still a twinge of pain laced in his filtered voice as he lets out another deep sigh, “I know how he is, how he never really thinks with his head.”

“The same could be said for you as well,” You huff, earning an annoyed sigh from the bounty hunter, “Are you two actually brothers by blood?”

“No, and he made that clear the day I was brought into the tribe,” You tuck your cold hands between your thighs and tilt your head a little at the implications of his amused words, though one sticks out to you the most.

“You were a foundling.”

“Yes,” He grunts, almost seeming awkward and unknowing of how to hold a conversation with someone, “Paz was one of the first ones to talk to me--pretty much told me to stay out of his way. He was never kind to me, but he always made sure none of the others hurt me. He was an angry child, but eventually grew out of it. Still hotheaded like no other though.” 

You smile a little at that, remembering the first time you had met him and how you had thought the exact same thing, “I was scared of him when I first met him too.”

“I know--he came back to the covert and was beating himself up for making a bad first impression,” The bounty hunter scoffs, only continuing when you tuck a lock of hair behind your warm ear, “He always wanted to be the strongest in tribe and all he cared about was being the most powerful, but then one day he came back talking about the village nurse.”

You wonder why this bounty hunter is telling you all of this and before you can ask, he speaks calmly.

“I’ve never seen him more passionate about anything or anyone more than he is about you,” He grunts, almost sounding exasperated as he shakes his helmet a little, “Paz could talk about you for the longest time and I’m pretty sure he has with all the kids when the rest of us get tired of listening to him. He would not get rid of you and is probably kicking himself in the back of his helmet for whatever he said.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you think of your usually grouchy warrior going to the covert after spending time with you, only to ramble to his family about you.

“How did you know that he was the one in the wrong? I thought you were unconscious.”

“I know Paz,” Din repeats, sounding utterly unamused as he shakes his helmet and stares up at the ceiling in a thoughtful silence for a few seconds, “I know how he gets when he’s mad and how he doesn’t think straight.”

You clench your jaw a little, still thinking of the pain lingering in your chest because of what your blue warrior had said to you in a fit of rage that had been a result of the bounty hunter.

“It still gave him no right,” You surmise, earning a small hum from Din, “And if he expects me to apologize so I can keep my place here, I refuse.”

You think over his words carefully for a few, the two of you growing silent and you think out of all the Mandalorians you’ve met, he must be the quietest out of all of them, most likely used to living a life of solitude because of his job. Then you think of the time Paz had told you the loneliness he felt during his own travels and you wonder if this Mandalorian feels the same, though you still find it difficult to pity him and you stare thoughtlessly at his shiny helmet. Your eyes burn as you think of this bounty hunter hearing the Trandoshan and all of his plans for you and your chest heaves as you think of the bounty hunter simply not caring.

“I need to know and please be honest,” You plead in a shaky whisper after a few minutes of awkward silence, earning his unwavering attention as his visor moves to stare at you, “Do you actually regret what you did? Or is it just because of me knowing Paz?”

“I…” He sounds conflicted as he shifts around in an uncomfortable manner, watching the way your eyes fill with tears at the thought of him so easily giving you away to someone so cruel, “I know I am a cruel man--much crueler than Paz--but you are the first quarry I’ve ever felt guilt for.”

Tears still burn your eyes and you are quick to rub them away before they can actually fall as you listen to the young bounty hunter try to collect his thoughts.

“I kept hearing your screams, that’s why I came back. I thought he would just leave your body after killing you, but then I saw you and you were just staring at Paz’s blade,” He admits with a frustrated sigh and you think this must be incredibly difficult for him to talk about, especially when he seems so out of tune and defiant towards feeling any emotion, only focused on his next paycheck with no regards for the lives and families he’s ruining.

“I knew right away who you were and…” He cuts himself off before he can reveal too much, turning his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, “Paz talks a lot about you, but he always spoke of how you did not deserve to live a life in the village--that you were too kind. Most of my bounties are criminals, people who deserve to be imprisoned.”

For some reason, knowing that he came back because he felt bad, rather than suspecting you were associated with Paz eases the ache in your heart, though you find your nails curling painfully into the fabric covering your knees. You don’t trust him and he knows it, judging by the way he keeps his movements slow and his visor pointed away from your face, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t try to offer you comfort because you know it would not come from his heart.

“Paz was right--you were an easy target and that’s why I accepted the job,” The bounty hunter informs you and it only makes you feel worse, knowing that you’re constantly being targeted because others believe you to be so weak, “I’m sorry.”

“I won’t ever be the same because of you.”

He doesn’t say anything and you wonder if he even feels the slightest inclination or twinge of guilt. 

Then you wonder where Paz is, if he’s calmed down enough to talk to you about what’s going on in his mind and dread fills you at the thought of him still being upset with you; what if standing up for Din had ruined everything between you and the blue warrior?

Had this all really been worth it?

“I want to see Paz, but I don’t know this place,” You inform the bounty hunter weakly and you hate how badly your heart is currently aching and you hate that you still long to see the blue warrior after the way he spoke to you, though you think most of it was caused by adrenaline and anger towards his brother, “Do you know where he would be? I need to talk to him.”

You need a proper explanation and an apology.

The bounty hunter lets out with a loud, dramatic grunt as he forces himself up into a sitting position before giving you a sharp nod, “Follow me.”

Your eyes widen as he heaves himself off of the medical cot with a pained groan, though he holds a hand out when you step forward to help him, silently explaining that he does not require your help. Even though you can tell he’s in severe pain, he doesn’t say a word as he hobbles out of the little infirmary and straightens his posture, as though he’s determined to not look weak in front of you or anyone else. You’re nearly tempted to reach out and hold onto his elbow simply out of instinct after spending so much time with the blue Mandalorian, though you force yourself not to as he silently guides you down the small staircase that Paz had helped you down the previous night. He now leads you in a completely different direction and your eyes widen when the atmosphere around you somehow grows warmer and a little lighter.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the nursery,” The bounty hunter answers and it fills you with both excitement and fear, “That’s usually where he goes when he’s upset--likes spending time with the kids.”

Your brows furrow, wondering why your big blue warrior finds solace in an environment surrounded by little ones who probably enjoy screaming his ears off whenever they have the chance, though you don’t argue and follow closely behind the bounty hunter. You feel eager to meet the little ones in the tribe and you curiously wonder how many there are and how young or old they must be--do they all wear helmets? Or just some?

As soon as you hear the familiar sound of angry little squeaks in the distance, you immediately perk up and grin as you breakaway from the Mandalorian and rush forward to turn a sharp corner. Instantly, you hear the sound of rocks clanking against stone walls and you let out a loud giggle when you spot a tiny, crimson-eyed creature yipping furiously at you.

“Oh, my little one!” You exclaim with a soft little cry, scooping her up into your awaiting arms the moment she makes her way to you in an awkward hobble, her front leg still trapped between the splint you dutifully gave her two nights ago, “Oh, I am so sorry for what I did to you! I did not want to throw you like that, I swear it. It was all the bounty hunter’s fault.”

She's a wriggly little thing as she alternates between nuzzling her wet snout against your cheek and letting out with excited little squeaks and you laugh at her eagerness to see you again. Somewhere behind you, the bounty hunter sighs and you are quick to soothe the vulptex when she peers over your shoulder to give him the fiercest growl she can muster, though it’s more of a high-pitched whine. A content sigh leaves you as you pet her white, rocky head tenderly, admiring the way the dim lighting seems to reflect off of her opalescent coat; your hands seem to calm her and you watch as she turns her head to slowly blink up at you with contentment.

Din shakes his head as he continues to guide you through the covert, watching you as you comfort and soothe your little companion to the point where she’s nearly falling asleep, her head lightly bobbing as she tries to battle her exhaustion. Eventually, she gives up and rests her little head against your stomach as the bounty hunter takes you through a small entrance and into an alcove that is far warmer than the rest of the enclave.

“This whole mess for just a little runt.”

You furrow your brows, though it’s not anger and spite you feel towards his heartless words, but rather confusion and curiosity.

“What if it was a youngling you had been sent to kill or retrieve rather than a vulptex?”

“It’s not the same,” He answers without hesitation, turning his head to stare straight ahead.

“In a way, it kind of is though,” You stubbornly argue with him, your frown deepening as you tilt your head to the side and try to get a better sense of this man’s enigmatic mind, “Is she not an innocent, breathing creature that feels fear and pain? Sure, she may not be able to speak, but that shouldn’t lessen her worth. So tell me, bounty hunter, what if one of your quarries was a child--perhaps one too young to speak their fears aloud? Would the reward on their head matter more than your ability to not let it haunt you when you can’t sleep at night?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments and you feel your heart drop as you gaze down at your sleeping vulptex, pondering how anyone could possibly harm a child, let alone deliver them to their death. Suddenly, you wonder if you had made a mistake in not letting Paz take the bounty hunter’s helmet off, thinking him to not be honorable in the slightest.

“I would not hurt a child.”

“That was not the question I asked you,” You scoff at him, feeling your heart thrum angrily in your chest, “And your hesitation told me all I need to know about you. I am glad I did not accept your apology.”

He doesn’t say anything, choosing to remain silent as he glances down at your slumbering vulptex with a slight tilt to his shiny helmet; you pray to the Maker that you’ve hurt his pride today, what with having to stop Paz from making him lose everything.

You wonder how he feels now that the outsider he had so vehemently denied having in the tribe was the one that had saved his place in the covert.

The rest of your journey is spent in a tense silence.

You perk up a little upon hearing loud giggles and little voices as the two of you approach a concealed entrance, though it is suddenly replaced with silence as you step inside the warmer alcove. Instantly, you are face to face with at least a dozen--probably more--little ones who are all staring up at you, most likely not used to seeing an adult without a helmet on their head, though some of them wear helmets themselves. You’re so focused and caught off guard by how many younglings reside in the covert that you’re not even aware of Paz emerging from another room that’s attached to the nursery, or the way the bounty hunter makes haste to leave before being spotted.

“Saviin’ika?” He sounds surprised as he utters the name that everyone at the covert seems to know you by, and your eyes widen when all the younglings instantly crowd around you, their little faces stretched with happy smiles as though you are no stranger to them. Some of them are showing you their little toys and stuffed animals, while others are babbling excited, incoherent words and...

Maker, what have you gotten yourself into?

You thought the bounty hunter was exaggerating when he spoke of how much Paz talks about you to the little ones, but as numerous grubby little hands reach up for you, you realize just how honest he was being.

You realize why Paz comes here to seek out comfort though, and you smile fondly when a little boy--no older than five--hugs your knee tightly and stares up at you with wonder and sadness shimmering brightly in his eyes. Some of them are more focused on the vulptex cub who had been startled awake amidst all the adorable chaos, but most of them throw random questions and comments at you faster than what you imagine a ship’s hyperspeed to be and you suddenly feel a little overwhelmed.

Paz must sense it because he steps in immediately and somehow manages to shoo away all the reluctant little ones, though the little boy remains attached to your leg and you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to gently stroke the back of his head in a comforting manner. The gesture earns you a shy smile from him, his wide eyes glimmering up at you and you think something must have previously caused him some sort of despair, what with the dried tear tracks on his flushed cheeks, so you find yourself crouching down to make him feel less small. After placing your disgruntled vulptex on the floor, who immediately finds enjoyment in the presence of one of the excited younglings, you hold a hand out for the little one to take and he instantly latches onto it with both of his.

Even though you’re still upset and hurt from Paz’s words and you’re certain he must still be irritated with you, the two of you don’t acknowledge it out of respect for the little one’s already intense emotions.

“Why are you so sad, little one?”

He simply stares at you and your chest aches when he doesn’t say anything, though Paz steps in once again and crouches down next to the two of you, carefully cupping the back of his head, “He is the tribe’s newest foundling.”

It takes you a second to understand, but when you do, Maker, it breaks your heart to think of a child so young and fragile losing everyone he loves and your eyes instantly burn with tears, though you force yourself not to let them fall.

“Well, everything is going to be okay--you want to know why?” You keep your voice steady for the little one who must feel so afraid and alone, but you give his hand a reassuring squeeze when he eagerly nods, “You are surrounded by the bravest, strongest warriors in the entire galaxy and they won’t let anything happen to you, because you are loved by them.”

Immediately, the boy launches himself towards you and wraps his tiny arms around your neck, and when you look up at Paz, his visor staring intently at your sad eyes, you finally let a tear fall for the little boy and all the other ones that are here because they weren’t born into the tribe; instantly, he wipes it away, most likely not wanting the little boy to see it and upset him even more. Gently, you comfort the boy until he pulls away and gives you a shy little smile and a nod when you ask him if he feels a little better, carefully wiping the fresh tears from his cheeks and the mucus from his nose with the sleeve of your sweater.

In the tiniest little voice, he speaks and you didn’t think it was possible for your chest to ache any worse, but his sad tone completely shatters you; you’re too focused on the boy that you don’t even notice the way Paz jolts upon hearing the distraught child speak.

“I miss my family.”

And you hate that you think of a ten year old you, just as heartbroken and lost in the world, so you fully sink to your knees and hold his tiny hands a little more firmly, wishing you had something more to give him than just your words.

“I know it hurts,” You murmur in a soothing voice, brushing his curls away from his forehead as he hiccups and you let him hug you again, your hand immediately coming up to cup the back of his head, “I lost the ones I considered to be family when I was around your age too, and I know all too well of what you are feeling right now. I promise the sadness won’t always hurt you this badly and you have so many strong people here that are going to help you feel better and take care of you, okay?” 

Then you think of Paz’s words from the other night when he had found you in such despair and in a deep state of despair 

“You are not alone or unloved.”

He pulls away and nods, and thinking the distraught child could use all the comfort in the galaxy you press a tender kiss to the top of his curls for good measure, immediately earning you a slightly bigger smile as he continues to fiercely rub his eyes and wipe his runny nose. Eventually, he reluctantly wanders away and you watch as he timidly sits in the corner, next to another shy girl that offers him a kind smile; warmth blooms deeply in your heart when he smiles back at her.

“Cyare, we should talk about what happened--the things I said to you and what I did.”

You look up, realizing that Paz is now standing tall above you and holding a hand out to help you up; reminding yourself why you had wanted to see him in the first place, you grab his hand and let him easily tug you to your feet. You let go of him as he cocks his helmet in the direction of the entrance, gesturing for you to follow him and as he silently walks you to a part of the covert you haven’t explored, your fears get the better of you as you think of all the happy moments you’re probably going to lose before really experiencing them.

“Am I going to have to leave the covert?”

He freezes instantly, turning to face you and he’s deathly silent for a few tense moments as he collects his thoughts, “W-What?”

“I disrespected you in front of your family when I yelled at you,” You remind him, confusion swirling around in your mind, though you still don’t think you regret what you said to him, “Do you not… want me here anymore? I understand if that is the case, but if you expect me to apologize, I am not sorry for what I did and said to you.”

His shoulders drop as he watches you nervously tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, trying your hardest to stand your ground, and your heart freezes over in your chest as he almost immediately drops to a knee right in front of you. His breathing pattern looks frantic, what with the way his cuirass is rising and falling so rapidly and he’s mumbling something to himself in his native tongue, but it’s too low to make out any of the syllables or the tone he speaks in.

Immediately, your anger and fears give way to worry as you realize you did not witness the whole fight and there’s a chance he could be injured, “Paz, are you hurt?!”

“Ni ceta, sweet nurse,” He traps one of your hands between both of his and peers up at your worried gaze, “I am not injured, but I am sorry for the way I yelled at you. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I--Maker, why do I keep fucking everything up and letting you get hurt? This isn’t… I’m not supposed to hurt you and make you cry and I--”

He sounds so frustrated with himself and you intervene when you realize how erratically he’s breathing, “Hey, just breathe a little slower, okay? Let’s just talk this out.”

“I’m sorry,” He listens to your advice and his incoherent ramblings give way to something clearer, “You didn’t deserve any of that and I understand that me being blinded by rage is no excuse for speaking like that to you in front of everyone.”

You blink owlishly at him, realizing this is the second time today you’ve had a Mandalorian apologize to you and you want to forgive him, but your brain is screaming at you to tell him how you really feel. Even though you have no problem baring your emotions to him, for some reason you find it more difficult to actually elaborate on how you’re feeling and you think it must be from being alone for so long.

If you truly want this to work out between you and him, you realize you have to work on speaking your thoughts, rather than letting them build up in your head.

“I didn’t like the way you yelled at me,” You inform him in a shaky whisper, ignoring your fears as you crouch down in front of him so you can be eye-level with his shiny visor, though you continue to keep your hand in his, “And I did not like the way it made me feel when you told me I was too soft for my own good because I already know this. I experienced it everyday of my life--people making fun of me or targeting me because they know I am not a warrior like you. I never listened to them though, because my mother would always tell me that there is immense strength in being soft and selfless and I must believe that, even if you and the others in the tribe don’t.”

“I don’t… I don’t know why I said that to you--why I said any of that to you. I didn’t mean it and I would never want you to change yourself for anyone, especially me. I love you for your soft, compassionate heart, cyare,” He pleads in a pained tone and you can tell he’s being sincere, so you nod for him to continue with his explanation.

“I was so mad--so fucking pissed off--when he told me how much he traded your life away for,” He shakes his helmet, perhaps in a weak attempt to shake away his anger and sadness, “I knew the only reason he took the job was because he thought you’d be a quick and easy target and that you wouldn’t even try to fight back against him or the Trandoshan. I wanted to hurt him in the worst way possible and when you stopped me… I was not thinking properly--I wasn’t thinking at all. I still hate him, but you were just trying to be rational and didn’t deserve any of what I said.”

Your lip trembles a little and he frantically shakes his helmet when you drop your head to gaze down at the leather fingers are desperately clutching yours, “You’ve never raised your voice at me like that. It... it caught me off guard and it made me angry that you wouldn’t really listen to me and--”

You feel yourself choke on your words, tears burning hot in your eyes and you absolutely loathe that he’s able to soak in every one of your emotions when you barely have the ability to understand what he’s feeling. One of his hands moves up to your forearm and you watch as he gently rubs the crook of your elbow with his thumb; you know it’s a feeble attempt to comfort you and it barely does anything as you try to process your conflicted emotions.

“Would you really strip someone of everyone and everything they love that easily?” You inquire desperately, your lips trembling as you stare at the chin of his visor and you hate that your voice cracks so horribly as you speak, “You almost took his helmet off, Paz.”

“I am sorry for the pain I caused you, cyare, but he almost took the only one I--” You tilt your head a little when you think you hear his filtered voice growing more crackly than usual and you shake your head when he grows quiet and more withdrawn.

You cannot let people continue to walk all over you and though you understand that is not Paz’s intention, you can tell he’s not expressing his emotions like you’ve been trying to and you find yourself sinking to your knees completely, staring up at him with an expression of sadness and curiosity.

“I am trying my hardest to tell you how much you hurt me, okay? You don’t get to hide your heart from me when I am giving you everything I am feeling for the first time in such a long, long amount of time,” You swallow the lump in your throat, nostrils flaring as you heave in a deep sigh and muster up as much courage as possible to continue this conversation without breaking, “What is going on in your head, Paz?”

He lowers his helmet until his forehead is just inches away from his thigh and you carefully grab the hollows of his blue cheeks, realizing there’s something he’s not telling you and he lets out a little groan, as though he thought he could get his way out of this.

“I... I have never loved anyone the way I love you, ner cyare,” he confesses in a quiet voice, “And my own brother tried to take you away from me--trade you in like you weren’t the most precious thing in my life. I do not know how to process my emotions right now. I am angry and hurt and sad that one of my own could do this to you.”

“Hey, I am here and I am alive,” Your remind him, urging his helmet up a little so he can look at you, “He didn’t know who I was, okay? He made a foolish mistake and yes, it did almost cost me my life, but I am here with you. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“I... yes,” He breathes, giving your hand a firm squeeze, “I know that words mean nothing to you, but I promise I will never embarrass you like that in front of the tribe ever again.

“I…” You remind yourself that you need to speak your concerns and fears out loud for him to understand how you’re feeling and breathe out a deep sigh, “I thought that perhaps you were embarrassed that I was speaking to you like that in front of your people, that was why I thought you were going to make me leave. I thought I had made you mad.”

“No, cyare, I could never--” He heaves a deep breath and you hear the defeat in his filtered baritone as he struggles to reassure you that he didn’t mean to hurt you, “I want you here with me for as long as you wish to stay, but I need you to know that I could never be ashamed of you, okay? If I wasn’t such a fucking idiot, I would have gotten down on my knees in front of the entire tribe and apologized to you as soon as I raised my voice at you.”

You raise your brows in surprise at his words, though you’re not sure why you’re shocked when he’s been respectful towards you from the moment he offered to walk you home and give you his blade. Briefly, a part of you wonders what your life would be like right now had he not felt the need to walk you home that night, though you think it best to not ponder such terrifying thoughts.

“I’m sure the others would have loved to see their heavy-infantry warrior on his knees asking for forgiveness.”

“They already gave me a hard time about me being an asshole as soon as you were gone,” He admits with a small groan, though the image of him being hounded by his tribe makes you smile a little, “I normally don’t let them, but I felt like I deserved it in that moment.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand so tightly that you fear you’ll break one of his fingers, though you think he must be unbreakable, “Everybody makes mistakes, that’s how we learn and grow.”

“Then I will learn from the mistake I have made today,” He drops his helmet in what you think is shame, though you remove your hand from between his to place it on the blue hollow of his cheek and you smile sadly when he looks at you, “I wish you could see my face so you know how sorry I am for hurting your feelings and making you feel lesser of yourself.”

“You wishing that I could see your face is enough proof of your sincerity, Paz,” You bring your other hand to cradle his scuffed up helmet, though you wish you could feel the warmth of his scruffy cheeks again, “I forgive you, but if you ever leave me alone in your bed to go try to kill one of your own again, I think I would throw you in the forge myself and not show you any mercy.”

“That’s my saviin’ika,” He huffs out a small, relieved chuckle as you slowly stand up and offer him a helping hand up, smiling when you hear him grunt as his knees crack a little as he stands to his full height, “I think Ima would not mind helping you with that; you may forgive me, but the kid can really hold a grudge.”

Though you’ve spent such a small amount of time with the tenacious teenager, you don’t doubt that she can be just as stubborn and fierce as any of the adults. You grow quiet and curious when Paz begins to tug you in the direction he had initially been leading you towards before you voiced your concerns. A soft sigh leaves you as you think of how you haven’t been awake for probably more than two hours, and you’ve already had a long, strange day, though not necessarily terrible now that you and Paz have made up and you won't have to leave.

“Your mother was wise when she said that being kind and soft makes you no less stronger than a warrior,” Paz abruptly speaks, gazing down at your surprised expression as he wraps his massive arm around your waist, all while continuing to guide you down the corridor, “I know what kind of reputation I have and even though I do not wish to harm people who don’t deserve it, I know people jump to conclusions and think the worst of me--of Mandalorians in general. Then there’s you, cyare.”

Your eyes widen as you stare up at him, waiting patiently for him to explain with a frantic heart that threatens to leap out of your chest.

“People see you and they immediately trust you because you look so sweet and kind,” Paz sighs, a dreamy noise that causes his modulator to crackle a little bit, “That little boy from earlier has been here for two weeks and hasn’t spoken a word or stopped crying, yet you got him to talk after five seconds and you even made him smile. That is true strength, being able to give someone hope and comfort, and I was a fool to say otherwise.”

“You are kind and compassionate too, Paz.”

“Only because you taught me how,” He shakes his helmet as you try to shake off the incredibly sweet words, “And I am still learning because I have not always been a good man and I’ve never felt shame for it until I met you--until I saw your smile and how you care for others so intensely, even though you’ve seen just as much pain and suffering that I have, if not more. I’ve never seen any of it faze you so badly until I found you at the infirmary when you went into shock the last night. I knew one more day spent in that hell would destroy you and I could not live with myself if I left you at the infirmary, all alone.”

Your face feels so intensely hot as you struggle to think of a proper reply--something just as beautiful as what your Mandalorian is currently telling you--though you find it hard to form a coherent response. You think of the quiet bounty hunter and how he had chosen you because you were an easy target to him, but then you think of the way you had clung to your will to survive and how even though taking a life is something that will haunt you forever, it had also led to you having a better life.

You’re here because Paz had deemed you worthy of being part of his family of warriors and because you had fought at the mere chance of a future filled with happy moments with the one you love.

You find it uplifting that though you had been the one to teach him how to be softer, he had given you the confidence to stand up for yourself and be stronger.

Though you don’t have the words to properly express yourself, you smile and murmur a small, ‘thank you, Paz’.

“Always thinking so hard about everything and never talking,” Paz muses, though it sounds like he might be smiling underneath that helmet, “One day I will find out what goes on in that pretty little head, sweetheart.”

“Well, I just figured you do enough talking for the both of us, ori kebiin,” You tease, grinning when you hear a sweet bark of a filtered laugh and you’re grateful that nothing has severely changed between you two after everything that happened with the bounty hunter.

“Remind me to keep you away from Ima so she won’t teach you any other nicknames that the tribe has for me,” Paz lets out a dramatic sigh that instantly amuses you, “Same with all the others. Anyone tries to teach you Mando’a, don’t listen to them, okay?”

“Would it be disrespectful for an outsider to learn the language?”

“No, it’s just--” He makes a funny noise from the back of his throat, something you’ve learned he does when you say something that makes him feel flustered, “Some of the guys are just… playful, and I would not put it past them to teach you something you would not normally intend to say.”

You must look confused because he immediately lets out with another groan, almost sounding like he’s struggling as he speaks in a hasty tone, “They would teach you how to say something dirty as a way of messing around with you. They may protect you as their little sister, but it also means they would pick on you like one as well.”

Your cheeks feel so intensely hot at the thought of being pranked in such a way and you’re suddenly very much aware of Paz’s arm around your waist as you two slowly stroll through the enclave, his fingers twitching just a few inches below your cauterized wound. Then you think of the way he had held you on top of him the previous night, all while letting you kiss him and you’re certain that your ears are burning from the inside out at the images that you allow your mind to conjure.

“I think I know how Djarin felt when I was holding his helmet up to the forge, cyare,” Paz drawls in a teasing manner, making you grow weak in the knees as he drops his helmet a little, “I can feel the heat from your cheeks and ears through all this Beskar.”

You give him an annoyed scowl, though it only seems to spur him on even more and you suddenly hate how easy it is for you to grow flustered when he makes these flirty little comments, “Maybe you should listen to what they teach you--I do not think I would mind hearing my language in that pretty mouth of yours.”

You chew viciously on your bottom lip and shake your head as you change the topic, deciding you’ve had enough torment for one day, “Where are you taking me, Paz?”

He simply grunts and you roll your eyes at the fact that your usually mouthy warrior has decided to grow quiet and you simply let him guide you to whatever destination he has in mind. Curiosity gets the better of you when you feel him tense up a little against your side, his spine straightening as he leads you even deeper underground and down another staircase and you’re in absolute awe of the size of the enclave. Even when you stumble a little, he keeps you grounded with his arm around your waist and you are simultaneously grateful for both his diligence to keep you from falling as well as the body heat from the cracks of his armor.

“I know this place is not what you’re used to and even though you are safe, I thought you might miss the sunlight and your pretty flowers, cyare,” Paz begins to ramble as he guides you down the dimly lit tunnel and your curiosity grows hundred fold when you are able to make out the nervous pitch of his filtered voice as he brings you towards a small entrance covered by black drapes, “I just… I thought you might like having a place to yourself because I know how quiet you are and how loud we can be sometimes. I just want you to feel as comfortable as possible.”

He curls his fingers into the heavy drapes and you tilt your head to the side when he pulls them to the side, urging you into the little alcove with a sharp nod of his helmet and you think he must feel nervous for you to see what’s in the room. You bow your head low as you duck into the small room, biting back a small giggle when you hear the loud clatter of a helmet meeting stone, followed by a few curse words that you’re used to hearing from him; his enclave is so big that he must have forgotten that a smaller alcove existed within it.

“It seems like you are the clumsy one now,” You giggle, turning back to face him as he readjusts his helmet a little, “You are not allowed to make fun of me anymore.”

He snorts a little, “That’s not how it works.”

As soon as you turn forward to take in your surroundings, whatever smart comment that nearly rolls off the tip of your tongue diminishes and your huge grin drops into a severe expression of shock.

The room is little, but adorned with several clay pots filled with your usual violets that you typically wear in your hair, as well as flowers from the hot springs he had taken you to months and vibrant flora you’ve never seen on Nevarro. 

“Ima helped me with most of it since I kept accidentally killing a bunch of your flowers.”

Immediately, tears fill your eyes when you realize all he’s done for you--collecting flowers and rehoming them in an environment where it is difficult for them to flourish, though there’s plenty of artificial lighting beating down on them, just as you had previously advised. You spot a large cup of water on the long desk that most of the plants reside on and wonder if he had come down here every single day just to water them and your heart feels like it’s about to burst from all the overwhelming emotions you are currently feeling. You step forward upon noticing the wooden cabinets above the desk and open them slowly, smiling warmly upon seeing the numerous glass jars and other tools that one would use to concoct salves and ointments.

“I know some of the flowers are dying and you could do a much better job, but I know how much they mean to you and I didn’t want you to lose this part of--” He stops rambling the second you turn to him with tear-filled eyes.

“You did all of this for me? Just so I would be more comfortable here?”

“I would not want you to be without your flowers, cyare,” His shoulders slump forward a little at the shock in your quiet voice and you watch with warmth in your cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards the long desk that houses all the beautiful flowers, “I know how much you cherish them and what they mean to you--how they remind you of a happier time that you are still far too hurt over to talk to me about. In a way, I suppose they are as precious to you as our helmets are to us.”

You watch as his leather-clad fingers carefully pluck one of those beautiful blue flowers that you had seen at the hot springs and your heart soars the moment he slowly makes his way back to you, all while staring at the beautiful, luminescent petals. Your feet feel glued to the floor as he reaches out to tuck the flower somewhere in your hair and your grin is so large that you feel it hurting your cheeks as he tucks the beautiful blue flower behind the shell of your warm ear.

Feeling the familiar tickle of a tiny stem grazing the shell of your ear, you smile up at him warmly and wish to tell him the words you are not able to conjure into a coherent statement. Instead, you stand up on the tips of your toes to press a sweet kiss into the fabric covering his neck before moving up to the hollow cheek of his helmet. You hear him grunt and groan as his hands carefully cup your waist to keep you close to him and you wonder if he’s imagining how your lips would feel against skin. Suddenly, you’re grateful that he had decided to leave his heavier equipment in his quarters, making it easier to reach up and kiss the thick, warm fabric that covers his shoulders.

“Gar ganar ner kar'ta ratiin, cyare.”

“What does that mean?”

He tilts his helmet downwards when you reluctantly pull away to gaze up at him.

“It is my promise to you.”

You grow warm as you think of what he could possibly be promising to you, though you decide not to ask as you explore all the little dents of his pauldron and helmet with a feathery light touch

“Then I will make the same promise to you as well.”

You’re slightly startled as you watch him manage to rip off his gloves that are tucked underneath his huge gauntlets before he’s cradling your cheeks and gently backing you up against the desk he’s deemed worthy of housing your precious flowers.

“Maker, you are so fucking so beautiful, I really don’t deserve you, do I? Always so kind to me and I--” He grunts and you smile softly upon hearing the adoration laced within his filtered voice as he carefully nudges his helmet against your bare forehead, "I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

"But your--"

"Close your eyes, please, close your eyes--"

Your breath hitches at the desperation in his filtered voice, "You trust me this much?"

He huffs as his thumb tenderly grazes your bottom lip, “I would trust you with a blaster to my chest, cyare.”

“I think your Beskar would hold up just fine.”

He snorts--a distorted sound that his modulator barely picks up--and as soon as your eyes slip shut, he rips his helmet off and has his lips pressed against yours in a kiss that is something more passionate than all the ones you shared the previous night. 

You jump a little upon the foreign feeling of his tongue grazing your bottom lip and curiously open your mouth for him to explore, earning a deep groan from him; your heart is beating wildly as he tenderly cups the back of your head to keep you close, his other arm slung across your lower back and you feel part of his helmet barely digging into your waist. 

A shiver rips through your body when he pulls away with a small gasp and immediately teases the underside of your jaw with his teeth and wet tongue, his helmet dropping to the floor with a loud clang that you two barely notice as a whimper leaves you at the pleasant sensation his lips bring you.

“Paz,” Your voice leaves your mouth in a way you’ve never heard from yourself, all breathy and more of a little whine as he gives you what you think is the only kind of mark he’d ever leave on your body.

“Everything you do just makes me--” He cuts himself off with a soft sigh as he skims his mouth along your jawline, ultimately ending up at your earlobe and you shudder again when he presses a tender kiss to the hot skin there, “Can’t believe you thought I’d make you leave the covert--you’re an angel, I’m sure of it.”

And you’ve never heard someone call you such a thing--an angel--but as he continues to mumble sweet praises and compliments against the column of your neck, you hear the sincerity in his raw voice and you feel his love deep in your soul. As your hands cup his scruffy jaw to guide him back to your lips, you wonder if there’s some sort of invisible wire that connects two people and their souls together and if you and Paz had somehow been connected as soon as he walked into the infirmary. You think of all the bad luck you’ve had in your life and how you’ve lost the only ones who have ever loved you, leaving you with a cruel father that felt no shame in beating you down countless times. 

But then you think of Paz.

You think of the man that had walked you home and had been so determined to show you that not everything on this planet was awful, and now, pressed up against the desk with his lips, teeth, and tongue all teasing at your skin, you grin a little.

You finally feel as though you have found your home within his heart.

The thought of soulmates and fate immediately disappears as he eventually pulls away and gently nudges your forehead with his, instantly making your heart bloom like a wildflower when you think of all the times he’s rested his Beskar helmet against your forehead. A tear trickles down your cheek, though you think it is a happy one as Paz lifts his head to kiss your forehead, letting out a deep sigh that fans across your already warm skin.

You’re surprised when you hear him clear his throat before he speaks, “I am glad you accepted my apology, but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for raising my voice at you.”

You hear how his voice is thick with emotion and you realize this is something he is not going to let go any time soon; he drops his head against the curve of your neck as you speak, “Then let it serve as a reminder to never do it again, Paz. Like I said, everyone makes mistakes--it’s how we learn and grow--and if it happens again, it will only show me that you have not grown.”

“And what about him--Djarin--did he apologize when you were fixing him up, cyare?” Paz questions against your shoulder, his voice slightly muffled, “Because if he didn’t I can--”

“You Mandalorians,” You huff a small laugh, grinning a little when he squeezes you to him tighter, but making sure to remain mindful of crushing you against his armor, “Always so scornful, even towards your own kind. The bounty hunter did apologize to me and he seemed to genuinely regret what he did.”

“I understand that you do not wish to see him lose his place with the tribe or see him suffer, but I still don’t think he deserves your forgiveness,” Paz sighs again, moving to place tender little kisses against your shoulder and the side of your neck; he chuckles a little when you find yourself slowly tilting your head to the side.

“I accepted his apology but did not forgive him,” You inform Paz quietly, finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes shut for him, though you persist for the sake of his honor, “I could not because it would have made me a dishonest woman.”

You feel him smile against your jaw as he tends to the sensitive skin with plush lips, “And you are not a dishonest woman, ner cyare.”

You grin, remembering how you had spoken out against the bounty hunter earlier when you had been resetting his shoulder and a part of you is tempted to tell the Mandalorian, thinking that he would gain some sort of satisfaction just as you had. You think of the bounty hunter’s story of how Paz had protected him when he’d first come to the covert and your heart melts at the thought of a young blue warrior protecting a small foundling who must have been just as afraid as the little one you comforted earlier.

“No, I am not.”

Before he can say anything, a loud female voice from outside the alcove startles Paz nearly right out of his skin and you raise your brows as he hastily retrieves his helmet and gloves from the ground.

“Ori kebiin di’kut!” Ima’s voice is practically screaming at him and you grin when Paz gives you the okay to open your eyes; something about his exasperated sigh makes you think this isn’t the first time she’s done this to him, “Khai pushed  Vhan down the stairs again and could probably use some medical attention. Think you can manage to be away from your riduur for more than five minutes?”

You raise your brows as you follow him out of the alcove, coming face to face with Ima, who you’re certain must be smug as she cocks her helmet at the sight of you. She then reaches out to skim a finger along your jawline and your eyes widen at how tender the skin there feels, your cheeks instantly feeling like a raging wildfire that spreads to your ears; there must be a small mark he left there with his teeth.

“Looks like you two already made up,” Ima snorts, glancing up at Paz who is shaking his helmet at her, and you remember what he had told you about being picked on like a sister, though you think it makes you feel more like part of the tribe, “C’mon saviin’ika, you have a long day ahead of you.”

She grabs your hand and happily urges you to follow her, all while still teasing you.

As you leave a flustered Paz behind, you think Ima is the first person you’ve trusted completely since meeting your warrior and a fond smile stretches along your lips as she nosily asks you if he had gotten on his knee to apologize to you.

You had forgotten what it felt like to have a family, but perhaps with enough time, you can learn again.

Translations:

Vod’ika=Little brother/sister

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (Lit: someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Mirdir be pehea gar kelir sirbur Ni ceta at kaysh=Think of how you will say sorry to her

Gar ganar ner kar'ta ratiin, cyare=You have my heart always, beloved

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Ner=Mine/My

Cyare=Beloved

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Riduur=Partner, spouse, husband/wife

A/N: As always, thank you all so much for all the support and sweet words!! It makes me so happy that you guys are enjoying this story as much as I love writing it, because I really do always have such a lovely time writing these two soft lovebirds :) I love you all and adore hearing all your thoughts and ideas because they always inspire me so much!

I love you guys and please have a wonderful day! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)<3

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester​ @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithwinchester @aliciaxglasgow @bonesaldente @kawaiitimecharm

[crybabyjam]

born to die for you

ship: bakudeku

rating: t

fantasy au.

summary:  Katsuki is still coming to terms with Izuku's sacrifice for him.

content warning for described (past) eye trauma/injury

companion art available here

available on ao3 here

---

With nightfall comes a chill that nips at Katsuki's bones, painful where they've been broken and reformed time and again. Katsuki picks at the bracer outlining his wrist, unsure if he wants to tighten it or loosen, but is soon distracted by the sound of footfalls from behind him.

He turns, not sharply because he recognizes the cadence of the leather boots, and acknowledges Izuku's arrival with a soft grunt.

Izuku carries with him a bundle of firewood, much more than they needed for a night's rest, but he always did that.

"What if we want to sleep in tomorrow, Kacchan?" Izuku had mused, in the past. "Then you can just reignite the wood from our bedroll."

"And incinerate the entire fuckin' forest while I'm at it." Katsuki had grumbled, not pointing out the fact that it was Izuku who chose to leave their bedroll each morning, bright and early.

Now, Izuku has busied himself with kindling in the shape of thin sticks and twigs and dry dead grass. Katsuki turns away before he's caught staring.

(read more)

Small swarms of fireflies dip in and out of the treeline, flickering their delicate glow behind moonbeams that pierce through the thick throngs of branches and leaves. Katsuki waves a couple away from his face, blinking up at the sky.

It was a pleasantly clear night, though the stars were soon dulled as thick smoke entered the atmosphere. Izuku stands up tall, stretching a crick out of his neck, and Katsuki's eyes turn towards the modest campfire that soon soothes the ache from his bones with its mellow warmth.

Katsuki falls heavy on a log he'd dragged out into the open earlier, which has rotted a bit by the way it has turned green around the edges, but was stable enough to hold his weight. Acrid smoke curls around him, scaring away the pesky lightning bugs that have taken interest in his eyelashes, and Katsuki finds comfort in the way it pleasantly coats his lungs.

With a deep breath, he lets his spine curl over as he leans against his knees, still picking at his bracer. He hadn't realized how high his shoulders had been to his ears until then.

Izuku comes to join him on the log, fingers skipping across the exposed skin of Katsuki's shoulders that lay bare without his cloak. They're cold at the tips, but tepid at the palms when he curls the calloused pad of his hand around Katsuki's upper arm.

"Long day, hm?" Izuku muses, quiet. As if someone could overhear them, purposefully lost in the woods as they were. They'd travelled ages and hours to get here, to the middle of nowhere, and they had the scars to prove it.

Katsuki's eyes dart over to Izuku's. One, vibrant green and bright and a bit tired around the edges where the few sleepless nights he'd gone through have built up over the weeks and left dark smudges and swollen skin beneath his waterline.

The other eye still has the bags and the dark marks, but is nothing more than a blank, white marble that mocks Katsuki at the best and worst of times.

He turns away with a jerk, knocking Izuku's hand off of his skin. Izuku takes no offense to the motion, only offering a temperate hum as he stands again to pick through their wares for dinner.

Generally, Katsuki was the one who cooked.

He hadn't offered tonight, because there was something, some stupid feeling simmering beneath his skin and his muscles and gluing between his bones, that left him hot and cold and overtly empty in the stomach.

Katsuki could barely focus past it, which only got him more pissed. An irritating feedback loop, and Katsuki scarcely had the energy to take those feelings out on an enemy or an unfortunate tree stump, let alone talk it through rationally with his partner.

His partner, who has busied himself with their cooking pot and setting up a spit to cook the small rabbit they had prepared earlier. Izuku sets it out, the rabbit carcass, as close to the fire as it can get without preemptively cooking, so that the bugs stay off of it.

Then, he tugs out a sack filled with potatoes that have lasted them most of the month, a shallot or two squished at the bottom. The rest of their mushrooms are spread throughout, like edible ornaments, and he upends the whole of the bag atop a slab of clean wood, nestled in a cleared area on the forest floor. They spread messily across his chopping block, the heavy one that hangs off of a loop on Izuku's pack when they hike through woods and mountains.

"Peel these?" Izuku asks, holding up two of the five small potatoes they have left. Altogether it would be a hearty meal that would send them right to sleep, and probably have leftovers for breakfast if they remembered to keep it covered and simmering through the night.

Katsuki doesn't make a show of his compliance, unhooking the paring knife from their food pack and gathering up the potatoes without a sound. Izuku's head tilts, as if trying to figure out a puzzle or hear a silent song on the wind. He mumbles something, purposefully low so that Katsuki doesn't hear, but he disappears with the cooking pot before Katsuki can make a fuss about it. Off to get clean water from the stream they'd set up partially near.

With his absence, that feeling that coiled around in Katsuki's gut— like a stubborn snake that has carelessly poisoned itself— starts to rear up even heavier.

He recognizes that it is, atleast partially, fear. Fear of what will happen with Izuku out of his sight. How fucking stupid is it that he only starts getting afraid for idiot Deku after he's been injured, healed over, and shown to be alright.

And though Katsuki cares for the half-elf, he… isn't the best at categorizing his own feelings. Especially for others. Even before the incident, Katsuki's relationship with Izuku was a fragile thing: thin and easily pierced like an eggshell. Anything could come and break it, and Katsuki hadn't been ready yet to acknowledge how much it would wound him if it did happen. Still isn't.

Though, it's not as if he… didn't care before. Far from it. But the injury had only cemented some sort of mortality in the thick of Katsuki's mind, for the both of them. Each battle could bring the demise of either one of them; could end the fanciful dream they have conceived where they would wind up, at the end of their days, together and happy and peaceful.

Instead, it was more like Izuku was the one who didn't care.

He had laughed, joyous and bubbling, with his eye plucked straight from his head like grapes unready to be pulled from a vine. Covered in his own blood, dying, and he was just happy that he'd saved Katsuki.

Katsuki had been cursed, some while ago, by some asshole who hated his guts for some reason Katsuki couldn't even remember anymore. They, the one who cursed him, had thought it would be funny to torment Katsuki. To dangle his dreams in front of him and tell him, clearly, that he would never achieve them. That the only thing he had to look forward to was the dark veil of death.

The curse decreed that his vision belonged to that sorcerer. Someway or another, completely outside of Katsuki's control, he would lose them (his dreams, his vision, his future) and die. For a person without a future is nothing more than a corpse, they'd said.

Izuku hadn't liked learning that. Almost more than Katsuki hated being toyed with by a shitty spellcaster.

There isn't much Katsuki remembers specifically about the event, truly. He knows that Izuku had figured out how to fiddle with the curse, how to turn it onto himself instead of Katsuki. How to make it so that something physical is given up, instead of a full life.

Izuku had willingly given up his eye, so that Katsuki could live. He gave up part of his own vision, his iris greying like a silver coin, and had been so happy when he'd turned to Katsuki, expression bright and open, when it worked.

It took them both by surprise when the curse-giver had returned with a vengeance, even before Katsuki could get mad at Izuku for butting in where he shouldn't have. Katsuki had barely opened his lips, ready to yell probably, when sharp fingers had plunged into Izuku's face. Those fingers had sliced through Izuku's battle-hardened skin and bones like it was soft river water parted by a departing boat.

Something Katsuki does starkly remember is the intense despair that had gripped his ribs and rattled them like rusting cage bars, seeing that. Izuku's lifeblood spilled across his pores, painting across his freckles with deep, heavy crimson. Katsuki remembers how it had dried brown just around the edges, but still sluggishly bled when Izuku passed out in his arms.

He couldn't breathe with every step he took to a medic, or a necromancer, or even a fucking seamstress if only they could fix Deku.

"I'm glad, Kacchan," Izuku had mumbled, voice dying in his throat as the pain gripped him from inside and outside his skull. He was still smiling, teeth staining red as his wound spilled over across his lips. "You're free."

As an elf, Izuku had a long life in front of him. Even before Katsuki was born some thirty years ago, Izuku had lived through half the lifetime of a plain human. And even now, they've only known one another for five years, no longer than that. So why had it been so easy for him to give up the rest of his life, just for Katsuki?

It haunted him, still, that he didn't know the answer to that question.

Katsuki had to trade his sword, pommel embedded with rare stones charmed with strength magic, to pay for the medicines, the surgery, and for his new eye. It wasn't his best sword, yet was an heirloom from his parents. Despite that, he'd used the thing maybe a dozen times for the better part of the year, so it had been easy to part with. Much easier than giving up Izuku.

It was scary, realizing the extent that his care for such a stupid elven idiot went.

Before the incident, Katsuki could have even comfortably said that he hated the guy, that he was stupidly selfless and had a god-complex from always looking down on everyone. That he was annoying. It would have been a lie, the 'hate' part atleast, but Katsuki could have said it and been at ease with himself.

Even when Izuku would greet him with a bright smile, a 'Great work, Kacchan!' after battle, or a gentle touch when they had to suture one another's wounds, Katsuki had been… hesitant with his— heart or whatever. He barely wanted to let the elf in, because that was just another weakness his enemies could use to get to him. And, because…

Izuku returns with a full pot and two full waterskins.

Katsuki had been distracted and slow-going with the potatoes, so he still has two left to peel by the time Izuku sits cross-legged in front of the fire, stirring the water with spices, cuts of butter, the mushrooms.

"What's bothering you, Kacchan?" Izuku asks, knife coming down hard on the chopping block as he prepares the few peeled potatoes and the rest of the vegetables for the stew. The rabbit is quickly dismembered and stuffed tight into the tiny cast iron vessel, before the stew is placed back over the fire.

It doesn't even bubble and boil before the aroma is drifting through their humble campsite.

When Katsuki doesn't answer the question, Izuku slips his legs beneath himself and crawls over, knees staining with dark soil. His hands are dirty with rabbit blood and salt.

"I can help, if you tell me."

His hair is soft as he rests his head in Katsuki's lap, uncaring of stray potato peels. His fingers curl over as he holds them limply in the air, careful not to stain either of their clothes.

His eyes drift shut. The scarred side doesn't close all the way, a thing it sometimes does when Izuku lays his neck at odd angles. He never notices it, but Katsuki does. The scar is thick, though it wasn't keloid or bumpy, and sometimes made his left eyelid curve up away from the lower lid.

Katsuki didn't want to let Izuku into his heart because Katsuki wasn't strong enough yet, for love.

It's something he realized in the middle of a night when he'd startled awake, breathing in the scent at the nape of Izuku's neck. It was a soft fragrance, and though Izuku was a light sleeper he hadn't woken up when Katsuki jerked from his nightmare by gripping him tight around the middle.

No, he stayed peacefully dozing, as the morning sun began to melt the dew and warm the ground. And so, Katsuki was able to look at him clearly, openly, and thank the heavens that Izuku was still with him. It made him pathetically soft in the heart, pressing himself skin to skin to Izuku.

Caring takes a lot out of a person, requires a lot more. It hurt to admit, even in the hidden space of his mind, but Katsuki didn't think he'd ever be strong enough, for love.

Something else Katsuki remembers from the episode that cost Izuku half his sight is how much Katsuki had cried. His entire frame had wracked and shuddered with sobs, hands dirty with elf blood and salty tears that surely did not help the wound.

Like with everything else, he doesn't know how he was able to kill the sorcerer who cursed them both, but he does remember the vibrating, thrumming heat all through his veins. It was as if he was a beast that had been dulled with drugged food and collars and chains for all of his life, and was suddenly let loose.

He let his anger consume him in a literal blaze, igniting the earth and the air without prejudice. He seared sinewy muscle from bone, his own as they crackled to absorb his influx of power, and that of the sorcerer who dared to find humor in Izuku's sacrifice.

Izuku tells him this, laughing the same way as he did that horrible day, and also says that Katsuki had been a stunning sight, finally reaching the apex of his power: his maturation. He had glowed with his anger and his heat and his fear.

Dragonkin did not mature traditionally. Their powers were muted, though still strong, and were kept locked inside of their bodies until they reached a boiling point in their life. A period of time of extreme stress, pressuring them to mold into something new— like diamonds sitting at the Earth's core tense under magmatic rock. Katsuki matured much earlier than most.

Of course it would be Deku that brought him to that breaking point.

It was ironic, in a way that Katsuki didn't care to think further about. Especially not at that point in time, when Izuku was choking on his own tongue and turning pale as he bled out. He'd smeared some of it, the blood, across Katsuki's face, messily staining locks of hair that had grown longer with the breadth of their shared adventure.

"Kacchan," Izuku says.

Katsuki blinks, and Izuku is now sitting on his right, also atop the log. He'd missed the moment when Izuku decided to rest his head against Katsuki's shoulder, only catching the motion as he pulls away to clean his hands with a wetted cloth.

"What?"

"I asked if you weren't feeling hungry after all. It was a long day." Izuku has to wet the cloth twice more with water from his waterskin in order to get the stubborn, thin blood from between his fingers. "You can sleep, if you want."

Katsuki rolls excuses around his tongue, jaw clenching and unclenching. "It's almost done. 's fine."

The pot begins to bubble in that moment, summoned to life. It overflows a bit, and Izuku hurries back over to stir. Katsuki watches as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear with his cleaned fingers, unnoticing of the stray strands that tickle his blind side.

He ladles some of the soup with a small spoon, though the rabbit is nowhere near done, and sniffs at it closely. His nostril flares, wrinkling at the edges of his smile line, which means that he thinks it smells good.

Still, he adds a few more dashes of spice and hurries to finish chopping the rest of the potatoes. Conversation forgotten (but not really), he hums a soft tune to himself. Bathed in firelight like this, half-angled away, it looks as though he's been untouched by the war and the battles they'd been through.

Katsuki makes the mistake of shifting, sitting up straighter, and Izuku glances up at him. His fake eye reflects brighter than his real one, and it's like a stab.

When Katsuki does nothing more than resettle, Izuku turns back to their meal and cleans up the utensils and the cutting board. He rinses them only, preferring to sanitize in the morning when they take river baths. He lays them out on a terrycloth to dry, and settles back on the log with Katsuki, crossing his legs at the ankle.

He lets Katsuki brood silently, then, busying himself with picking the dirt from his knees and pulling over his sword to see if it needs sharpening. It doesn't, but he pulls out his whetstone and tools to polish it at least. Izuku doesn't see how Katsuki clenches his fist and squeezes tight on nothing.

"Deku," Katsuki starts, before stopping just as suddenly. "Why…"

Izuku turns to him again, has to shift onto one of his hips to see Katsuki properly. Another stabbing reminder. He seems to find something worrisome in Katsuki's gaze, or maybe his tone, because he sets down his sword again and scoots closer.

He holds his hand out, palm up, and Katsuki hovers over it hesitantly.

"Talk to me, Katsuki."

There's too much to say, really.

Katsuki lets his hand rest in Izuku's and sighs. His palm had warmed from earlier, probably from gripping the chopping knife, and the physical reminder that he's here and alive settles the fear in Katsuki's stomach, just a touch.

He doesn't get a chance to fully develop his thoughts, whatever they were, because the pot starts to boil over again. Rabbit marrow and blood thickened by the heated water splatters into the campfire, further daubing the campsite with its hearty flavor. Izuku looks stricken when Katsuki pulls away, but only nods to himself and goes to tend to it.

He's still looking back at Katsuki when he reaches for the ladle, which is why he misses. His hand goes dangerously close to the flames, nearly curling around a charred log. When the heat registers, he jerks back with a hiss, but the pot is in the way.

His fingers touch the searing hot iron full on, stay in contact long enough that there is a faint sizzle, but he is able to  yank it away with a ragged gasp. Katsuki jumps to his feet, heart pounding.

He snatches Izuku back by the collar of his shirt and drags him away a few paces, eyes wide.

"Idiot!"

Izuku grunts as he's choked, and then when the pain flares a bit as he holds his fingers up to the light. Katsuki circles to his front, darkening Izuku with shadows, and grabs his hand to look at the injury himself.

It isn't a bad burn by far, somewhere between a first and a second degree. He'd probably get worse standing too close to Katsuki in battle. But it was a preventable one. Preventable by a margin of months, in a timeline where Izuku hadn't been so fucking… him that he took a blow meant to rid Katsuki from the world.

Liquid fire laps at Katsuki's throat, or maybe it's bile from the sudden deluge of anxiety, and it scorches him so much differently than his fire ever does.

"You never fucking learn," Katsuki growls, throat igniting. He has to breathe all of the fire from his lungs before he makes the injury worse, turning away until the flames putter out to embers that tingle across his tongue.

"Sorry, Kacchan." Izuku is placid when he tugs his fingers out of Katsuki's grip, rubbing his thumb across the already presenting blisters. "Guess I'm still getting used to… you know."

He says it as if it's a joke, as if it was the same as tripping over untied shoelaces, and Katsuki gets pissed.

He goes red in the face, and not in the same way he does when Deku holds him close and kisses him on the cheeks or around the neck. It's mottled and splotchy, and the same face he makes when he's moments away from crying— whether furious tears or not.

"Maybe if you hadn't taken a blow not meant for you, you'd still have your two shitty eyes." Katsuki grabs his hand again, too rough, and pulls Izuku over to their bags. Izuku yanks his appendages back when Katsuki lets go to shuffle through their things for salve and bandages.

He licks at them with his tongue, blowing cool breath to ease the biting pain. Idiot would get himself fucking infected.

"Just like the last time you said that, I won't apologize for what I did." Izuku says it firmly, as if it were an obvious conclusion he'd come to and not one born of— of fucking stupidity and martyrdom.

"I would do it again if I had to."

"You didn't have to the first time!" Katsuki explodes. It's literal when shards of their salve pot splinter between his drawn knuckles, though the ceramic is shattered to dust enough that the skin doesn't cut. He jerks his fist back, hiding it even though Izuku doesn't reach for him, and smears the smooth paste against his trousers as he continues, "I didn't ask you to sacrifice yourself, you ass."

Izuku stands up straight, looking him right in the eye even when Katsuki can't bear to stare at him back. Daring him to do something. He shoves Izuku in the shoulder, making him stumble back, and forces him to sit back on the log that has been plopped upon so heavily in the last hour that it has made its own indent in the soft soil.

What salve he has managed to save, piled and stuck to the backs of his nails, he plasters across Izuku's newest injury. It instantly soothes the pain, and the pinched expression sitting on Izuku's brow eases to something calmer. He's still upset though, lips pulled down in a frown as he tries to look Katsuki in the eye again.

Katsuki stays looking down, at the swollen blisters that would surely rupture in the next skirmish they had, and reaches for the gauze and cloth to wrap them in.

"I'm not fucking weak." Katsuki sighs, finally. Softly. He deflates with the motion, shoulders dropping until he looks small and tired, and they are so far from the campfire that he is outlined in white and blue moonlight like a dying siren in the ocean.

"You're the strongest person I know," Izuku agrees.

The fight fizzles out, just like that. No kindling to keep it alight.

The two longest fingers of Izuku's hands get wrapped thickly, so that if he knocks them into things they won't hurt too bad. Another is just lightly reddened, the most minor of burns, and only gets a thin layer of the rest of the ointment before Katsuki lets him go.

Izuku pats the spot next to him on the log, on his blindside.

Katsuki goes, not begrudgingly but tired all the same. He sits on Deku's left side and turns to look at him fully, watching the way the scar curls and curves as high as his hairline and as low as the jut of his jaw.

The overboiled pot is taken away from the fire, settled on a thicker piece of wood that can stand the heat of the iron. Izuku leaves it to simmer there, but both of them know it will be a long few hours before either is ready to eat it.

Unobstructed, the campfire flames flicker higher into the night sky.

It isn't so tall as to rival a bonfire, not even close, but it curlicues into the sky as if playing with starlight. They are granted more light, in return, and Katsuki can see clearly how Izuku is struggling to come up with the right words to stay, to figure out what was wrong with Katsuki that night.

It doesn't irritate him as much as it would have in the past.

"Deku," Katsuki tries again.

Just as before, Izuku turns to him. Before he has a chance to second-guess himself, Katsuki reaches out to touch. Izuku relaxes as soon as Katsuki's hand has curled around his jaw, fingers grazing the straight edge of his pointed ears.

Katsuki's fingers bleed warmth where they press into Izuku's skin, heating it up until he goes pleasantly pink around the fringes. His thumb brushes the edge of the inlaid scar that just barely missed bisecting one of his more prominent freckles in two. It is completely healed over, has been numb to everything for months, but Katsuki is tentative around it as if it were still fresh and raw.

He remembers tending to it, after Izuku's life was no longer in danger. It looked different then, scabs peeling away to reveal more scabs, and he hadn't been able to stick in a prosthetic piece until the cavern where his old eye rested had been aired out and cleared of both blood and debris.

Katsuki had to flush it every so often, with sterile water and stinging medicine, and Izuku had thrown up the first time he'd had to experience it. The pain had gone straight through what few nerves he had left and grabbed at his brain with sharp talons, and it had taken a considerable amount of both of their strength to get him to lay still again.

Kacchan had touched him in this familiar way, back when the eye was taken. Katsuki's face had been splattered with tears and Izuku's blood, because Izuku had accidentally brushed some of it onto his skin when reaching for him, to comfort.

But Katsuki was so beautiful and bright like the sun, but closer and more tangible and much more torrid. Izuku had felt so blessed to be able to witness his rebirth, to be the first to see his true power burst from his fingertips and his mouth, that Izuku hadn't thought to be upset that he would die soon afterwards.

"Don't cry, Kacchan," Izuku remembers saying, hopefully smiling in a way that wasn't too crazed. It hurt to move but he pressed his hand to the back of Katsuki's palm anyway and hugged it tighter against his unmarred cheek. "That's my job, remember?"

"It'll be okay." He'd said, also. "Everything will be fine." Because even if he died, Kacchan was free now, to live and to see.

For Izuku, his scar is a sign of what he is willing to do for his Kacchan, the risks that come with loving someone heart and soul. He wears it with pride, content in knowing that Katsuki survived— no, that he won that day. Even from the beginning, Izuku would have given up the world for Katsuki.

He's lived long enough to learn to cherish what he falls in love with— especially when he may live so long as to lose it in the blink of an eye. Literally.

But to Katsuki, it is only a painful reminder of his weaknesses. His inability to protect himself, let alone protect his own. It's cruel, the way that Deku chooses to stand on Katsuki's right side, so that if Katsuki even so much as tilts his head, he sees the glint of the fake, unseeing crystal glinting in sunlight.

Izuku looks at him, the injured eyelid drifting shut as Katsuki focuses on it for a long, aching moment.

Silence, only the soft lulling lullaby of forest symphony.

Then, "Izuku," Katsuki breathes. It's a whisper, softly anguished, and it breaks Izuku's heart.

"Why did you…" Katsuki trails off, leaning forward to drop his face against Izuku's shoulder. His nose presses against the jugular and he can feel the full thrum of Izuku's heartbeat pumping blood inside his veins. "Why did you do it?"

In every moment with Izuku, Katsuki is reminded of his shortcomings. It's amazing that he hasn't realized, not just yet, that it is pure trust in his abilities that makes Izuku choose to stand on Katsuki's right side. Where he is blind, he knows Katsuki is there to defend and to protect, to fight back against those who will try to take advantage of his weakness.

Though his wound could be debilitating in battle, never once after the incident had he been hit on his left. Not with Katsuki there.

"Because I care about you," Izuku explains carefully. He cradles his other hand, the uninjured one, around Katsuki's back and holds him steady. "Because I knew what I was willing to do for you, even if you hated me for it."

Izuku has never been uncertain of where Katsuki stands in his heart. He loved him with everything he had, and he would show it time and again, for as long as he was able because forever is such a fickle thing. And though they hadn't yet promised to be the other's forever, Izuku knew it was what he wanted.

"Because I love you," Izuku adds, as if it weren't clear. As if he didn't say it every day in words and in actions. He was willing to wait and to fight for it, even if Katsuki chose to never reciprocate those feelings. Izuku would always love Katsuki fiercely and purely.

The two stay like that, half curled in on one another. Izuku isn't sure if his words absorb the way he means them to, or if he should say more to prove his feelings. But Katsuki doesn't move, so Izuku doesn't pull away.

Whatever it is that Katsuki takes from Izuku's words, though, he seems satisfied as he sits up straight. He's calmer, and that self-assured look is back where it should be.

Katsuki gathers him, first by wrapping his arms tight around Izuku's torso to pull him hip to hip, and then with his palms pressing against his cheeks. He does that often, these days.

Katsuki looks Izuku in the eyes, gaze flickering from side to side as he looks first into the blank eye and then into the green one that greets him eagerly.

"Okay."

The rabbit stew sits, forgotten and simmering next to the blooming fire as Katsuki pulls Izuku from the log towards their bedrolls. He kicks away the bags from their pillows and tugs off his bracers, dropping them somewhere where their feet will rest when they sleep.

In the morning, they will scramble for their things as they begin their day: Katsuki's bracers and Izuku's sword, the rabbit stew gone cold when the fire died down in the middle of the night, and the ointment that dried sticky on Katsuki's trousers.

But, just for tonight, the only thing that matters to both of them is each other. Katsuki lays with Izuku down atop the earth, breathing with him, looking him in the eyes.

Izuku's head rests in the crook of his arm, and he hooks a blanket over their hips. He lets his hand come to lay on Katsuki's arm, rubbing semi-circles into his flesh until Katsuki relaxes further into their shared bedroll.

Katsuki sits up, only to pull Izuku closer and settle his own arm beneath Izuku's head, trapping him there until Katsuki has taken his fill for the evening.

He makes a silent promise.

Izuku was already in his heart, rooted firmly there, so Katsuki would do everything he could to protect him from now on. There was no obstacle he wouldn't face, no weakness he couldn't overcome—

Katsuki would get stronger alongside Izuku so they could live together, forever.

---

ao3 link

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 14

(CW: hunger, exhaustion, threats of violence, language, abduction, an ending you won’t like. Outsider POV, but Aziraphale is there.) 

(I am...really sorry...*flees the room*)

The latest part of my @goodomenscelebration fic! (Around 5k for this one)

Read the previous parts on AO3!

Food

Lyla had been walking for days. For years, really, ever since her parents had gone out for supplies and never returned, leaving her and Benny to fend for themselves.

They’d thought Dover would be safe. Had been, for almost half a year, before the blight reached the fields, before the fish all died, before the castle had been destroyed by a blast of power during one of the endless battles that raged in the sky.

She didn’t know which side had fired the blast. Didn’t even matter. Their home was gone.

Benny walked beside her, holding her hand. He was exhausted. Beyond that. His little legs couldn’t keep up with the crowd, but Lyla wasn’t strong enough to carry him for long. Every now and then, he tugged at her arm. “’M hungry,” he would whine. “’M tired.”

“I know Benny. Just a little more.”

“How much more?”

“A bit?” Lyla had been to London once, back before Benny was even born. It had taken less than two hours, but it had felt like an eternity.

She hadn’t known what eternity was back then.

“Is there anything to eat?”

Lyla dug in the pockets of her father’s jacket, hanging loose off her thin arms. She’d taken everything she could find from the ruins of the castle, but it had been a long walk through the blight. “I’ve got…um…two walnuts.” She tried to crack one in her hand without letting go of Benny, without falling behind, without dropping the last food they might see for days –

Suddenly her hand was empty.

“Benny!” She spun, to find a man in a pale suit carrying him. “Give him back!”

“My dear, I think you need both hands, and he’s quite tired –”

“Shut up! Give him back now!” She struck out, kicking him in the shin. His eyes went wide with surprise, and she prepared for another kick, maybe a bit higher this time.

“Alright. Here, he’s fine,” he quickly put Benny down and Lyla scooped him up. He wasn’t that heavy after all. Benny had hardly grown at all since the war started.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been traveling with you for quite some time.”

“No you haven’t.” There wasn’t a spot of dirt anywhere on his pristine suit. He weighed as much as half the traveling party put together, his hands were manicured. “You’re not from any of the surviving cells. Are you from some – some hidden estate? Which side did you make a deal with?” Lyla clutched Benny until he gave a moan of pain. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“I – honestly, it’s nothing of the kind. I have been traveling with you for a long, long time, remember?”

Lyla frowned. She supposed she did, but… “Dressed like that?”

“Well, I have standards.” He straightened the ridiculous tartan tie around his neck and smiled. “Now, if I can’t carry him, perhaps I can take care of those for you?” He held out his hand. She placed both the walnuts in his outstretched palm. The man clenched his fist for a moment, then opened it again to show both neatly cracked and ready to be eaten.

“Thank you,” Lyla murmured, picking up the nuts and handing them to Benny. He devoured them in seconds.

“My dear, you really should have kept one for yourself!”

“Don’t need it,” she said, even as her stomach growled. “We’ll be in London soon, right?”

“I…perhaps.” His eyes lingered on the dried-up river to their left, empty except for a thread of grey slurry oozing along the center. “I walked this way once, a long time ago.”

“We should catch up,” she muttered. Something about the man made her uncomfortable. They had fallen a little behind the rest of the group, and she wasn’t sure if anyone would turn back if she screamed.

“I don’t think you’re likely to get lost. Just keep to the road and…”

Up ahead, the embankment to the right had collapsed, spilling black earth across the road. It wasn’t thick, but it was wide. Everyone had stopped.

Lyla set Benny down beside one of the abandoned, rusted cars that littered the motorway. “We’ll have to go back.” There had to be a north-bound road that wasn’t blocked. Maybe at Worthing, there was supposed to be a major road there. Maybe. They’d lost the map two days ago, but north was north.

“Go back? It’s just a bit of dirt. Come, even I’m not that precious.”

Lyla backed away from him, eyes wide. “Just a bit of dirt? Are you insane?” She’d stepped on a patch once, back when it first spread to southern England, and had been stuck in bed for a week recovering.

“I just mean,” he waved a hand vaguely.

But more of the crowd had heard him. All eyes were on him now, and the muttering. Who is this man? Where did he come from? Is he a spy?

He held up his hands, looking a little nervous. “I just meant, er, there’s certainly a bit of a path around it. Look!”

They all turned back, and sure enough, there was a narrow strip on the left side of the road, completely bare of earth. They could pass through there, single file.

The man went last, and when Lyla turned back, he was rising from a crouch, dusting off his hands with a frown. “Just stumbled a bit, my dear, don’t worry about me.” He walked beside her again, smiling as if they were friends. “I don’t believe I caught your name?”

“Lyla,” she said, reluctantly. “Lyla Wilson. This is my brother, Benny.” He was walking beside her again, holding her left hand, as far as she could keep him from the strange man.

“Nice to meet you. My name is, er, Kasbeel.”

“Kasbeel? What sort of name is that?”

“Oh a very common one. In. Um. Chaldea.”

“Never heard of it.” Lyla frowned, the conversation shifting oddly around in her mind. “Oh, hang on, did you say Chelsea?”

“Yes, that certainly seems likely.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Kasbeel. From Chelsea.”

Something didn’t add up, but Lyla supposed it wasn’t important. They were heading north, and they’d be in London soon. That was all that mattered.

“Why London?” Kasbeel suddenly asked. “Surely there’s someplace closer you can all go?”

“Closer? The entire south coast is flooded.” She slowed down a little, as Benny’s legs started getting tired again. “And…they say London is safe. Only place they can’t go. You just have to find a way in.”

“They?”

“Who else? Angels and demons. Good riddance to both.”

Kasbeel slowed to a stop. Lyla almost kept walking without him, but his cheerful face had fallen, and he just looked lost. The same expression Benny wore when they’d left Dover, and Canterbury before that, and the day their parents had left…

“Well, why are you going, then?" She demanded "Since you don’t know anything about anything.”

“I – I was supposed to meet someone.” He looked out east, back over the basted, black hills of the South Downs. “Out there. Only…it’s all gone now. I thought he would go to London next. But if he can’t get in…I don’t even know where to look.”

“I mean…they say there’s ways. For humans.” She wasn’t sure if it was true. A wall of energy was supposed to surround the city, incinerating anyone who tried to cross it. But everyone knew someone who knew someone who had gotten out – or in.

Lyla glanced up to find the group already rounding the next corner. It wasn’t safe to fall behind, but somehow, she didn’t feel in danger from this strange man. “I’m sure your friend will be able to find a way in. Us, too. Alright?”

He smiled. “Yes. I just…I very much missed home for a moment.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else. Now come on.” She picked up Benny and started walking again.

“’M tired,” he said, which was almost all he ever said anymore.

Kasbeel’s hand drifted over and stroked his hair. “How about a little nap? I can carry him if you want. It’s no trouble.”

“Well. Alright. But only because we’re walking the same way. No funny business.”

Benny was sound asleep before he even reached Kasbeel’s arms, head resting lightly on his shoulder.

--

The line of rusted cars stretched across the motorway.

On the other side, the Marked ones, carrying clubs, and broken bottles, and knives.

“Just let us through,” someone called, as the wanderers milled around anxiously.

“Get lost, garbage,” snarled a woman, slamming her hands against a car, the Mark on her face twisted by her rage. “You’re not getting our food. Fuck off!”

“We don’t want your food!” one voice called, just as another shouted, “Please! We’re starving!” And another: “We’ve got kids here, just feed the kids!” And another: “The angels took Brighton, how much longer do you think you have.” And another: “Just let us through!”

“I don’t understand,” Kasbeel murmured, gently rocking Benny, who still slept in his arms. “Why won’t they just let you pass? And what are those brands on their faces?”

“Now I know you’re shitting me,” Lyla grumbled. “Are you going to tell me you never heard of the Mark of the Beast?” The gang on the other side of the cars all wore it somewhere: on their foreheads, their cheeks, their necks. Someplace it couldn’t easily be hidden – a complex sigil of straight and curved lines, contained in a circle.

“Ah,” Kasbeel sighed. “Yes, well…I’ve never actually seen it before…”

Lyla had seen it on the occasional traveler, trying to break into whatever place of safety they’d secured for themselves, hammering at the doors and screaming as she and Benny hid amongst people they hoped they could trust. Never on such a large group, all gathered together.

One of them leapt onto the bonnet of a car, throwing a bottle over their heads. Lyla ducked – she wasn’t the only one – but it shattered loudly somewhere in the distance. The voices all stumbled to a halt.

“You all know the rules,” the figure on the car snarled, pointing with a bar of metal, dented and stained. “Anyone can pass through here – so long as they take the Mark. Otherwise, you go around.” The figure glared across the crowd, taking in the wanderers, their wide, desperate eyes. “Angels don’t bother us. Never have, never will. Only reason they’d come here is for you lot, and we’re not going to take that risk. No Mark, no passage.”

Another murmur ran through the crowd. Kasbeel was asking a question, but Lyla couldn’t listen. She was so hungry. Couldn't think. There was no way around except miles and miles of back tracking, searching for another road north. Her eyes burned. She was so tired.

A wailing siren – mournful and distant – broke through the air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at all.

“Well,” called the Marked one standing on the car. “Looks like it’s time to decide.”

The ground trembled underfoot, rattling the cars where they sat. The Marked ones laughed, weaving through the barricade, shoving their way through the crowd, forcing the wanderers into a tighter and tighter knot. “They’re gonna want a good look at you lot,” one of them crowed. “Stay right here.” Several people started crying.

Suddenly, Lyla found Benny back in her arms, stirring slightly. Kasbeel stepped in front of her, watching the sides of the road. “Stay close to me, my dear. Whatever happens.”

She could have laughed. He looked at least fifty, soft as…well, as nothing was, not anymore, not in this ravaged world. But he still held his arm out protectively.

Well. He was the least malnourished person here. That might count for something. Maybe the demons would eat him first.

The erupted out of the ground, just like in the stories, the foul earth crumbling and flowing away as they rose effortlessly, already grinning.

Four of them, identical to each other – dark skin, hair in points, long eyelashes, ragged jackets. They surveyed the crowd of wanderers with an expression Lyla could only call hungry.

And Kasbeel…relaxed, a tension she hadn’t noticed going out of his shoulders. He tugged the brim of his fedora lower over his eyes, turning away from the demons.

Wait.

“Where did you get that hat?” Lyla demanded.

“I always had it,” he claimed, then held out a straw hat with a wide brim. “Here’s yours. Stay quiet, don’t look them in the eye, if you can help it, and they shouldn’t notice you.”

“What? I’ve never heard of demons having a weakness like that.” She tugged the hat as low as she could, and noticed for the first time dirt and mud smudged across Kasbeel’s suit. When had that happened?

“Don’t be absurd. It’s not them, I’m shielding you.”

“You what?” Perhaps he was insane after all.

“Sssh! I need to concentrate.”

“Well, look at this,” said one of the demons, smiling and rubbing his hands. He looked…pretty, in a way, if she hadn’t known what he was. “We’ve got some new recruits. Well done, Bob.”

“It’s Rae, actually, my lord,” said the leader of the Marked ones.

“I don’t care.” The demon waved a hand, and suddenly there were several enormous crates of food. Even from where she was standing, Lyla could see tins of beans and soup, vegetables with a little green in them, and by the stars – actual meat. Her stomach growled as she watched the Marked ones gather up their bounty and run back behind the barricade of cars, leaving the wanderers to the demons. She wasn’t the only one, either. All around them, people moaned, shuffling closer.

“Alright, wait your turns,” the lead demon said, as four identical faces circled the crowd.

Even though it probably didn’t mean anything, Lyla tugged her hat down again. “Why do they all look the same?” she wondered.

“Legion,” Kasbeel whispered back. “Foot soldiers of Hell. Though I believe they prefer to be called Eric.”

Yes, definitely insane. Benny shifted on her shoulder, starting to wake up. Lyla rubbed his back and hushed him.

“Well,” one of the Erics began. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the sales pitch by now. Join us, rule the world when we win. Palaces and kingdoms and wealth beyond your dreams. The offer hasn’t changed, though,” he chuckled, “at the rate we’re going, it’s going to be billions of very small kingdoms. Still, better to rule than to serve, right?” He grinned, as if waiting for a laugh.

“You always say that,” someone called. “You haven’t won yet.” There was a little murmuring, but not much. Politics. No one really cared about politics anymore.

“Well, haven’t lost either,” another Eric picked up the thread. “And let’s face it, it’s a better deal than the other side’s going to give you.”

“We don’t want to join anyone,” another voice said, high and scared. “We want to be left alone!”

Benny’s eyes fluttered open. “Lyla? ‘M hungry.”

“Shhhh, not yet.” She held him closer, like a bundle of twigs wrapped in cloth.

“Alright, I can see you’re not forward thinkers,” one of the Erics said, spreading his arms. “Pity that, but we can’t all be management material. How’s this deal? Join us now, and you’ll eat tonight. Fed and protected, from now on.” There was another murmur at that. “You’ve heard the rumors, well, it’s true. Once you get your Mark, the angels can’t touch you. And even our most enthusiastic brethren won’t harm you. Just what you want. Left alone.”

“Preposterous,” Kasbeel muttered, but he wasn’t the only one. And not all the voices were as skeptical as his. A few of them rose above the crowd, directing towards the Erics.

“Do we have to fight?”

“How often does the food come?”

“Can we change our minds?”

“What about a place to stay? Can you give us that?”

The Erics responded to each, enthusiastically, pointing, waving for people to come join them. Lyla wasn’t listening to them.

“’M hungry,” Benny said, his eyes glazed, barely cracking open. “My head hurts. ‘M cold…”

She pressed her lips to his forehead. He was burning up.

“Benny? Can you hear me? We can eat soon, I promise, you just have to hold on.”

He mumbled something, but she couldn’t even hear the words.

She pressed her forehead against his and whispered, and Benny nodded back.

Lyla stepped forward.

“What are you doing?” Kasbeel grabbed her arm. “Don’t be a fool – they’re asking for your soul.”

“So?” she snapped, jerking free, not even trying to keep her voice down. “Why should I care? What’s my soul ever done for me? I don’t need a soul, I need food. Benny needs food.”

“I can help you!”

“Really? How?” She pulled off the hat and threw it at his feet. “You’ve been walking with us for hours and all you do is talk nonsense and – and act like you’ve no idea what’s going on when you obviously do.” He winced, taking half a step back. “Fine, you know what? I don’t care. You do what you need to do to survive. Make people pity you, pretend to be an idiot. But don’t you judge me.”

“Listen, Lyla,” he reached for her hand, and she jerked it away, pulling Benny tighter into her arms. “I know, things are hard. It might seem like – like avoiding suffering is the most important thing –”

“Don’t start with me!” Lyla was all but screaming now, backing away. “Pain now, reward later? Is that your story? Just like those self-righteous angels. Those – those bastards destroy our homes, our families, our lives and they want us to thank them! And smile and get out of the way and ask them to do it again! No fucking thank you!” She glared at his clothes, his ample waistline, his soft hands with perfectly shaped nails, not so much as a chip. “I don’t know where you’re from. I don’t care, but out here in reality? We know we’re not going to make it to the end of the war. So all I can do is make sure my brother doesn’t suffer now. And for that, I’ll do anything.”

She marched away, and never looked back.

“Oi, you,” she shouted at one of the Erics, still trying to convince someone in the front row. Her stomach trembled with more than hunger and exhaustion. He turned to face her, and there was a gleam in his pretty eyes that made her want to scream like a child. “We’ll do it. We’re ready. You can take my brother, too, right?”

“Absolutely,” the demon smiled with too many teeth. “And what are your names?”

“Lyla,” she said, forcing down her fear. “Lyla Wilson. And this is Benny.”

“Well, Lyla, are you ready to swear your soul to the forces of Satan, forsaking the Light of God and the protection of the angels, forevermore?”

“Sure. Yeah. Long as there’s food.”

“And how about you, Benny?” The demon leaned forward, trying to meet his eyes. “Are you ready, too?”

Benny ran his tongue over his cracked lips. Lyla hadn’t even noticed how bad they’d gotten. It was just normal now. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little,” the demon said, smiling again. “Just a moment of pain, and then you’ll be safe.”

“It’s alright, Benny,” Lyla said soothingly. “I’ll go first.” Benny swallowed, and nodded.

“You have to say it out loud,” the demon told him.

“I – I’ll do it. Whatever Lyla does.”

“Good enough.” The demon reached out a hand and rested it on Lyla’s cheek, pressing the heel of it into her cheekbone. She felt lightheaded – weak – very warm. Her legs wobbled, nearly giving out, and something sharp stabbed into her, reached deep, pulled –

And it was done. No flash of light or dark. No soul rending scream. Just like that, she was damned.

She traced a finger across her cheekbone, up to the hinge of her jaw. She could feel the Mark, slightly raised skin. Traced the pattern, identical to all the other Marked ones. It didn’t even itch.

There was a sound behind her, a gentle breath. She turned to see Kasbeel, at the front of the crowd, blue eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. He was shaking his head.

Well. Who the hell did he think he was, judging her?

The demon smiled at Benny. “Your turn.”

Lyla nodded. “It barely hurts at all, and I’ll be right here, alright?”

But the last word was drowned out by a bright, rich note blaring across the blasted plains. Not the wailing siren from before. This was clear, bright.

Trumpets.

“Lyla!” Kasbeel’s voice suddenly sounded choked. When she looked back, he was staggering back in the crowd, crouching down as if in pain.

“Is that –” one of the demons started, looking straight at him.

“There’s more!” another shouted, pointing in the sky. The clouds split open, and for the first time in years, Lyla saw the sun, saw blue sky, and from that rent came the bright wings of angels – three, five, seven, a dozen of them at least, floating down like feathers.

“Get out of here!” The demons scattered, swallowed up by the Earth the moment their feet touched it.

And not just them. The wanderers broke apart, racing back up the motorway, some running onto the cursed soil to fall, shouting in pain. A few leapt over the barricade of cars, taking their chances against the clubs of the Marked ones.

Lyla held Benny tight, not sure where to run, what to do.

“The children,” a familiar voice called. “All of them. And that woman over there, and those three. None of the others.”

Angels flowed across the sky, landing among the crowd. The people they touched fell limp immediately, to be picked up carefully, like dolls.

A rustle of feathers behind Lyla. She turned, slowly, as if in a dream, and looked up into the kind, warm smile of Kasbeel.

“Hello, my dear,” he said, sheathing his flaming sword.

He plucked her brother out of her unresisting arms.

“Lyla?” Benny mumbled.

“Shhh, don’t worry.” He rested a hand on Benny’s forehead. “How about a little nap?”

He collapsed in the angel’s arms, looking so peaceful, so frail.

“I know who you are,” she mumbled. “The stories. The…the Guardian of Humanity.”

“Yes. My reputation does proceed me.”

“Please,” Lyla begged, “I – I have to take care of him. Don’t…”

“Not anymore. Don’t worry, he’ll be safe with me, as all innocents are. But you…” he brushed a finger across the Mark on her jaw. “Well. Too late for some.”

Enormous white wings unfurled behind him, and another clear trumpet note shattered the air. As one, the angels rose into the sky and vanished through the hole, taking their light, the sky, and Lyla’s brother with them.

And Lyla collapsed onto the empty street.

--

Aziraphale sat up, shaking his head to clear the last echoes of the trumpet. He’d been helpless to do anything, except stop himself.

Stop himself from joining them.

There was only one thing that could override his mind like that. And the face of the angel that had spoken to Lyla, that had taken Benny…

He climbed to his feet, shuffled over to her, where she still sat, staring into nothing. She looked even younger than he’d thought. Not even sixteen. A child herself.

“Lyla,” he called, reaching for her shoulder. “Lyla, my dear –”

With a scream, she surged to her feet, tackling him, pounding weak fists against his chest. “You bastard! You fucking bastard! I saw his face! It was you! You!”

“It – I know this is – I swear, it wasn’t –”

“I know! Same face, just like the demons.” She hit him on both shoulders, throwing her whole weight behind it. He still barely felt a thing. “But that means you’re one of them! The whole fucking time you were one of them! I walked with you! I trusted you!”

“I’m not!” He held up his hands, but didn’t fight back. When he spoke, it was in as gentle a voice as he could manage. “I swear to you. I used to be, but I’m not. Not anymore.”

“Really? You don’t have a big pair of fluffy white wings? You can’t just – just make food appear? We were starving!”

“I wouldn’t have let you starve, but you were still walking. I had to let you –”

“Don’t say it! Don’t say I had to figure it out for myself. You could have fed us! You could have gotten us past these assholes –” she pointed at the barricade, but the Marked ones were all gone. All except for her. “You could have stopped me.”

“It was your choice.”

Lyla screamed, and screamed, and screamed, fingers tangled in her hair, swinging her head, only breaking to gasp for more breath. He waited, until finally her voice broke, and she sobbed.

Aziraphale pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried.

“Why?” she managed between gasping sobs. “Why did you even come here?”

“I’m sorry. I truly am. I wanted to understand what you were going through. I needed to observe. I never planned to let things get so out of hand. I just – I wanted to know.”

“Well, now you know.” She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “You going to go back? Tell your clones all about it? Have a great big laugh at the stupid humans?”

“I told you. I left them, a long time ago. I am not on their side.”

“Could you,” she gulped, looking away. “Could you have stopped them? Stopped…him?”

He shuddered, remembering the way the trumpet had reverberated through his mind. “That sound. That is…it’s how Heaven delivers orders. It’s very powerful, but it can be resisted.”

It shouldn’t have been so hard. Angels had to accept the orders, had to allow them into their minds, surrender the control to heaven. Aziraphale had done no such thing.

He hadn’t. The other him – the other Aziraphale – had consented so wholeheartedly to what was going on, it had overpowered him. Feedback in his mind, Heaven intruding where he had hoped never to find it again. Would it happen again? Would he be able to resist it? He’d very nearly flown off with them in the end.

“Lyla,” he said, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. “I wish I could have stopped it. But I will find out where they took your brother, I will get him back. I swear.”

“And hand him over to a damned soul?”

“You love him,” he told her firmly. “That’s all that matters.”

He looked at the brand on her jaw, the twisted curving sigil of the Fallen. To his eyes it was unique. Each Marked human had their own, just as each demon did. Hers was on the opposite side as Crowley’s, and just a little further down.

Had he kissed it, that morning, when he tried to wake Crowley up? He usually did, but his demon had been stubborn, right side of his face still buried in the pillows.

He found himself blinking away tears. Crowley is here. Somewhere. You just have to find him. Find Crowley. Find Benny. Help the humans. Avoid the angels…

“It’s too late, isn’t it?” He could see the shock settling into Lyla’s eyes. The defeat. “He’s gone.”

“Oh, no, my dear.” He reached up a hand and brushed her Mark. “It’s never too late.”

--

Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth, Guardian of Humanity, led his troops over the wall of New Eden.

Inside, the fields and forests sprawled, pristine, perfect. A little more cultivated than the original Eden, of course, the land had forgotten how to provide painlessly, but it was learning. Just as the humans would learn to accept it, to give up their ties to the outside world, to be as they were meant to be.

His mind was troubled today. In the midst of the rescue, separating the Elect from the chaff, he had felt something. Some interference with his orders, something that had made him almost forget the mission, placing itself between him and the wisdom of Heaven. He’d almost wanted to stay and investigate, but he knew the importance of his work.

No one else could do what Aziraphale did.

He placed his new ward carefully on the grass, running a hand across his stomach. He could heal most of the ill effects of hunger, the rest would come with good, healthy meals. He glanced around for something to offer; every edible plant in the world grew here, row on row, always in fruit, always ready to harvest.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. “Kasbeel?” he asked.

“No, child,” he said, beaming. “My name is Aziraphale.”

With a strangled cry, the boy’s eyes flew open. He scrambled away. It was a common reaction.

“Don’t worry, my dear fellow,” he said. “You are safe here in New Eden. Everything you could want.” He squeezed the walnuts in his hand until the shells cracked, and held the nuts out.

The boy swatted away the offering. “I want my sister.”

His jaw clenched, remembering her face, the Mark on her cheek. “She made her choice. It’s too late for her. But you, my boy –”

“No. No!” He sprang to his feet, seeming surprised at his own energy. “I won’t! I won’t stay here! You can’t keep me!”

“Come along, don’t be childish. No one has ever escaped –”

“Lyla!” He boy shouted, already running into the fields. “Lyla!”

His voice joined the chorus, the humans calling constantly for their wives, their husbands, their mothers, their friends. But they would learn. One day, they would learn.

This was where they belonged.

This was for the best.

[dresupi]

So Hard to Bear

For: @gyoroandururun​ Ship: Darcy Lewis/Loki Word Count: 1279 Rating: T Sweetheart Prompt: Heat Wave Other Tags: Hot Weather, Crash Landing, Airplane Crashes, Desert Island Fic, Desert Island, What is the opposite of huddling for warmth, huddling for cool down, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting

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

Darcy’s arms flopped out to the side, her knees falling open as she stared up into the makeshift ceiling of the hut she had made out of the only piece of the fuselage that wasn’t incinerated in the crash.

It kept out rain, but it was hot as hell in here. Hot as fuck.

Hell. Fuck. Neither of those things was technically happening.  Nothing was happening.  It had been two days and she’d eaten more coconut and unseasoned fish than she ever cared to again. And if anyone was thinking that they could season the fish with the coconut somehow, they were dead wrong, because it just didn’t work.

Loki had promised her they’d be rescued by now. What the hell was keeping everyone?

They should have landed two days ago in Sydney to meet up with Jane. But instead… here they were. By her count, it was Valentine’s Day and her date was probably missing her.

Scratch that, her date was probably thrilled as tits that he didn’t have to take her out on Singles’ Awareness Day.

But everyone else, though… did they just not know they were missing? Or maybe they didn’t know where? She and Loki had tried to find the radio but had come up empty-handed. Not to mention that the plane was one of those auto-piloted deals SHIELD had for ease of travel. So there was no pilot to help them either.

Whatever the reason, Darcy Lewis was approaching day three of being stuck on an uncharted tropical island with Thor’s brother and she was going insane.

Loki refused to bed down with her, preferring instead to keep an ever constant vigil for wild animals or whatever else there was on this island. Even though Darcy had only seen some turtles and seagulls so far. And the expanse of the island itself wasn’t super wide. She could see all around it from where they were sitting. So she figured he was just using that as an excuse not to have to deal with her.

And she honestly couldn’t complain about that either.  Considering the heat, she didn’t want anyone surprise spooning her in the middle of the night. Even if it was Loki.

He was easy on the eyes, but she was stuck on an island. She didn’t have time for ogling the Asgardians. Who was she kidding? She’d always have time for that. And she did ogle that ass while he was spearing fish in the ocean.

Thank whoever for Loki’s ass and his ability to fish without a pole.

But what if the others never found them? What if she was stuck here with Loki until those sea turtles got tired of her and started turning carnivorous?

She sighed again, flopping out further and wondering how many days was a sufficient amount of time to drop her duds and go nude. Because as much fun as stumbling around the sand in a ripped pencil skirt and the matching blouse was, it was much too humid for propriety.

But given how Loki had been averting his eyes practically the entire time they’d been out here, she was pretty sure she’d break his brain if she let the ladies loose.

“Darcy?” A soft voice sounded at the ‘door’ of her hut. It was really just a torn tarp that she’d tossed over the open end of the fuselage.

“Yes?” she asked. “Who is it?”  That last part was meant to be a joke, and it must have landed because she could practically hear Loki rolling his eyes as he ignored it.

“I could help you with your… overheating issue.”

“I could help me too. By stripping buck ass nude and getting an all-over tan,” she quipped.

He was silent for a moment. “As tempting as that sounds, will you allow me to try something first?”

In all the weeks she’d known him, he was many things. An asshole. Snarky to a fault. Manipulative. But all of that she encountered on a daily basis from multiple other sources. What she wasn’t prepared for was how disinterested in her he was.

Why it took the two of them crash-landing on an island together to even begin to dialogue past ‘good morning’ and ‘hmm’.

And this? This was practically a proposal of marriage as far as Darcy was concerned. Because if he could help her overheating problem? She’d hella marry him.

“Please. If you don’t mind.”

He pulled back the tarp and stepped inside the fuselage. The hut. Calling it a fuselage made her a little queasy. He wasn’t in his usual regalia. But from what she could understand, he magicked his clothes on and changed them at will. Right now, he was wearing a linen shirt and matching trousers that hung loosely from his hips.  As he moved closer, the shirt disappeared and he paused at the end of her bedroll. He stood there, craning forward because the space was shorter than he was, but still looking majestic as fuck. All lean muscle and pale skin in the moonlight. Artists depicted this kind of thing on romance novel covers. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

Darcy swallowed thickly. “No. Not at all.”

He bent and crawled, angling himself so he could slide in behind her.

“No offense, Lokes, but cooling off doesn’t involve cuddling. That’s kind of the opposite, actually.”

He chuckled softly. “With me, it’s different.  Now roll away from me and face that wall.”

She did as he instructed, tensing as he slid his arm around her waist and slotted himself against her back, his knees pressing against hers while his head rested on the seat cushion she was resting hers on.

His skin felt cool to the touch. Something she’d noticed before and hadn’t really thought anything of.  But now it was nice.

“Keep looking that way,” he murmured.  Darcy cheated and cut her eyes down, watching as his arm changed. Starting presumably at his shoulder and moving down, it darkened to what she couldn’t really make out in the low light, but she presumed was dark blue.

His skin went icy and she inhaled, the sound sharp and pointed in the relative silence. “What--”

“My true form,” he explained. “I am Jotun, not Asgardian. A frost giant.”

“You’re not so giant, though…” Darcy whispered dumbly as she snuggled back against him. “But you feel amazing.”

He huffed out another chuckle. “I’m pleased you think so.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she said, unsure of why she was still talking, but probably because she was starved for interaction.

“That’s a Midgardian custom I’m not aware of…” he trailed off.

“There’s lots of history behind it, but it’s basically a day where people spend too much money on crap to try and trick people into thinking they care.”

“You have a lot of holidays involving that sort of thing, don’t you?” he asked with a laugh.

Darcy joined in on that one. “Yeah, now that you mention it…”

“I take it you had plans?” he asked.

“Yeah. With this guy in accounting. He was going to take me to a bar.”

“Sounds charming,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, but it beat staying at home alone like a loser.”

“I’m sure this pales in comparison,” he ventured.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Darcy replied. “This is the most action I’ve gotten in months.”

His laugh was a little louder this time. “Actually… the same could be said for me. It’s the most action I’ve gotten since coming to Midgard.”

“I’m pleased to be able to show you my moves of just laying there,” Darcy said. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.

“Immensely,” he replied. And it sounded the most genuine out of everything else they’d just said.

“Yeah. Me too,” she whispered. Barely loud enough to hear, but his arm tightened around her waist anyway.

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story - Chapter Six

Summary:          

Hermione's birthday starts inauspiciously and ends... well. You'll see for yourself how it ends.

Notes:          

Warnings for some PTSD and nightmares right off the bat. And finally here’s that ‘Mature’ tag too, right at the end of the chapter :)

Note: does the Wizarding world have birthday cards??? They do in this story, and like wizardy photographs, they move. If I goofed up and this isn’t a thing, please just accept it as another AU element :). There’s also a reference to an old British store chain in there, so kudos to you if you spot it.

I hope this chapter is ok - I’ve actually got a retinal migraine at the moment and have lost the sight in most of my central field of vision, so editing it one last time was a bit… hit and miss, let’s say. Anyway, thank you for your feedback on previous chapters too! Looking forward to your reactions to this one for sure…

Chapter One here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Two here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Three here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Four here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Five here: Tumblr | Ao3

Hermione woke in the early hours of her birthday with a scream.

The snatchers had her. Hands all over her, couldn’t break free, thrashing, struggling, writhing.  

Sweating, she twisted and sheared their grasp away from her arm for a second and ran, lungs burning, legs trembling. One fall over an unseen root and that would be it. The war could be lost if they got caught now.  

He would win.  

And Harry would die. Oh God, they couldn’t lose. Not now. Not after everything.  

The forest was closing in.  

She had only seconds to think, to disguise Harry, to keep them from snatching him and knowing who he was. “I’m sorry,” she hissed as the stinging jinx took hold of his face and it began to swell.  

More hands on her. Unrelenting this time. There was no escape.  

Darkness.

Rushing darkness of forced apparition.

Yew hedges and an iron gate that thrummed with wards and enchantments.

Bellatrix’s awful, gleeful face.

Then pain.

Fear and pain unending.  

Silver eyes staring, wide and horrified.  

Screaming.

Screaming, screaming, screaming…

Jerking awake violently, with sweat running down between her breasts and tracking down her torso, hair a damp, tangled nest, and throat raw, she thanked all her magical forebears, starting with Merlin and Morgana, that she’d had the sense the previous night to cast a silencing enchantment again between the four posts of her bed. The rest of the dorm slept on. Ginny was even snoring.  

Her heart was still pounding and she looked over at the window, the dawn still a good hour away at least.  

The faint grey light filtering through the leaded window beside her bed reminded her of Draco’s eyes from her dream.  

He’d been there that night and had been forced to watch his own aunt carve that word into her forearm after god-knows-how-long of cruciatus torture. Had he always looked as revolted by it all as he had just then in her dream? She’d had it so many times now that she could no longer distinguish memory from nightmare. Her skin itched and burned but she refused to look down and stare at the word ‘mudblood’ engraved into her skin.

“Happy birthday,” she muttered under her breath before getting out of bed and inhaling deeply. The air in the room was cold, and goosebumps prickled along her skin as she reached for her Gryffindor red dressing-gown that had been a present from her parents on a birthday a few years ago.  

She stood and went to the window, opening the casement which squeaked like an affronted gnome, but still no one stirred or complained. Damp, autumn air flooded in, sweeping around her and cooling the sweat on the exposed skin of her collarbones til she shivered, but it slowly helped to calm her heartbeat. Her eyes roved along the lines of the mountains that surrounded the school. “Nineteen,” she mused with a sigh. “Nineteen years old, and my parents no longer have any idea that I’ve ever existed.”  

Kingsley had said there was still a chance that the memory-altering spell could be reversed, but it had been so powerful that it risked destroying their minds altogether, and she hadn’t had the courage to give him the okay to try. They were happy and safe as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and would probably stay that way forever thanks to the strength of the charm she’d used. She couldn’t regret protecting her parents, but the necessity of it brought tears to her eyes every time.  

She didn’t feel nineteen. What was it supposed to feel like anyway? Besides, what normal nineteen year old was still at Hogwarts? Most of the rest of her year was out there, beyond those mountains. Seamus was in Auror training with Harry, and Dean was apparently working in the Goblin Liaison Office after his surprising and enduring friendship with Griphook, while a number of others were in a similar line of work, patching up holes where Death Eaters had exposed their world to the muggles, or training with magical creatures, or working in bars, or travelling the world — Blaise Zabini was rumoured to be in Portugal working with the authorities there, and she’d even heard a rumour that he was engaged to Pansy Parkinson, though she found it hard to believe. Blaise had always seemed the type not to be interested in romantic attachments. Perhaps it was a pureblood thing?  

With an enormous sigh, she abandoned thoughts of purebloods, and turned away from the window to find a small parcel sitting by the little fireplace in their dorm, with two envelopes beside it. She frowned and stepped closer, her heart leaping for joy when she recognised both Harry’s minuscule writing and Ron’s untidy scribble. 

Sitting cross legged by the empty hearth, she ripped Harry’s envelope open first and discovered, to her delight, a muggle birthday card with a hideously gaudy badge on it, sporting a cartoon birthday cake. She carefully unpinned it from the front and set it to one side to attach to the drapes of her four-poster. Inside it read:

‘Dear Hermione,  

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you! I’ve been so busy and I can’t really tell you about any of it yet. I loved your letters though, and I’m not surprised you’re so busy. Please remember to stop every now and again, won’t you? Hope you have a great day full of surprises!

Love,

Harry x’

She narrowed her eyes at the ‘full of surprises’ bit, hoping that he hadn’t told Ginny to do something very Weasley-esque and embarrassing, and then opened Ron’s card. Their friendship had been somewhat strained since they broke up, and Fred’s death had understandably brought out his more morose side in the last few months, but she was pleased that he’d remembered. His had a silly cartoon of a dragon lighting a birthday cupcake with a gout of flame that incinerated the whole thing before the dragon looked out at the viewer and shrugged before the image looped around again. She was honestly just relieved that it wasn’t some kind of new exploding card from the joke shop.  

‘Dear Mione’ it began. She squinted and peered at the next lines. Gods, he could have worked for the Ministry in their Department of Mysteries, encrypting messages for them.  

‘Dear Mione,

Happy Birthday! Sorry I haven’t come to see you yet but hopefully it won’t be too long. Promise not to bring any skiving snack-boxes for you…  

Love,

Ron’

In the quiet of the four-person dorm, with only the soft whisper of three sleepers and the whisper of the wind outside, Hermione smiled. They might have been terrible at keeping in touch, but her friends did still care after all. It wasn’t that she’d doubted them necessarily, but the silence had still stung.

She picked up the parcel next and unwrapped a small box of sherbet lemons from Harry with a label bearing his tiny handwriting that said: ‘Got these for you from Woolworths pick ‘n’ mix. Thought you’d like them. H x’.  

Tears filled her eyes and the bright yellow sweets swam before her. She thought back to her very muggle childhood - a fact she shared with Harry, though hers had been a little happier on the domestic front - and also thought of Dumbledore, who had famously had a great penchant for the sour boiled sweets. Despite having dentists for parents, she had always loved these, but even now as she guiltily unwrapped one, she felt like a child sneakily opening a present on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day. It tasted amazing, and it brought back so many memories.  

Hours later, turning another sweet over between her tongue and teeth, she dressed and headed down to breakfast without waking Ginny or the other two seventh years and breakfasted alone at the Gryffindor table well before the post owls arrived. She didn’t fancy advertising that it was her birthday, drawing attention to the fact that she was older than almost any other student ever had been in the entire history of Hogwarts. Probably. That was one she’d have to look up in Hogwarts: A History when she got back upstairs.  

Thoughts of the book, and whereabouts she could look in the various chapters for such a reference, evaporated as she left the hall after breakfast, and spotted Theo and Draco eating together at one end of the table. Ahead of the Slytherin tryouts that morning, Draco was dressed in his quidditch gear, and - damn him - and he looked… he looked regal. His white hair gleamed, the soft wave to it making him look much less harsh now, and as he and Theo shared a conversation, he even managed a brief laugh that lit up his silver eyes and lifted the tiredness from his sharp features. He’d grown into that pinched, pointy face, she realised, and he now looked strikingly handsome when he smiled.  

While she continued to stare at them, Theo held up a grape and Draco rolled his eyes but let Theo pop it into his mouth.  

Hermione walked right into the stone doorway of the entrance arch and rebounded with a soft grunt, face burning and mind reeling. Burning with shame, she scuttled across the entrance hall and had just set foot to the first tread of the Great Staircase when a familiar voice echoed off the stonework.  

“Granger!”  

She froze and then turned around. Malfoy was standing in the archway to the Great Hall, and the full sight of him in his quidditch kit nearly knocked her breathless. How had she not appreciated just how tall he’d grown or how good he looked in that rich, dark Slytherin green before? It complemented the silver of his hair and the paleness of his skin so perfectly that she almost forgot that he’d spoken and called her name.  

“Yes?” she croaked.  

He swallowed and crossed towards her, holding two small envelopes in his left hand. He proffered them to her between index and middle fingers, and swallowed again. “Happy Birthday, Granger,” he said in a soft, slightly husky voice.  

She stared at them envelopes stupidly for a second and then gingerly took them from him. “They’re not howlers, are they?” she asked, aiming for a light tone.

He shook his head and a section of his silver hair fell into his eyes before he brushed it back. “No, Granger. No tricks. Just two birthday cards.”

“Thank you, Malfoy,” she said, oddly choked. She saw Theo’s writing on the front of the top one, and assumed the other was from Malfoy. “That’s… That’s really sweet of you.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away, shaking his head. “I’ll pass on your thanks to Theo,” was all he said as he retreated. She watched him go, eyeing his narrow hips and long legs, and she gulped. That was the closest she’d come to getting an apology from him, and she could recognise it for the white flag it was. He was clearly trying.  

She smiled and turned them over in her hand.  

Her fingers trembled as she broke the green wax seal, blank and un-stamped, she noted, and opened the first one then and there in the liminal entrance hall. It might have felt somehow symbolic if she’d paused to give it any thought.  

Draco’s card bore a moving image of a set of floor-to-ceiling library shelves, a few of the books sliding in and out at irregular intervals, as if drawn out for examination by invisible fingers, and a ginger kneazel’s tail flickered into view in the bottom corner every so often. He’d noticed Crookshanks then? Not only that, but he’d noticed Crookshanks from years ago and had remembered him? Surely it wasn’t a coincidence. Malfoy never did anything without a purpose. His message inside was simple, but it was his handwriting that made her eyebrows rise.  

It was terrible; almost illegible. Even worse than Ron’s.  

For some reason she’d always expected that he would have the curling, looping handwriting of a prince or something, but this was a barely-discernible chicken scratch, and was even a little smudged over his signature.  

‘Hermione,

I hope today brings you every joy you deserve.

Yours,  

Draco Malfoy’

She re-read it three times before she really saw it though, still shocked at receiving a birthday card from Draco Malfoy of all people. Another white flag.

Taking a deep breath and deciding not to ponder it too long, lest she run into the danger of over thinking again, she moved to Theo’s which was written in a tidier and much more ornate hand. The script on this envelope was a perfect, fluid, graceful, English roundhand, like the kind she’d only seen on old parchment documents, and the ink was, surprisingly, purple. She recalled the smudges on his fingers from the other day and wondered if that was the Slytherin’s favourite colour.  

Theo’s card was also book-themed, but it bore an image of a battered old copy of ‘Advanced Potion Making’ beside a softly-steaming pewter cauldron. She smiled, reminded instantly of their last potions session and all the revelations it had carried with it, but she set that aside for the time being and read his message. She could almost hear him saying it, and she laughed aloud as she read it.  

‘To the most perfect of prefectorial and potions partners,

I hope you have a wonderful day and that, should you wish it, your friends get you very, very drunk up in Gryffindor tower. Whatever you do, you deserve to have fun, Hermione, and I hope today of all days is full of it.  

Love,  

Theo.’

The difference between the two was striking. Malfoy’s was reserved and his writing seemed almost shy and awkward, whereas Theo’s reflected his usual, outgoing, charming self. Plus, he’d signed it ‘love’, though again, she tried not to read too much into it.  

She glanced up to find that both of them were looking at her from their distant seats at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Theo grinned and waved, but Malfoy just continued to stare at her with his expression carefully veiled.  

“Thank you,” she mouthed at them and Theo bowed his head rather theatrically.  

Before she could decide to go over them at strike up a conversation, Ginny bounded down the grand staircase behind her and barrelled into her, along with half the Gryffindor team at her heels, all buoyed up with excitement about tryouts, and the head girl tackle-hugged her almost into a headlock. “Happy birthday!” she screeched, setting Hermione’s ears ringing and the few students in the hall staring. “Did the owls come already then?” she asked when she saw the cards in her hand.  

She shook her head but didn’t elaborate. Ginny was too excited about the tryouts anyway. “Please come and watch us later,” she said. “Just for a bit? Oh, and I’ve got Harry’s and Ron’s cards for you! I put them out by the fireplace in our dorm…”  

“I found them already,” she smiled. “Thank you. But why didn’t they just owl them straight to me?”

“They wanted to make sure they got here on time so they sent them together a few days ago with Harry’s new eagle owl. She’s huge! Anyway, please come?” she wheedled. “Pleasepleaseplease?”

Taking a deep breath, she glanced over at Theo and Malfoy, who were apparently just finishing up with their breakfast. Gone was the tender grape-sharing, to be replaced by a muttered conversation. Her brain rather unhelpfully supplied that she might get to see Malfoy in his uniform again if she showed up.  

“Fine,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “I’ll come for a bit. But literally just twenty minutes or so, ok?”

“Yes!” Ginny yelled, fist pumping and then hugging her again. “Thank you! I’ll have to tell Ron.”

“Why?”

“He nearly bet me five galleons that you wouldn’t go to a quidditch practice on your birthday.”

“Nearly?” she asked archly. “Well, I’d hate to be predictable…”

“I wouldn’t let him lay a bet on what you did on your birthday,” she said and Hermione blessed her silently with her eyes. Someone yelled Ginny’s name from the Gryffindor table and she nodded. “I’m gonna go grab something to eat. We’re heading out early to watch the Slytherins first and see what the competition is, but we start at one thirty, ok?”

Hermione showed up at the quidditch pitch at quarter past one and found that a few Slytherins were still there, though clearly most of their tryouts had finished. Those who remained were flying for fun now. A few of them were still running drills under the watchful eye of the Slytherin captain, and somewhere on the absolute opposite side of the stands she could see a few Slytherin supporters, but mostly, the place was oddly deserted and quiet.  

The weather had also turned absolutely bloody miserable, with a fine sheet of mizzle wafting down around them, drenching everything and reducing visibility to almost nothing. She huddled deeper into her cloak and cursed, hair expanding steadily with the damp conditions. She really, really hated quidditch.

“How in Godric’s name did I let myself get talked into this?” she growled to herself after just ten minutes of sitting in the freezing stands, wishing she at least had a book to distract her from her chattering teeth. “Ginny, I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m freezing my arse off. I’m going back.”

“What? You haven’t even seen us fly!” Ginny laughed, though clearly not upset in the slightest. “I’m surprised you even showed up without Ron and Harry to cheer at. Have fun in the library. Until your party that is…” Ginny added ominously. “Don’t forget. I’ve got a surprise for you. Don’t worry; you’ll love it,” she added when Hermione balked visibly. “Fucking shit,” Ginny hissed, her gaze sliding past Hermione to the pitch behind. “Malfoy is really bloody good. I hate him, but look at that… It’s… It’s poetry, Hermione. Bloody poetry.”

She turned and watched as a blur that was presumably Malfoy did an eye-wateringly fast swan-dive, rocketing straight out of the clouds right down to barely half an inch from the turf below, before barrel rolling upwards with the grace of a swallow to avoid a bludger. He pulled out of the roll and peeled right, drifting in a lazy arc and coming to a halt in front of the stands on the far side. He seemed to be holding a conversation with someone for a moment or two before he peeled away into a lazy backwards dive and then looped up into the air to begin soaring around the far end. The fluidity of his movements was mesmeric, and even Hermione had to admit that he was an absolute pleasure to watch.  

And then the wind blew raindrops down her neck and she shivered.

“Nope,” she said. “I don’t care how beautiful he looks on a broomstick, I’m going in. See you later, Ginny. Good luck getting a better team than Slytherin!” and she disappeared before she lost her fingers and toes to frostbite on her nineteenth birthday.  

It took her well over an hour to warm up by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, but just when she’d contemplated going to the prefects’ bathroom to take a long soak to drive the residual chill from her bones, she found that she was actually nearly thawed out. It was only the lingering stiffness in her muscles after being locked in a tight ball in the armchair that remained. Deciding that a spot of exercise would probably finish the job, she grabbed her notebook and quill, and made her way towards the library.  

Predictably, it was almost completely deserted at nearly three in the afternoon on a Saturday, and she wove her way through to her favourite corner in the Charms section, settling her books down and thinking about what to start first. She had one Transfiguration essay that was admittedly optional, and one Ancient Studies translation to crack on with for Monday. Deciding to tackle that first, given that it would probably take her half an hour at most, she moved with familiar ease through the shelves until she drew closer to the restricted section. The book of runic verb tables was not held there, but the Ancient Studies section was visited so infrequently that it was tucked away near the restricted section all the same.  

As she approached, on the point of rounding the final corner of a bookshelf and entering the small, square alcove created by two bookshelves set perpendicular to the stone wall, she heard a gasp and a deep, guttural grunt, and froze.  

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d stumbled on someone doing something illicit in the library, but there was something about the timbre of that voice that made her pause and her heart race. Usually, people had the grace to conceal themselves or put up a befuddlement charm to distract other library users until they were done, but she was not so lucky this time.  

“Oh fuck,” she heard a breathy, male voice snarl and her eyes widened.  

It was Theodore Nott. She was sure of it.  

As she slid behind the bookcase that separated her from that small, secluded alcove, she peered through the books on the shelf and inhaled sharply in surprise, immediately holding her breath in case she’d given herself away. She needn’t have worried - the two engaged in something a tad racier than a quickly-stolen kiss or two were in no danger of hearing her one tiny gasp of surprise.  

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott were pressed up against the far side of the bookshelves, mercifully on the other side of the square alcove from her hiding spot, and Theo had his jeans round his ankles, black boxer-briefs yanked down as well, while Draco had his own dark trousers undone and merely hanging around his narrow hips. Malfoy was wearing a long-sleeved, smart-looking white shirt which was now rumpled and untucked, and he had his left hand between the two of them, hidden from sight for the moment by his own body.  

She might have though it jarring to see them in more casual clothes, were it not for the incredibly distracting activity in which they were currently and rather shockingly engaged.  

Theo looked… debauched.  

His curly hair was mussed up and thoroughly ruffled, his cheeks were flushed to the point that his freckles had vanished completely, and his wine-dark Henley had a distinctly fist-shaped crumple at the shoulder. His thin lips were also puffy and red, kiss-swollen and still wet. Meanwhile, he barely seemed to be keeping himself upright, with one hand gripping the stone wall nearby, his other clutched on the bookshelf behind him, and his dark blue eyes kept fluttering closed.  

Hermione stared, utterly transfixed.  

Draco had an enormous hickey on the side of his neck, angrily standing out in stark relief against the white of his skin.  

She couldn’t have looked away from them if a dragon had entered the library and begun to breathe fire amongst the books. They looked so beautiful together, chests heaving, muscles straining and clenching in their exposed biceps and necks, the tendons pulled taut and straining as they ground against each other, breathless and gasping.  

“Fuck, Draco, fuck...” Theo snarled as Malfoy worked them closer and closer. The slick sounds of their efforts began to fill the small corner of the library and it was all she could focus on. They’d obviously been in such a rush that they’d neglected to throw up a concealment charm, or they thought that no one would be there on a weekend. Or… Or they liked the risk.  

“Fuck!” Theo’s knees buckled as he yelped, and Draco’s right hand flew to cover Theo’s mouth.  

As his long fingers wrapped around Theo’s face, little finger just below Theo’s nose, she caught the silver flash of his signet ring. The sight of it pressed against Theo’s skin, the bone-pale colour of Draco’s body contrasting with the warmer tones of the taller boy, made her suddenly wet and hot all over. They turned a little bit as Draco applied a little pressure to Theo’s jaw with that hand and tipped Theo’s head to one side so that he could mouth and kiss at his exposed neck for a moment, and she saw that he had both of their cocks in one hand. His pace was quick and brutal, perhaps trying to finish them both off as rapidly as possible and send them tumbling over the edge of orgasm before they were discovered.  

The sight of Draco Malfoy’s hand around both his and Theo’s cocks together nearly undid her and she had to bite her lips together to keep from making a noise. Not once had she ever fantasised about anything like this. Even though she’d entertained the brief idea that the two boys could be together, it had never encompassed a sight like this, with Theo unravelling in a series of muffled groans and stifled gasps while Malfoy jerked him off with relentless focus.  

She knew she shouldn’t be watching, but before she could turn away and flee, Theo’s muffled words dissolved into a long, deep, guttural groan, his blue eyes rolling shut, as Malfoy paused and swiped a thumb over the weeping tip of his cock and Theo’s knees caved again.

“Quiet,” Malfoy snarled, tightening his grip and causing Theo to throw his head back with another broken moan. He seemed incapable of keeping quiet, and he thunked the back of his head on the bookshelf but barely seemed to notice. Malfoy’s hand had been dislodged from his mouth by the movement, fingertips dragging obscenely at Theo’s lips for a second, and now his long fingers lay splayed and tense over his exposed throat, middle and ring fingers on either side of his sharp Adam’s apple. “This is a library, Theo,” he purred. “Quiet.”

“Fuck… No one… comes to this… to this section anyway,” he panted, thrusting his hips weakly into Malfoy’s hand. “Oh fuck, there, like that. I’m so close. I’m so fucking close, Draco. Well… no one except…” he paused before managing to open his eyes and grinning wickedly. “Granger…”

“Fuck! Don’t mention Granger now!” Malfoy practically yowled, fingers tightening in an involuntary spasm around Theo’s neck, and Hermione tried not to be hurt. Presumably though if they were there, doing this with each other, she wouldn’t have been of any interest to them anyway.  

Or… not…?

Malfoy came almost immediately with a choked-off growl, as if the full force of his sudden orgasm took him by surprise, and he came hard. His head bowed forwards to rest against Theo’s collarbone as his back heaved and his hips jerked. He spilled into his hand and all over Theo’s hard, slick cock as well.  

Theo crashed into his release only a second or two later, one hand clinging to Malfoy’s shoulder, the other on the wall beside him, and then they both slouched against the bookshelves looking dazed and weak for a moment or two before Malfoy straightened and scourgified them both clean with a wandless wave of his hand. Talented and beautiful. Not many people would have had the presence of mind to do that kind of magic in the aftershocks of an orgasm like that.

Hermione was breathless, still staring at them with eyes wide and heart pounding. She’d soaked through and ruined her underwear, she was sure of it.  

“Fuck, Draco,” Theo hissed, tucking himself back into his trousers and leaning shakily against the bookshelf. “I know it’s my fault, but we’ve got to stop doing this… It’s… It’s not fair…”

Draco didn’t speak, and other than the vibrant, blotchy flush that crept up his white neck and onto his cheeks, there was no outward sign that he’d just come his brains out in the library, with Hermione Granger’s name fresh on his lips.

___

To be continued.

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

[angelccake]

Her, Chapter One (M)

You and him have some dark, twisted history. You’ve spent the last two years of your life trying to forget it all. What’ll happen when all of it’s thrown back at you all at once?

Prologue

Chapter Two

Word count// 1914

WARNINGS// strong language, blood/gore, torture, desecration of human remains, stalking, obsession, unhealthy relationships, character death, hints of anxiety disorder, mentions of substance abuse, rated m for future smut and grisly details

I’M IN NO WAY ENDORSING ANY OF THIS, IT WAS ALL WRITTEN FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. IF YOU ARE BOTHERED PLEASE DO NOT READ

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

“I have looked everywhere in this forsaken place and I still can’t find him,” I thought to myself. I had made my way across the creaky hardwood dance floor, over to bar with the sleazy looking bartender, and even slipped into the, thankfully empty, men’s bathroom. Changmin was absolutely nowhere to be found, and now I actually was starting to worry about him. He always did this, anytime we got into a big argument he would leave to go get piss ass drunk at some cheap bar, and I would have to go hunt him down to drag him home. But this time was different, I had already checked all of his usual places with no luck. So I ended up at the last bar within city limits, the “Lucky One”, and to be completely honest it didn’t look like anybody had gotten luck here in ages.

Deciding I wasn’t going to find him here, I huffed and made my way to the back door. As I got through the door I started walking towards my car, and looked up to see some guy fumbling with the trunk of his car. He looked like he was struggling, so I stepped closer to offer my help, and I saw him. I saw Changmin on the ground wearing the same outfit I saw him storm out in just hours earlier, with the guy hooking his arms under his shoulders to lift him into the car. With all common sense leaving me, my first reaction was to scream at the top of my lungs and yell, “What the fuck are you doing?!” As if it wasn’t obvious enough that my boyfriend was currently being kidnapped.

At this moment the guy had dropped Changmin onto the pavement and was staring dead at me.  My whole body froze, like when an antelope makes eye contact with the cheetah that’s about to pounce on to it. We stayed like that for a moment, taking each other in or sizing each other up, I don’t know.  I had to force the gears in my head to start turning again, and make myself turn to run back inside the bar. As soon as my feet hit the pavement I heard the clomp of combat boots coming at me twice as fast, I pleaded with every muscle in my body to just get me to the door then this would be over. But they didn’t listen, I felt two strong arms wrap around me, pulling into a hard chest that smelled like a burning fire and fancy cologne. I tried to break free, but the arms had an iron grip around my mouth and throat. The world around me started to darken and just before everything went black, I felt him press the tip of his nose to the shell of my ear, as if taking in my scent.

Present day

“Okay Y/n, we’re going to be working on exposure from here on out. You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if you weren’t ready,” Mrs. Kwon said while looking at me through her specs with those gentle eyes of hers. She was the kindest woman I’ve ever met, but at this moment I wanted nothing more than to slap her across her face. How could she do this to me? She knows what happened to me, what he did. She’s seen me at rock bottom multiple times, and yet she still did this to me.

Well, that’s what was going through my head this morning. But after I got the voice to stop, I understood. She wanted me to face him and realize that he couldn’t hurt me anymore, I didn’t have to be afraid. And if anybody was to tell me I was ready for that, it was her. Just after “the scare” I started seeing her five days a week, back then I could barely get out of my apartment without having an attack. But now I only saw her twice a week, and only called when I actually needed to. In all honesty, I agreed with her. Hence why I was currently making my way towards two more metal detectors, and a female guard waiting to pat me down. And it wasn’t even the thought of him that was giving me the creeps, it was the building itself. On the outside it looked like a giant cinder block with windows, and the inside was just the same, grey cement lit up by artificial light.

After my last round of security checks I met two male guards waiting for me at a pair of steel double doors, as we went through the doors they lead to a straight hallway. Same cement walls, white tile floors, but there was nothing on the walls. Not even a clock. What set the eerie mood though was that it felt like it went on forever, an occasional twist or turn here or there, but never an end. It wasn’t until we came to another steel door that the two guards stopped and one of them said, “Here we are, just go right through here.”

My eyes widened, I turned to face them and asked, “You guys aren’t coming in?” The burlier looking one, whose eyes turned into crescents even while giving me the smallest of smiles answered, “No, he requested us not to. When you’re finished you can just come back the way we came.” His response was so cool you would of thought we were talking about the weather. Afterwards they both turned around and started heading back down the endless hallway, leaving me standing in front of the door dumbfounded. How the hell could an inmate ask the guards not to be present, let alone this  inmate? The longer I stood there the farther Mrs. Kwon’s words got away from me, so I held my breath and opened the door. And when I opened my eyes, that I didn’t realize I’d been squeezing shut, I was met by a not so daunting row of metal chairs in front of metal tables that were split in half. On top of the tables were giant slabs of plexiglass with circular two way mics in the middle of them, and had plaques of metal extending from the sides of them to separate the individual booths. I was surprised to see that none of the booths seemed to be occupied, but then again who would want to visit here?

I was still taking in the room when someone cleared their throat, sounding a little impatient. I turned my head in the general direction it came from, and he was there. Sitting about three booths away from the center, just lounging in his chair, twiddling his thumbs while looking at me expectantly. It was weird seeing him like this, so calm, so peaceful, so nonthreatening. He looked like he was just relaxing on someone’s sofa, completely forgetting he was the one wearing handcuffs on his wrists and ankles.

“Are you going to say hi, or do you just want to keep staring at me?”

The suddenness of his voice made me jump and shoot my eyes up to his face, but when I looked at him I saw no malice. So I gave in and answered with ease, “Hey Tao.” 

 With that an easy smile crept up on the corners of his lips, and I walked over to take the seat in front of him. Every bone in my body was telling me not to fall into this, not to let my guard down, but I couldn’t help it. At least for right now, he wasn’t the same guy I remembered.

He watched me the entire time with attentive cat-like eyes, finally settling them on me once I was in the chair. And we sat there for a moment, just looking at each other again. Now that I was closer I noticed all the little things about him, he was missing his numerous earrings, and an orange jumpsuit replaced all of the black leather I remembered. I wondered if he noticed anything about me. But then he broke the silence, “As nice as it would be, I know you didn’t come here to socialize.” He wasn’t smiling, but his good mood hadn’t faltered yet.

“No, I only came because my therapist asked me too. But since I’m here, I decided I wanna ask you about Changmin.“

He narrowed his eyes at the mention of his name and answered roughly, “Do I honestly have to talk about him?” Well, any hope of keeping him in a good mood had just vanished.

“I preferred that you did.”

“Hmph. Well since you’ve been so polite, what do you want to know?”

It was obvious he was trying to cover up his annoyance, he was trying to salvage the easy atmosphere of before, like he hadn’t just shattered it. Those shards hitting the floor announced to my body that it had been right all along, I shouldn’t have fallen for the pretty facade. But hey, at least now I know how a fly feels when it realizes the harmless flower it sat on was a Venus fly trap. Nevertheless I continued, I refused to leave empty handed.

“Why did you pick him?”

He scoffed, “He wasn’t so special, he was just pure opportunity. He bumped into me, which I brushed off, but then he was trying his damnedest to start a fight. So I figured, why not?”

All of sudden I felt my insides burning, and I couldn’t stop myself before blurting out, “How can you think like that? He was a human being, he had a family, he didn’t deserve to be mur-”

“Don’t try to preach to me that he was just this harmless man, that didn’t get what he deserved. He told me everything Y/n, the cheating, the fights, everything! Hell, I even saw the fresh bruises on your wrist the night I found you,” he was spewing venom, and I could feel the sting and his anger rise with each word. Along with it I could feel my own sickening fear begin to boil over, and I knew there was no way I could get him to calm down now. But I could at least try, and hope he’d listen.

“Tao just calm-”

“Don’t you dare interrupt me. You know everything I’m saying is the truth, you fucking lived it! But don’t you worry I made sure he regretted it all. For every bruise he left, I left bigger ones. Every time he sprained your arm, I broke his. Until finally I threw him the incinerator, just to give him a taste of what Hell was going to feel like. And I promise you, I was smiling as he burned. But that wasn’t even the best part. The best was when I grounded his bones into dust, relishing in the fact that he could never touch you again,” he had leaned over the table so much he was almost touching the glass, and his eyes were so dark they were nearly pitch black.

I couldn’t help it, I was horrified. This was the Tao I remembered, terrifying, vindictive, and righteous all at the same time. I knew he couldn’t get to me, but my body was just screaming at me to get away before he found a way to. This time I listened, my body moved so fast I gave myself whiplash. I heard the metal chair hit the ground, something that sounded like Tao shouting, and wind buzzing past my ears. I was running, just like I had before.

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

Oh my god y'all, its here!! And y'all tell me how y'all feel, cause none of you guessed him. So now Idk how I feel either lol, But honestly, when I first came up with this fic I felt like it just had to be tao, idk why. And now its just funny bc he’s such a soft baby but I made him into a killer lol. Anyways, I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED IT AND STICK AROUND FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER!!! LOVE YALL

All gifs belong to their original owners

[crue-sixx]

Title: Oracle

Fandom: The Dirt (CastxMadison)

Summary: Madison is a soldier with psychic powers.  She and another woman, Katie escape the Compound that they were forced to live in since childhood to find help for the younger prisoners, and split up.  Madison stumbles to New Orleans where the Dirt is currently being filmed.  There she meets a male with psychic powers-a rarity.

Note: All caps are telepathic messages

A/N: Happy birthday @crue-sixx!  Used her name with permission for this imagine!  (Katie is me)

Throughout history, there have been people with psychic abilities that vary in occurrence and strength.  Most people who have them don't even know they do and go their whole lives without so much as a peep from their abilities but others have used them to their advantage.  For a time they were called witches and hunted down and slaughtered in the name of various gods.  Some were seen as gods themselves, and they used their power to dominate the masses into unquestioned obedience.

However, when the witch hunts came around most of those with psychic abilities had died out-some cases entire bloodlines were snuffed out.  In the present day, roughly about 20% of the population  have psychic abilities, the most common among them being telekinesis or telepathic.  98% of those with abilities are women.  Some of the more uncommon abilities are an elemental power-fire. water, earth and air.  The rarest of abilities was precognition, those who possess this kind of power were once revered and called oracles.

In today's world, those with abilities are captured and exploited for the personal gain of people in power.  Madison and Katie were such psychic soldiers, Madison having telepathic powers and Katie with telekinesis.  They were sisters, biologically and mentally.  Katie was the older one, and after her birth the Ghost Division (a top secret organization that pulls off assassinations and influence the decisions made by politicians) kept a close eye on the family to see if they would produce another person with an ability.

When they did, baby Madison was whisked away in the night.  The retrieval unit left a trail of corpses in their wake, as was expected the mother and father put up a valiant effort to protect the child. From birth, Madison and Katie were pumped full of drugs in an attempt to make their abilities stronger, or even able to wield dual abilities.  They were separated for most of the day, having been put with other prisoners who shared their abilities.  The only time they were allowed contact was during mealtimes.

The Ghost Compound was a refurbished prison, with 24/7 audio/visual surveillance and everything automatic.  Like a smart house, everything could be remotely controlled from an outside source.  Even the rings on their fingers could be triggered at anytime.  The rings were more like shackles, if they were to try to take them off, then an electric shock would go off.  It was during lunch one day that it was found out what would happen if someone were to cut off their finger.

A young girl of about 12 had taken her steak knife and started to chop off the finger, but right before the blade hit the skin the ring let out a piercing scream and a second later the poor girl was convulsing on the floor with a pink foamy mixture of blood and saliva oozing from her mouth.  When she stopped convulsing, an announcement went over the intercom "That is what happens when you defy my authority.  Defiance equals death.  Remember that, my Beauties, and we'll get on just fine".  Madison and Katie just stared at the dead girl, who was now being taken away to the incinerator to be disposed of.

Of course the younger inmates were terrified and kept eating as if nothing happened.  Madison locked eyes with Katie and sent a telepathic message- CANT KEEP LIVING LIKE THIS.  Katie nodded, her being unable to send a message back.  She then extended her fingers on the hand the ring was on and with her other hand she motioned to a knife.  Madison gulped, knowing full well what her sister meant.

They were planning an escape for sometime now, and the events at lunch just made them more aware as to the importance of their situation.  Madison would send telepathic messages to Katie, and she'd just shake or nod her head- the walls had eyes and ears.  Any spoken or written word would be their downfall.  Katie had made the camera in her cell burst so recording couldn't be completed.  They had to act fast, since that would surely sound the alarm.

They met in the recreation yard, Madison able to get away with the pretense of getting sick in the bathroom-the only places in the whole compound that didn't have audio or visual recording.  She had gotten a tape recorder and set it on play, the sounds of vomiting echoing through the cells.  They each had an axe that used by a fireman to cut through burning wood to save people's lives.

Katie held out the hand that had a ring on it and with only a moment of hesitation,  Madison swung the axe and the thing came off.  Katie let out a scream of pain, and Madison held out her own hand, and Katie cut it off as well.  Blood was getting everywhere, so Katie tore her shirt to make temporary bandages for the both of them. 

"I'm going to lift us over the wall" Katie said, the blood loss already getting to her.  She pulled Madison close to her and they lifted up and over, landing on their knees.

"Katie" Madison said "stick to the plan...you go one way and I'll go another..." she helped her older sister up and touched their foreheads together.  WE HAVE TO GET HELP FOR THE OTHERS.  GOOD LUCK, SIS.  LOVE YOU.

"I love you too" Katie kissed Madison's forehead and ran off in one direction.  Madison wasn't worried about Katie at all-she was a tough woman who knew how to use her abilities to protect herself.

Madison went off in the opposite direction, the alarms from the compound could be heard for miles.  She had to slow down, her loss of blood  getting to her.  She was able to make it to New Orleans when she just couldn't keep moving anymore.  She plopped down next to a dumpster in an alley and drifted off to sleep, her mind opening and sending psychic SOS signals in hopes that someone would be able to hear them.

Filming had wrapped up for the day, and they all were dog tired.  Daniel and Douglas were leading the way to the bar that was next door to where they lived for the duration of filming when Daniel felt a tickle in his head.  He ignored it at first, but soon became more invested when the tickle turned into words.

HELP ME.

He looked around confused, Coleson and Iwan giving him funny looks.  "Did you lose somethin'?" Coleson asked.

"I don't think so..." Daniel said, but as he walked nearer to the source he heard the voice in his head louder.

DANGER.  HELP ME.

He turned into the alley and was surprised to see a young woman covered in dirt and leaves slumped against the wall, her hand wrapped up in a bloody bandage. The others followed him and Douglas exclaimed "Bloody Hell!  Is she alive?!"

Daniel reached down and felt a very weak pulse and without hesitation he lifted her up and said "Yeah, but just barely..." the hospital was a five minute walk, but he made it there in less than three minutes, shouting that he needed help for his friend.  A nurse quickly got her into an operating room, while the recording technician talked to Daniel.

"Sir how is this woman related to you?"

"She's not" he answered "I just found her like that" he suddenly had so much nervous energy that he tapped his foot while sitting.

"So you don't even know her name?"

MADISON L/N.  His head twitched.

"Madison L/N" he said confidently, but surprised at himself.

"Right, and how about her medical history?"

He said all the relevant information as you were subconsciously feeding it to him directly in his mind.  When the tech asked about insurance policies for you, you sent a message to her. 

INSURANCE IS NOT NEEDED.

"Insurance is not needed" the tech repeated out loud, and shook her head.  She suddenly felt tired and excused herself to get a cup of coffee.  He was directed to her room and she had been cleaned up and a proper bandage had been applied to her stump.

"Madison" he brushed her hair from her eyes "How do I know so much about you?"  you couldn't even send a telepathic message to him, the drugs the hospital had given you had completely blocked your ability to reach into people's minds had kicked in, sending you into a dreamless sleep.

Over the next few days, he'd called every few hours or so while he was filming to check on her, and was dismayed when the staff had told him she hadn't woken up yet. They had replaced the blood she lost, and her body naturally helped the healing process.  It was the middle of the next week that she finally woke up, the first person she saw was a rather strapping young man with a stubbly beard.  "Madison?" he asked in a thick Australian accent.

"Yeah" she responded and sat up "Who're you?" she was still groggy from the drugs so she couldn't just pull his name from his memory, not that she wanted to do that anyway.  She used her ability sparingly and when she had to.

"I'm Daniel Webber" he said as he sat himself closer to her "I'm an actor from Australia in New Orleans for a film I'm working on" he put a gentle hand on her good one and asked "How do I know so much about you?  I've never even met you before..."

She contemplated telling him the truth, but it sounded so farfetched that she'd probably end up in the psych ward. and the Ghost Division could easily find and recapture her there.  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you" she looked up at him, those big doe eyes catching him off guard and making his heart skip a beat.  In that same moment, it seemed that he had left his body and was in a totally different scene-he was on a beach and a small gathering of his friends and as he turned to face a person coming up to him, he was back in his body at the hospital.

"Daniel?" she asked "Are you okay?" she was shaking him lightly, him being cold to the touch.

He blinked and color came back to his skin "What the fuck was that?"

"What was what?" she asked him confused "You went catatonic for a full minute there!"

"It felt like an out of body experience" his whole body shook, as if his mind was getting re-acclimated to the physical shell.

Her eyes widened as she said "You're a pre-cog..."  a person with the precognition ability was a very rare sight.  A male pre-cog was rarer still.  These were among the beings that people in ancient times thought of as gods.

"A what?" he asked dumbfounded.

"Erm" she started "We can go into that a different time" you looked up into the hallway and saw two guards from the Compound ask the charge nurse something at the desk.  She could tell they were from the Compound by the caged bird tattoos on their hands.  "We gotta get out of here..." she jumped from the bed and looked them right in the eye.

She grabbed Daniel's hand and bolted from the room, the rest of the patients and staff in a panic when the guards drew their weapons and began firing.  She threw him behind a desk for cover as she tried to reach into their minds and have them shoot each other, but the drugs were still in her system.  "What the Hell is happening, Madison?!" he shouted over the bullets hitting the wall behind them.

"I'm a psychic with telepathic abilities that ra.n away from a government facility and these men are here to take me back" she said quickly, he didn't believe her at the time but accepted the explanation for the time being.  Just then, the elevator pinged, and Douglas, Coleson and Iwan stepped out into the hallway.  They had heard Madison had been showing signs of waking up, so they bought her a bouquet of flowers.  They walked right into a war zone and the vase that Iwan was carrying had dropped to the floor, shattering.

They all ducked for cover, they all demanding an explanation.  She rolled her eyes and relayed what she had just said, them not believing her either but accepting it just like Daniel.  The adrenaline had purged the drugs from her body and she sent a message to each guard simultaneously.

SHOOT EACH OTHER.

The gaurds turned and shot each other in the leg.  Madison went over to one of them and asked "Where's my sister?"

He spat in her face and snarled "I'm not talking!"

She sighed and invaded his thoughts.  He gasped as he felt her pull the memory from his mind.  He didn't know where Katie was, she looked over to the other guard and did the same to him-nobody knew where she was.  She were both relieved and concerned.  She couldn't let the higher command know where she was so she completely wiped their minds, leaving them living vegetables.

The four men stared at you in shocked amazement.  "Time to go" she said as she left the battlefield.  "You could stay if you want, but I'm calling deuces" you turned to run, but Daniel grabbed her arm.

"Please don't run off!" the other three looked at him like he had just committed a murder.

"Since they know I'm in the city, they'll keep coming after me, and that puts you and your loved ones in danger" she took her arm back "I am NOT willing to risk innocent lives..."

"Then please stay with-" he was about to say 'me' but quickly changed it to "us".  The others protested that it was dangerous to let such a person like her live with them, her even joining in.  He pleaded "Please..." he felt like he had to protect her.

They all threw up their hands in defeat and she not so graciously accepted his offer.  She would have to stay cooped up in his room with him.  "So I basically traded one prison for another" she pouted, to which his heart skipped another beat.

"Very well" he sighed contentedly "You can sleep in my bed, while I take the floor..."

"We can share the bed" she said "It must be uncomfortable on the floor" Coleson, Iwan and Douglas giggled while seeing Daniel blush.

"It would be ungentlemanly of me to share a bed with a lady that I'm not in a romantic relationship with..."

She didn't want to displace him from his sleeping area but he was insistant so she reluctantly agreed with "So long as you don't try anything funny..."

A few more peaceful weeks passed, without so much as a word from or about Katie, and Madison was getting worried.  One day after filming, Daniel came into his room and she felt a somber air about him.  "You okay?" she asked, gently touching his shoulder.

"Yeah" he gave a sad smile "Just filmed the Skylar bits today..." she had known about the little girl who had died from various publications, and from what Daniel had told her about the actress portraying her she dominated that role.

"I see" she touched her forehead with his and sent a calming message to him.  YOU DID GOOD, SLEEP NOW.  His eyes grew tired and he laid down on the bed.  She turned to sleep on the floor when he objected.

"Come sleep in the bed with me" he asked her "Just until I get a sound sleep going?" he sounded like a frightened child and in some ways he was.  He had had more visions of the future, and she had slowly been teaching him how to make them stop so they wouldn't interrupt anything important.

She awkwardly cuddled into his arm, her stump brushing the skin on his chest. After a moment of silence he sleepily asked "Hey Mads?"

"Yes?" she answered

"Wanna date me?"

She looked at him "Date?  Like romantically?" she had never had such experience with dating or relationships.  She didn't know the first thing about dating.

"Yea you goof" he laughed "I want to take you out sometime.  Can't keep you locked up here like Rapunzel forever" he closed the gap between them and she could smell his cologne- a smokey wood scent.  She loved it.

"Where do you want to take me?" she asked, but he was softly snoring.  She smiled and kissed his cheek "Sweet dreams, Daniel" she settled into the crook of his arm and fell asleep as well.

Over the next few weeks, she had tried to reach out to Katie, but she got no response still.  Her and Daniel were now officially boyfriend/girlfriend and they were taking things slow.  It was on a Tuesday that Katie showed up from out of nowhere.  "Katie!" she flung her arms around her sister and sent WERE YOU ABLE TO FIND HELP?

"No" Katie replied "I tried the local authorities in Baton Rouge, but they thought I was crazy and locked me up in a mental ward.  Some guards from the Compound came and tried to take me back, but they ended up with various sharp objects in their bodies" she smiled at Madison.

Daniel was excited to meet Madison's sister, she had told him so much about her with so much regard.  "Hello!  I'm Daneil, Mads' boyfriend!"

Katie raised an eyebrow at Madison "Boyfriend?  Has he been treating you well?"

"More than well" she answered "he's a pre-cog" Katie stared at him and had so many questions it wasn't even funny.

"So hearing your voice in his head triggered his ability?" she asked.

"Yes" Daniel answered "Madison's been teaching me how to control it.  She has me imagine a lockbox, and if I keep it closed I can't see what the future holds" he squeezed her hand for reassurance, her returning the gesture.

"So you guys were attacked here too?" Katie asked, not being able to resist the chance to hear the story.  After the story was told, Daniel pulled Katie aside and asked.

"Are they going to keep coming after Madison?  And you?"

"Until they have us back" she answered honestly "or we're dead."

He was almost about to cry at that, he took a moment to collect himself and asked "Is there anything I can do to help you two?"

"Since you're a pre-cog, you can stick close to her and can see an attack before it happens" Katie suggested "Your visions are only POSSIBLE outcomes,  they can be changed" he thought a moment and asked a very important question.

"Hey, ask my sister" Katie smiled at him.

Madison came in their bedroom later that evening, rose petals making a path to the bed.  She giggled, her loving that sensation that she never got to experience as a child.  "Daniel?  What is all this?"

"Mads" he gulped, he was nervous and down on one knee "I've loved you since the first time I heard you in my head...and since I know you better I want to keep you safe...will you be my wife?" he showed a silver band with a diamond on it.  She looked at the thing with awe.

"Are you sure?  I've explained that with me around it'll be dangerous..." he stood up and shushed her with a finger. 

"I know what the dangers are" he softly kissed her, his stubble tickling her "I accept them, just as I accept you and your sister.  I want to keep you safe, and if it means that I have to give my own life to save you...so be it..."

Madison was breath taken, only her sister had shown this much concern when they were growing up.  On more than one occasion, Katie had taken punishments at the Compound for the stupid things  she did.  "Yes, Daniel" she finally said "I'll marry you..."

It was a small beach affair, Katie helping Madison into a bridal gown.  The men managed to get some rental tuxes last minute and they had raided the bar of all their booze.  They had "borrowed" a priest to officiate, despite not having filling out the forms needed to make the marriage legal.  Jeff Tremaine had walked Madison down the aisle, while Katie stayed in the back on alert.  Thankfully nothing out of the ordinary happened.

The vows were said, the rings placed on the fingers and the new Mr. and Mrs. Webber were introduced.  The reception almost everyone got hammered, save for the bride and groom.  Even Katie eased up and was using her telekinesis to make people fly.  The newlyweds stayed sober because they wanted to be able to be in control of their love making later.

When they finally had some alone time, he pulled his new wife into the honeymoon suite of the hotel they booked.  He kissed her gently at first, but grew hungrier with his kisses.  He undid the dress in the back and she let it fall to the ground.  She was totally nude in front of him, this being their first time together.  "Fuck..." he sighed, his erection growing at the mere sight of her.

After their love making they were sticky and glistening with sweat.  They both were panting when he asked "What the fuck was that?"

"What?" she groaned into his clavicle, planting a soft kiss on it.

"I've had sex before, great sex but what we just did I've never felt anything like that before.  It was like I was feeling your pleasure as well as my own..."

She giggled "Sorry, that was me.  I can't control my ability when I can't concentrate.  You made me feel so good, that I just let go" he played with her hair out of affection.

"Does that mean its always going to be like that when we make love?" he looked down at her.

"Only if you want me to" she answered.

"If it brings me closer to you, then I want it like that all the time" he cuddled with her "I love you, Madison" and interlocked his fingers with hers.

"I love you too, Daniel" she returned the feeling.

"What about them trying to take you and Katie?" he turned serious.

"Bring 'em on" she said boldly "We can take 'em" with that they turned out the light and slipped into a peaceful sleep.

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 12 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: *winks*

From Bruce’s POV

A FEW HOURS LATER

“I know you’re trying to create a myth,” Alfred warned, his tone sharp yet soft with care, “but be careful you don’t turn into a monster. Don’t let tombstones be your family legacy, Bruce.”

What? I thought to myself, trying to make sense of what was going on.

Why could I hear Alfred? Why did all this seem so familiar? ...Was I...was I dreaming? I couldn’t even remember the last thing that happened before I passed out, and right now, the entire world around me was black. 

All I could see was Alfred himself standing in the middle of the darkness, tending to an ornate fireplace with his back facing me. I began to approach the butler, but before I could even take two steps, a vicious fire instantly consumed him and incinerated his body, replacing him with a new figure:

Harvey Dent.

The District Attorney glared nefariously at me, his dead eyes narrowed with hatred as a coin shimmered in between his fingers. He looked exactly as I remembered him, and the closer I got, the more I could see fresh embers dancing around him.

“...H-Harvey?” I called out, admittedly missing my old friend. But the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Up until now,” he growled, “Harvey’s been weak. He’s been afraid.” The man peeled off his prosthetic, unveiling the charred, grotesque flesh underneath as he pointed at me.

“This...this is the monster they all know that you are. EMBRACE IT!” 

Harvey’s expression immediately changed to remorse as he grabbed his hair in frustration, averting my gaze out of guilt.

“No...no! Oh god, this is what you wanted to see, isn’t it? The FREAK!”

Once again, violent flames burst around him and engulfed his body, unveiling yet another familiar face in his position. Though this time, it was someone I had hoped to never see again: Lady Arkham.

The woman let out a low, wicked chuckle, her disturbing mask barely visible through the shadows.

“Bruce Wayne,” Lady Arkham mocked, her voice echoing in the emptiness. “He’d never be the man Batman is. He only looks out for himself. Ah, but of course...now I understand. As Batman, you can prey upon the weak. The defenseless. Just like your father did. A true Wayne!”

The fire reappeared more and more frequently now, practically flying through every person I’d ever encountered in my whole life as they all said their own piece to me, their voices mashing up into one giant mess now.

“Take a gander at us now. Night and day. You’d hardly recognize us, would you--?”

“--The paths may diverge, but they end in the same place. Face down in an alley. Shot in the dark by criminals, in some godforsaken corner of Gotham--”

“--Maybe Batman’s made Gotham more dangerous. Kinda upped the bar for these freaks--”

“--Such a pretty way of sayin’ killin’ a person. I hadn’t taken you for such a ruthless fella--”

“--Wake up, Bruce. You need to wake up--!”

“--Bruce! ...BRUCE!”

Snapping my eyes open with a jolt, I was greeted by a pale face looming over me as its eccentric green eyes stared at me curiously, leading me to immediately recognize them. John.

“Buddy!” He exclaimed out of relief. “You looked like you were having a nightmare there...thought I should wake you up. Though, I suppose I’ve only brought you into another one, huh. How do you feel?”

Glancing at my surroundings, I sat up and found myself in a bed, all bandaged up and taken care of. The room around me was vibrantly colored with green and purple, and on one of the walls, I spotted a collection of framed photos arranged in the shape of a smiley face. Some of them included people like Dr. Leland, Harley, and even Batman...but the majority of them were pictures of...me. 

How long had he been gathering these photos? A few of them looked like they dated back to a number of years ago, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t even met John yet. Had he been following me all this time? Just...watching my life? Frankly, I didn’t know if I was flattered or freaked out. But that wasn’t the only thing John had of me.

Sitting on a desk underneath the mounted album, there was a handmade doll next to a music box, its button eyes staring blankly at me as a haunting melody chimed in the background. Red paint had been smeared all over the doll’s face, and a piece of black cloth covered its nose and mouth...just like me.

“Where...where are we?” I croaked, still in pain from the shock Waller gave me.

“Don’t you recognize it?” John asked. “We’re at the Funhouse. This is where you found me after those Agency pigs tried to kill me and Harley. This was the last time you and I were ever friends. But then you had to go and...blow it all up!”

I glared at John, coaxing an apology out of him.

“Sorry, sorry. Dr. Leland says I have a hard time letting things go. I know you were only doing what you thought was right. No one can blame you for that...even if it did almost get me shot.”

Ignoring his previous statement, I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and braced myself, only to have a concerned John block my path.

“Hey, hey -- be careful” he comforted. “Even though I’ve tended to most of your wounds, I still don’t know if you’ve completely recovered. Do you feel okay, buddy?”

I couldn’t deny that John’s compassion threw me off-guard a bit, and the more he fretted over me, the more I started to suspect what his true motives really were. I paid no mind to his question, and instead, got straight to the point.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” I asked, remaining on the bed.

John seemed baffled by that. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be? I told you before, Brucie. I love you.” He gave me a warm smile. “...You’re my better half.”

I let out a breath, trying to understand the clown’s logic.

“It wasn’t too long ago that you wanted to kill me. Why do you suddenly care so much? Why haven’t you given up on me like the rest of this goddamn city?”

John frowned. “I never actually wanted you to die! If I did, I wouldn’t have given you that gas mask. I was just so...angry and so annoyed with everything you had done -- I wanted to get some revenge. But murdering you was never on my to-do list. You...you mean too much to me. I’m not sure I’d ever be able to sleep again if I killed you. Though...I guess you’ve already died once, haven’t you. Thanks to Harley.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “...No. I wasn’t that lucky.” 

Searching around the room for a second, I came to a pause when I noticed that a certain someone was missing. 

“Where is Harley, anyway?”

The other man fell silent.

“...In a cell, probably.”

That took me by surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“Waller tried to arrest you back at City Hall,” John explained, “so Harley and I jumped in -- quite literally, actually. At first, things were going swell, but somewhere in the chaos, Harley got overwhelmed by Waller’s people, and you were still unconscious after being zapped. I tried to save both of you, but there wasn’t enough time, so I...I...”

“...You gave her up to rescue me.” I concluded.

“Do you believe me when I say I love you now? I’d do anything for you, Bruce. Anything. Especially if it means burning Gotham to the ground.”

John leaned forward, laying his hand on top of mine. “I promise...I’ll never abandon you again. Ever. You...you do believe me, don’t you? You still have faith in me -- your old buddy, John? U-Unless...the stitch is truly broken. In that case, just say the word...and we’ll just go our separate ways. You’ll never hear from me again. It’ll be as if I don’t even exist. Just like old times.”

Without even thinking about it, I mindlessly tightened my grip on John’s hand and pulled him closer, afraid he’d slip away if I let go. 

The action caused the lovestruck clown to gaze at me in a hopeful manner, his eyes widened with surprise as he wondered if there was a chance I’d finally forgive him. I didn’t even realize I was holding the man so close until he took a seat on the bed beside me, patiently waiting for a response as I tried to hide the tears that threatened to spill.

“...Bruce?” John softly asked, still as a statue. I glanced upwards, unable to restrain myself from breaking down.

“You know,” I whispered, “when I woke up in that morgue a week ago...no one was there. Not Waller, not Tiffany, not Avesta...not even Alfred. I was all alone. Just some botched science experiment who had been left for dead, and couldn’t even be given a proper burial. This...this is the first time I’ve woken up with someone at my side. And it’s the man I had the least amount of faith in.”

John caressed my cheek, stroking affectionately. “Well, it’s not like you had no reason to doubt me. I know I hurt you a lot at Wayne Enterprises, but I won’t leave you alone again, Bruce. I’m here till the end. You know that.”

“I’m not afraid of being alone,” I corrected. “...I’m afraid of being forgotten.”

The other man brought me into an embrace, resting his head on my chest.

“Then there’s no need to be scared. Because no matter how this ends, I guarantee that ‘Joker’ and ‘Lazarus’ are gonna be two names Gotham will never forget. It’s possible we could die, I know, but at least we’ll go out with a bang! And I’ll have you right next to me, whether we’re in the Funhouse or in the grave.”

I smiled at him. “...Thank you, John. I just...I don’t want to fight alone anymore.”

He returned the smile, scooting closer. “You never were.”

Before I could say anything further, John suddenly guided me into an amorous kiss and tied his arms around me, gradually pushing me down to the mattress underneath. 

At first, I was frozen with surprise and simply lay still, unsure of how to react. I certainly wasn’t expecting our conversation to lead to this, but as time passed on, I eventually warmed up to it and kissed John back, combing a hand through his hair while the other tugged at his collar.

For a while, the two of us stayed like that and continued to shower each other with kisses, not worrying about the outside world. I had no idea where Waller was, or if Bane had even succeeded in blowing Gotham Bridge to hell -- and at the moment -- I didn’t care. Right now, all that mattered to me was John. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Breaking the kiss for just a second, I rolled over and flipped our positions so that I was above the other man. Almost instantly, I felt John’s curious hands roaming up my back as they brushed over every ridge and savored the warmth, steadily making their way up to my shoulders. 

By now, John had slid off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the porcelain skin beneath as he tossed the obstacle aside. It was pretty clear he had been wanting this for a while, and with every passing minute, more and more of our clothes found their way onto the floor, leaving nothing between us.

Hooking an arm around John’s bare waist, I smothered my lips on his own and practically flattened myself on top of him, locking our bodies together. His face and ears were flushed pink now, and the lower I worked my way down his frail chest, the more he seemed to drift into another world.

“I love you, Bruce,” John suddenly breathed out. “More than the world.”

I paused mid-action and climbed over him again, pecking a tender kiss on his forehead.

“...I love you, too, John. You’ll always be my light outside of Arkham.”

[j0sgomez-blog]

By Michael Lanza

The heat presses in from all sides as we hike down the Bill Hall Trail off the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. The overhead sun feels as if it has expanded to a supernova threatening to engulf the planet. The rocks radiate waves of heat up at us; I wonder if they might actually reach egg-frying temperature today. Even the air seems to be rising to a boil like a vast kettle on a stove. We hike cautiously over broken stones that slide underfoot, leaning out onto our trekking poles for the two- and three-foot ledge drops on this path—which appears better suited to bighorn sheep than to bipedal primates hauling backpacks weighed down with gear, food, and a surplus of a rare element out here: water.

It’s not even 9 a.m. at around 7,000 feet in the second week of May, and the forecast for the bottom of the canyon—where we are headed—calls for highs in the 90s over the coming days. In other words, we must remind ourselves that these are the coolest hours of the day, and we should try to enjoy them because this respite from the heat—however much it may not feel like a respite—won’t last long.

Three friends—Todd Arndt, Chip Roser, and Jeff Wilhelm—and I have set out on a four-day backpacking trip on the 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop off the Grand Canyon’s North Rim. We’ve come in mid-May hoping to get lucky with the temperatures during one of the two brief seasonal windows for taking this trip. And it turns out we did get lucky in that the trailhead access road only became free of snow and passable days ago; had we planned dates much earlier, we might have been shut out. (Autumn often has a slightly longer ideal window for backpacking this loop. See my trip-planning tips in the Take This Trip section at the bottom of this story.)

Chip Roser on the higher Tapeats Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.

When reserving a backcountry permit months in advance, it’s a roll of the dice to guess which dates in spring will reward you with snow-free roads and lower-than-supernova temps. While the recent heat wave melted away the last snow and dried out the roads on the North Rim, it unfortunately also transformed the inner canyon into the inferno it normally becomes from late May well into September—when this environment shows its true face as a place hospitable to lizards, snakes, and scorpions, but not so much to humans.

The Grand Canyon doesn’t just get hot, it gets really hot.

But our circumstances can certainly be viewed as a water bladder half full rather than half-empty. While the higher stretches of the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop pass through parched, waterless desert—the reason we are each hauling three liters or more of water now—the lower sections that form the roundish part of this lollipop loop we’re hiking have an unusual abundance of water in fast-moving, perennial streams.

  Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

  Todd Arndt backpacking the Granite Narrows route in the Grand Canyon.

In fact, the two creeks and one river (in addition to the Colorado River) that we will hike along pour over some of the Big Ditch’s prettiest waterfalls, course through spectacular narrows, and nurture oases of trees and vegetation. That’s why the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop has become a prized destination for in-the-know backpackers and river rats. Plus, even though the upper parts of the loop are dry, the vistas are the biggest of the hike, revealing the Grand Canyon’s majestic breadth and depth.

And while most of the route’s mileage offers no more shade than you can find under a prickly-pear cactus, there are pockets of shelter from the sun beneath trees along the creeks. We can hunker down like native desert fauna through the incinerating heat of the middle hours of each day, while hiking in the cooler early mornings and evenings.

We came here with a clear-eyed understanding that this hike from the North Rim down a vertical mile to the Colorado and back up again, on often-rugged trails, in heat that pushes the edges of human tolerance, will be really tough. But in compensation for that suffering, we’ll explore one of the more unique corners of the Grand Canyon.

All we have to do is survive it.

Read about how climate change is affecting the Grand Canyon and other parks in my book Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

Thunder River

After hours of perspiring copiously while hiking downhill, the incongruous sight of the Thunder River can make your stewed brain suspect it’s a mirage.

By early that first afternoon, we’ve dropped nearly 4,000 feet from the Monument Point-Bill Hall Trailhead. We traversed the Esplanade—a broad plateau of slickrock, massive boulders, and sand at around 5,000 feet, with long views of the canyon—and descended off that plateau on a double-black-diamond-steep portion of the Thunder River Trail, occasionally surfing the smashed dinner-plate stones that comprise it. Then we crossed the starkly barren and absolutely-devoid-of-shade Surprise Valley in skull-baking heat. Only the wind, ash-hot but mercifully strong, makes the steadily rising temperature barely tolerable.

Now, standing the edge of Surprise Valley, we’re looking down at today’s third long, knee-pounding descent through countless switchbacks over loose and rocky ground on a steep canyon slope. Hundreds of feet below us, a lushly green oasis of tall trees stands out against the landscape of cliffs and dirt in shades of ochre and brown. Immediately above this tiny but spirit-lifting soul patch of forest, a roaring, spring-fed waterfall erupts from the middle of a cliff face: the origin of the Thunder River.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

In one sense, the Thunder River isn’t much of a river: From that waterfall at its source, it only flows about a half-mile, although it drops some 1,200 feet in a continuous cascade to its confluence with Tapeats Creek. One of the shortest rivers in the country, it’s also certainly one of the few rivers that’s a tributary of a creek.

But the sheer volume of water gushing from the cliff makes it one of the most dramatic tributaries along the Colorado River’s entire 277-mile length through the Grand Canyon. Unlike most rivers that begin as trickles and streamlets coming together, it leaps from its headwaters birthplace fully formed. Naturally, it’s a great spot to escape the heat. In the shade of the trees and the mist below the waterfall, it feels about 25 degrees cooler. We lounge in the water and beside it for an hour or more. Not surprisingly, in the time we’re there, several parties of river rafters arrive, having walked a couple miles up the Tapeats Creek Trail from the Colorado River to see this waterfall.

We reach a designated campsite in the Upper Tapeats camping area on Tapeats Creek around 3 p.m., in the full-on blacksmith’s forge heat of the day—it’s probably in the mid-90s. We’ve hiked nine horizontal miles and almost a vertical mile downhill, somehow also accumulating over 800 feet of elevation gain over the course of the descent from the North Rim. Although we’ve all completed days of hiking that were three to five times that distance, the fatigue of the heat, the rugged terrain, and the equivalent of walking down well over 400 flights of stairs carrying a pack—if those stairs were intermittently built of loose stones ready to tumble with each step—has left us all feeling physically spent far beyond what we’d expect.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Grand Canyon, Grand Teton, or other parks using my expert e-guides.

Jeff Wilhelm on the Tapeats Creek Trail, Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, Grand Canyon.

The almost inevitable dehydration resulting from hard exertion in that kind of heat certainly contributes to the physiological toll: We’re all guzzling water in camp to refill our tanks. Chip and I will both go hours before peeing again.

Of the two campsites at Upper Tapeats, the one slightly upstream is larger, but the downstream one has shade sooner and plenty of space, and sits right on the creek; both are empty, so we grab the lower. While walking between them and the creek for a matter of minutes, I make the egregious error of leaving the top of my backpack not securely closed, and return to find Jeff saying he caught two ravens pulling food from my pack. I assess the damage: a bag of bars torn open, and another bag of the pita bread that was to be part of my lunch every day shredded, with its contents torn up in the dirt or gone. A little while later, as I’m still cursing them, we see one of the ravens fly overhead with a chunk of pita in its mouth.

As dusk dims toward night, bats emerge, making jet-fighter aerial maneuvers overhead, somehow throwing together a meal from the meager offerings of insects in the desert. The steady drone of Tapeats Creek gifts me with a night of coma-like sleep.

Tapeats Creek

In the morning, Todd emerges from his sleeping bag after spending the night out under the stars instead of in one of the tents, and tells me he didn’t sleep well; mice and other small critters kept darting over him, startling him awake. “I may have to rethink the tent thing tonight,” he says.

Today, we have to hike only two miles from Upper Tapeats to the Lower Tapeats camping area, where the creek spills into the Colorado River. Knowing there’s no shade down there, we decide to find shade to hide out in for most of the day. After the sun hits our campsite shortly after 9 a.m.—instantly jacking the temp up about 10 degrees, from pleasant to “time to go”—we start hiking, passing through sprawling, beautiful prickly-pear cacti gardens, with flowers in bloom, on the canyon bottom before the trail climbs up the canyon wall.

While stepping carefully along that narrow goat path, with a potential hundred-foot plunge below my left elbow, I glance down to see a bighorn sheep, with a full curl to its horns, leisurely sauntering through the sparse scrubland along the creek below me.

The trail descends again, and we find a sandstone ledge beside Tapeats Creek with a four-foot wall that casts a strip of all-day shade just wide enough for all of us to lie down on pads. And there we pass the next several hours reading, talking, eating, and chugging water.

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

. . .

[oncegilded-blog]

Snow

@atramentousxedge - Okay so this is what I found/copy/pasted. yet haven’t read through yet to see if I got it right. >.> I haven’t begun on their meeting one though. And I think I should before re-reading this. So--- gonna go hunt that shit up now as best I can.  ps- our tags are fuuuucked. we suck

▬♦M♦▬ Snow wasn’t magical. It didn’t make for cheery winter wonderlands. And it didn’t leave her itching to go ‘play’ in it like some silly child. It just made for frozen toes, frost bit fingers, and finding food much harder. Snow simply made you cold, wet, and hungry. Which was the trifecta of a bad fucking day in Tess’ book, so she wasn’t about to argue with his logic.           ”Indeed—-“ The word was crooned softly as she shivered, tugging the throw she’d found in the charming bachelor more tightly around herself. She’d been right about the place being clear and quite high enough to afford them some small sense of security, seeing that it was positioned above a small bar that had been well boarded up before the owners either left or turned. The only problem was it faced the storm that was rolling in, and had no means of keeping it warm unless they started a fire in the damn electric oven. Wind howled, gusting snow and whipping it in big swirls around the large window at the front, making her wish they’d have had time to scout out a more practical place before the storm hit.           ”—-Though maybe we coulda kept lookin’ a lil longer.           This place is comfortable, and decently stocked,           but damn, I’m gonna freeze t’death here.” _________________________

Sitting with one knee up and supporting his elbow, Kazu looked up from his whittling at her agreement. The pile of shavings he was going to use as tinder, while the wood itself he was tapering to be used as a shank or stake.

He ran hot, and while he too was chilled, he was nowhere near as cold as she apparently was. The place had been a jackpot, as far as he was concerned, even if it did need a few repairs. Winter was already upon them, and they had to start somewhere. First things first was to get a fire going for her, even if he had  to rip apart the busted oven for a pit tomorrow. Potentially dangerous and loud, he was reluctant as he scanned their surroundings one more time searching for any other durable canister.

         “ No. ” He answered her as he went back to whittling.          “ —any longer and we would have been caught out                     in the storm and froze to death out there. ”

Setting the wood and knife down he stood up and moved towards a metal filing cabinet that was overturned in the back corner. Opening one of the drawers, as quickly and as hard as he could, he tugged and ripped it free on the first go. Walking back with the metal drawer that would suffice until a more efficient means was presented as their fire-pit, Kazu set it down and began to build her a fire with the tinder and books he had pilfered along the way.

He’d need to risk breaking apart furniture for more substantial fuel, but for now the small fire would have to do the trick. Motioning her over after a minute, he held out a paperback book to her.          “ Come here Tessa, keep this going. ”

_________________________________________

▬♦M♦▬ Watching the winter storm move more fully in on them she only casts a glance over her shoulder when she hears him get up to move about. Simply arching a brow, impressed over how he manhandles the filing cabinet.          “Well I mighta, but you seem alright.           Somethin’ tells me you’d not a’ froze t'death.” So, she was glad he helped her make it back to the little pad she’d found before, for her own sake anyway. Though perhaps he was cold too. However he wasn’t shivering, growing pale, or huddling in on himself like she was. As he made his way back she turned to face him, brows furrowing faintly as she watched him light the fire.          “Mm– ya think we should tear out the fan above the stove,           and give the smoke some place t'escape.           And by we– I mean you, T1000.” Because there was no way she’d be able to wrench that hood vent off, and yank out a fan to open up the ventilation shaft without some decent tools. He on the other hand– could probably use his hands. With a sigh she shifts, reluctant to let her blanket slip as she shuffled closer and took up the book, leafing through it with a little chuckle that only seemed to grow the more she read.          “Yeah this book deserves t'be burned.” With that she rips out a page, holding it up to the dim light from the small fire just starting to take off, and reads the words on it with a mock lustful purr.

“Ilyan shed his suit jacket and shirt until all he wore were his pants, and those were easy to get rid of. I wanted to do that myself, unbutton his shirt, caress his chest, but Ilyan was the type who wanted all the control when we fucked. It was a small thing to capitulate to his desire, especially when he made me come so many times.”

          “—-Oh lordy, they even spelled cum c-o-m-e.” She’s far too amused with how bad that thing reads to be the least bit embarrassed about it. Perhaps because it was so ridiculous, it didn’t ring as being seriously sexual in the least. Snickering so as to almost snort with laughter over the cheap romance novel he’d managed to snag, she crumbles the bad writing up to toss to the flames. They licked around it, finally engulfing it in a low whoosh, and she moved on to another. This time just rolling her eyes at what she found there before discarding it to burn as well.          “Ya think we can get into the bar below later?           I bet they have some better stuff t'burn.           —Maybe some booze still too?” Flashing him a tooth lil smirk, hoping he’d see it as an implied request to find her some alcohol, she rubs her hands together, and lightly blows on the little fire to flare it up some more.

__________________________________________

   “I would not have let you freeze to death.” He told her even as he stood and turned towards the vent above the busted oven and had to shake his head at himself with a low chuckle. Here he was, ex marine, biological weapon given flesh, taking orders from a cute little red-head in an abandoned bar in the middle of a nasty snow storm during the apocalypse.

Walking over to it, he braced an arm on the wall to lean over the appliance and looked up into the fan. His next words were grunted, curt from his bent position.      “Correct you are. I do not get cold easily,                though admittedly…                It would have been bothersome.”

Reaching up to grasp an edge, the cold bite of the metal sent a ripple of goose bumps down his arm, but he ignored it and yanked. The metal separated with a sharp and quick screech as he tried to be as quick, but as careful as possible.

Even in the storm, there was no telling how acute the eaters hearing was, and it was best not to provoke a test. He felt the air move, now free to rise up and through he turned back around to find her holding up a page of the book and reading aloud a passage. He made a face of disgusted amusement as he set the hood on the ground next to the oven.      “I prefer the real thing, personally.               Reading about sex never really did it for me.”

Moving to stand behind her as she further amused herself by burning the terribly written novel, Kazu crossed his arms and looked over towards the large window and open balcony that looked down onto the bar below.

For now the bar below was inaccessible, as he had intended once they were secured on the top level—no surprises during the night, Kazu wasn’t fond of having to wake up swinging. The entire hallway had been stuffed with the tables and chairs that had been arranged close to the balcony. Looking back down at her when she requested alcohol, he arched an eyebrow.

     “I didn’t take you for a drinker. What’s your poison?” ___________________________________________

▬♦M♦▬           ”No, right— I know.” The reply sounded almost sheepish, realizing that her words could be taken as if she had little faith in him having concern over her well being in that away. However after what he’d done to keep her alive so far, and in such a short amount of time, she was certain he wouldn’t let something as simple as a snow storm take her out already. A curious, and perhaps a little self indulgent, gaze slid from her work with the fire to watch him remove the oven hood and vent fan. Her darkened eyes drink in his actions, the bend of his body to better position himself for the pull, and the flex of muscle, brawn bulging as he broke apart the appliance with relative ease. All of course made extra obvious by the tightness of his second hand shirt. Which looked damn good on him despite the fact that his quick clean up was unable to remove all evidence of it’s previous gore bath down the front. Cheeks flushing, she yanks her attention back to the page before her, distracting herself with reading the silliness of some sloppily structured erotica. Which was far less sexy than the man soaking up space in the small room. Good lord, this bachelor pad looked so much bigger with just the bed at one side, and the strangely shaped modern couch on the other as the main focal points of the place. Now though—- with Kazu in the midst of it—- The space was just filled up with him. He was the main focal point, no matter what else she had to busy herself with. With a faint little cough, a strangled sound of unexpectedness at his frank and so casual response to her reading and comments, she tears up more of the book before muttering, mostly to herself.        “Yeah well I have had far more satisfyin’ books than lovers, so—-“ So she wasn’t going to admit she might be a bit of an expert on the sort of trashy novel she was incinerating at that moment.   Once the conversation was drawn towards the bar below, Tess can’t help the light laugh that bubbles up as she turns towards him, drawing the blanket tighter about her slender shoulders.        “I’m sure there’s an awful lot about me that might surprise ya.         But everyone has their vices, amiright?         Mine’s mostly whiskey. A good bourbon, or Scot.         Though I’d take jus’ about anything t’add a bit a’ fire t’the blood right about now.” She knew that technically alcohol didn’t warm you one bit, but it sure did take the edge off of feeling so cold. Or so sore and rattled still too. Which she was, and doing her damndest to ignore. Though there was no doubt, with the weather, and the way her ass had hit so hard on the pavement earlier, she was going to be aching in the morning, no matter how much liquor she loosened her limbs with tonight.        “However I suggest we stay away from vodka or tequila.         Vodka just makes me kinda volatile.” And what do they say about tequila? Yeah, she should avoid that tonight too. __________________________________

He allowed himself to smirk a little at her reaction to his crass confession, but it was true. Reading about sex wasn’t even foreplay to him…                    Well–                           maybe… He considered that perhaps given a certain context it had potential to be. But certainly not for entertainment purposes. Kazu preferred soft flesh and liquid warmth to paper and ink. Not that his imagination was lacking.

Her small insinuation that the men in those stories kept her warmer than a living, breathing man made him grunt in concern, but pulled himself short. It wasn’t his place nor was it the time to inquire or comment. To easy would it be to find a game in making her flush or squirm. There was still too much to discuss, too much to worry about for now. Starting with the explanation he felt her owed her. That man attacked her because they saw her with him.

That little joke back at the store about the fences suddenly seemed grossly inappropriate and knotted in his stomach like a lead weight. He should have just told her the truth, but how could he have known? What would he have even said? That dangerous men were potentially nearby, but don’t worry its probably nothing. Paranoia might have saved her the trouble…                     Fuck.

Maybe she would have been a little more careful, or gone a totally different way through town if he’d only just said something… It was too late now though. No use in stressing over the what could have been. He could warn her now, and he could keep her safe. At the very least, until he sorted out the bad blood and made sure, in any direction she chose to go, she had a safe path.

              “I have no doubt you are full of surprises, Tessa.” He spoke, looking down at her when she turned in place, swathed in her blanket, to look back at him. Already she looked better then she had earlier that day. Still a bit scuffed, with the vibrancy of her hair dulled only a little from her tussle and close call. His mind went back into a three part rewind; recalling how she’d looked while in that room back at the store with him, to the look in her eyes when he cowed her against the wall. Right up to current times; right now, as she looked up at him.

He could see the phantom tremors behind her eyes and in the lines of her face with his acute senses. She definitely wasn’t giving herself enough credit, and he fully planned on reinforcing that. After he told her everything he knew about the guy who attacked her, and the guys who’d attacked him.

             “At least you have good taste.” He smiled approvingly, especially when she expounded on the passing of tequila. No need to open that bottle of liquid hormones.

               “I need to break apart some furniture,                         that paper won’t burn forever.                         Wait here, and ’ll bring you back                         a bottle for you while I make sure                         we have enough to burn to last at                         least the night” _____________________________________

▬♦M♦▬ Pleased that he didn’t argue, or try to prove she was easily readable, the corners of her lips quirk up a bit more, gazing up at him as she was then, eyes flashing in the dim light of the small fire.         “I would hope so.          My father had a thing for the Scotch.          Had some family ship over his favorite straight from the source.          It was the easiest thing t’get my hands on when I was younger.          Guess you could say I cut my teeth on ‘the good stuff’.” Shrugging she simply snuggled further into her blanket, and tucked some loose curls away from her face, nodding as he changed subjects towards a trip below. There wasn’t a chance in hell she was going anywhere at that moment, too cold and too scared of running into more from that group, Tess had every intention on waiting there long before he basically commanded her to. After all, from what she’d seen, he would be far better off without her. Able to move faster, and fight better without having t worry about her getting in the way. In fact she wouldn’t blame him one bit if he bailed as soon as the storm let up. Especially after that run in out there on the street. Surely he’d over heard something that led him to believe she was nothing but trouble. Hell he’d already had to save her ass twice, right? What man in his right mind would want to stick around any longer than he had to with someone who was going to be a bit of a burden? And that’s what she felt she’d be to a man like him, so clearly capable of handling everything himself, he didn’t seem to have need of someone such as she. Even the mending of his wound had been forced on her part, showing that the main skill she possessed wasn’t exactly wanted by him either. Part of her planned on telling him it was okay to feel that way. And essentially give him permission to take off on her. Once she apologized for the shit she’d drug him into that is. After that she was sure he’d be happy to have such an easy guilt free out. Of course she’d been a little distracted with the whole getting away and not dying bit to take note of everything the man had said, and assumed the mention of the man with dreads had only been because he’d seen Tess exit the building with Kazu. So, she had no way of knowing his ‘fence’ was actually the boys that asshole was upset about losing. Had she though, perhaps she’d not have been sitting there as she was, dazed and doing her best to sift through all the possible ways to explain what that had all been about in a way that didn’t make her look like—- well a killer. Because despite the blood on her hands due to them, she never really could think of herself in such a fashion, and would be horrified if anyone else did.          “Right—- I’ll uh— I’ll wait right here.” She mumbled then lifted her gaze from her bruised wrists to him once more.           ”Hurry back.” We hafta talk— While he was gone though she had actually managed to move from that spot, and had taken up some of the wooden utensils in the the kitchen, using her knife to make some shavings and keep the fire burning. Having sliced the wide parts off of two spoons, and a spatula, she put them into a lil tee-pee in the center of the makeshift fire pit, and had their tiny fire burning a bit brighter by the time he returned to find her toying with the knife, still bundled up in her blanket, and gazing into the flames. ________________________________________

Kazu reached across his chest to rub at his shoulder, ignoring the twinge at his back. He hadn’t reopened the wound, at least it didn’t feel that way, in his attack on her aggressor earlier. He’d have Tessa look at it when he got back, she’d likely want to know.                  “ Cut your teeth on it, huh?                            Well, I’d say we have something in common then.                          Good whiskey and all– ”

But obviously tossing the guy bodily down the alley had pulled something in or around the wound. He grunted a little at himself, thinking back on how brutal he must have appeared to her. Funny, but he’d never really given it much thought. Since the dead had begun to rise, Kazu had spent the majority of his time where he well… spent the majority of his time. In the forests. The wild. He had only participated in civilization for monetary and necessary purposes. He still had to live being who he was. Of course, that was ‘before’.

Now though he found himself… No. He didn’t care for judgment, and never had. Kazu wasn’t a man who concerned himself with the huffs and critiques of sheep. He wasn’t human and didn’t pretend to be. Kazu was exactly who he was, without exception or remorse. Just before he passed through the door into the hall, he paused and glanced over his shoulder, watching the light from the small flame do tricks with her eye color as she observed her wrists and fell into a sort of introspection that allowed him to study her without her knowing just yet.               “ –seems we both enjoy that fire.                         I won’t be long—not ten minutes. ”

Set on raiding the interior of the downstairs before breaking apart one of the chairs constructing his barricade in the staircase, Kazu used a bit of magic once out of range, to make the leap without disturbing the mess. Landing at the foot of the stair’s should have sounded like a small bomb going off, but the foxfire burning under the soles of his feet absorbed the impact. His body of course, still suffered the shock, sending ripples up his back and arms as he crouched low and remained in place. It was dark down here, the smell of dust and dead blood, rotting food and stale beer stung his senses. Standing up slowly he stepped into the dark of the lower level, his eyes flashing pearlescent; reflective as his pupils widened.

There were no biters down here, none that had been disturbed already by their low conversations from above, but that didn’t exclude nasty surprises. More than once a body he thought down entirely and unresponsive the first time around, came back with a vengeance to try and bite him on his ass. Literately. He’d taken to shoving his blade through the forehead of any he came across as a standard precaution.

The soft sing of Ester as he drew the blade from his back reflected from the light coming in through the windows, but he was otherwise silent as he made his way towards the kitchen and staff area of the bar.                        Clear. Sheathing his blade he found an orange, plastic crate and began to fill it with canned fruit and a decent sized bag of unopened peanuts. Finding the beer cooler, Kazu set down the crate with a barely contained chuckle of pure glee. It was still locked, three bolts and a bar latch. Hand burning hot with foxfire he grasped the metal bar and snapped it as quietly and quickly as he could. Pulling Ester from his back again, he slipped it into the eyehole’s of the masterlocks and snapped those too. Opening the door he waited and used the sword to move aside the plastic flaps.                        Clear. Two chilled bottles, of Tennessee Honey and Devil’s Cut went into the crate before he made it back upstairs the same way he’d come. With the crate under his left arm, and a plain, wooden barstool over his right shoulder, being the only difference. Setting the barstool down he waited for her to notice him. Gesturing to her with his now free hand, he glanced at the knife, connecting that she had used it to shard the bits of a wooden spatula and spoons.               “ You know how to use a knife? ”

A fleeting moment of teaching her crossed his mind. If she didn’t, at least he could show her, that hulk of a spear she carried, she could certainly use some practice with as well.

______________________________ ▬♦M♦▬ Unsure of how long he’d be gone Tess had busied herself attempting to keep the small fire from fading before he brought back some real fuel for it. And of course mull over how to open this particular can of worms that was staring her in the face now. Perhaps it had only been a handful of minutes that passed as she’d let the blade of her knife slide down the length of wooden utensils and shave off curls of wood that took to burn quite quickly. However it felt as if it was ages. Not to say he was exactly lonely without him there. After all that would be silly since she’d been so long on her own and hardly knew him. However without him in the room it felt—- oddly empty. Kazu simply absorbed space. His size and his very presence too up all of one’s attention when he was present, and now that she knew what it was like in there with him, the place felt vast , barren, and almost cold without him. Nope, check that. It was actually cold, but in more so the literal sense. Shivering she huddled close to the source of warmth she was slowly building bigger, and began etching a pattern in the wooden knife block she’d found and intended to burn once the fire built up a bit. It was just a few notes of music she once enjoyed playing, nothing fancy, because it would be pointless to put any time into something she was just going to light up a little later anyway, but it was a way of distracting herself from the shit swirling around in her head. In fact it was working so well she didn’t notice his return right away, which was saying something, since things just felt different with him close by, like he affected the environment around him with is very aura, as cheesy as that sounded. Coppery locks, made all the more flame like with the light of the fire dancing along them, cascade around her face as it turns it up ever so slightly to greet him, and allow a dark auburn brow to arch curiously, unsure of exactly what he meant. She knew how to use the blade to shape a spear tip that she could fire harden for a weapon—- that much was obvious. And she could kill undead with it, if she had to get that close, but as far as anything else it would be used for, she hadn’t even a clue. The thought of actually fighting with it aside from stabbing walking corpses in the head hadn’t even entered her mind either. Though the idea of outright killing someone with it had.           ”I uh—- I dunno if I know how t’use it real proper like.            But I —— I have used it before———.” Tucking it away then she drops her eyes from him, jaw clenching, fighting back any feelings that came from the images that stirred, and their connection to the man from the street. Hands come to clasp hold of the edges of blanket, and curl herself in it once again, as if she could physically hide from the words that she was about to let slip out next.            “——-on that man’s brother.” The tone with which she said it spoke a lot more than her words, showing horror at her actions, due to the deadpan and distant nature of her voice, but the firmness there implied that she didn’t have regrets in it. It had been a necessary evil. However this was no where near the way she’d wanted to start this conversation. Nearly the whole time he’d been gone she’d been rehearsing ways to work into it, so as to not seem like she was a walking burden and a magnet for trouble. And now she assumed she just came off like a cold blooded killer. ______________________________________________________ Kazu watched her look up, the lush of her hair framing her face as she stared back at him for a moment and he could see the gears working behind her eyes. Tessa was working up to something, and by the set of her brows and the look on her face just before she spoke, set off a small warning bells in the back of his mind.She cut herself off midsentence though and turned from him. His eyes widened and he fought the urge to suck in a breath as her body language screamed. Almost as if she feared a physical reprimand, she turned in on herself and huddled under the blanket. Then she finished her sentence and the crate felt suddenly heavy under his arm, but oddly fragile as the muscles in his arm flexed, making the plastic groan a little in protest.                               –that man’s brother….It ran through his head like a mantra, winding back through the events all the way to the first time he’d seen her in that store. Further back even, his mind whirled to the events of his own altercation days ago. His mind skipped forward again, this time to the man in the alley standing over Tess, and it suddenly connected. The tumblers fell into place, one after another until he came to a single conclusion. Her reaction, the way she’d said it in such a stoic but self-loathing manner—she was taking the death of her aggressor to heart, blaming herself in some way?Kazu walked over and sat the crate down beside him before he set his elbows on his knees as he crowded her space a little to the left of her.                   “ I should have told you this way sooner. It may have                                saved you that mess in the alley,                                but I thought I could take care of it myself.                     That fence that I was telling you about before                                —was no fence at all. I was attacked by a group of                               men a couple days ago. I killed two of them. ” His watched her carefully, almost intently as he spoke.                   “ —I thought that was why he went after you. ”He shook his head a little.                    “ —I know those men, Tessa. Don’t blame yourself,                                 its not your fault. ”                                     “ Its theirs. ” ____________________________________ ▬♦M♦▬ A hard exhale leaves her as he closes in, consuming the space beside her with his powerful presence, and making her feel even more small, more meek—- and weak. Because Kazu’s own confession did little to ease her, to make her feel less responsible for how everything had happened, since she didn’t know how often he had shed blood to survive, just that she was the reason he’d just had to add to whatever number he kept. Her eyes drop away, not wanting him to be able to read the vulnerability that was screaming out from behind them. And when she spoke, her voice was distant, yet strained, doing a poor job of keeping the welling emotion out of it. God this wasn’t how she wanted this to go.        “It is though——         David said my hair— it’s how he found me in the crowd the first night we’d went out.         Without it, I’d a’ died along with my father.         He said it was my signal flag.         Even if undead could easily grab it,         I kept it long like this so he could spot me if we got separated again.         B— but so could others.         Being scared as I was then, an’ sentimental now, I still leave it long.         Hopin’ —hopin’ he’ll spot me an’ come for me once more.         But again it was one a’ them—-         It is my fault.         It’s my fault t’day more than ever.         Cause after that night—- after his brother—-         I knew they’d never stop lookin’ for me.         An’ I shoulda been more careful.” The muscle in her jaw flexed as she clenched her eyes closed tight then, trying to will away what she was seeing in her mind’s eye now that she’d confessed that condemning truth. Partly because she didn’t want to see if he would look at her differently, knowing she wasn’t as innocent as she might appear, knowing she was capable of killing someone in such an intimate way as to thrust a knife into them. But mostly she just tried to keep the flood gates locked down tight, and not let them open wide and drown her in thoughts of things she couldn’t change. Though right then it seemed futile. That damn night was too clear. Even when repressed it was too vivid, too alive and real, almost more so than the situation she was currently in. She could feel him close, calloused hands roughly grabbing- groping, the slick of sweat on gritty grime covered skin, the salty taste of it and the cigarette he’d smoked before he’d forced his tongue upon her own—- it made her stomach roll, and a shiver of disgust to shake through her even still.         “Maybe if I’d not fought him or cried out, if I’d been quiet, and jus—- jus let him.          Maybe David wouldn’t a’ tried so hard t’stop him when he was in no condition t’fight.          Maybe if I’d a’ trained t’fight myself—- or— I dunno— something,          I’da been able to save David without—- without—-“ Eyes slowly open, gazing down at her hands as they unfurl, palms up, fingers loosely curled before her, as if still able to see every drop of blood they’d bore.         "It was warmer than I’d imagined.          And sticky—- so sticky when it cooled.          I thought it would never come off.          But it did.          An’ worst of all I didn’t regret it.          I wanted t’kill him after what he did— what more he was goin’ t’do.” And that was her shame and guilt in it all. If she’d have been better trained, she could have stopped him without him ending up dead, without those men having a vendetta against her. But she didn’t even try. She’d reacted. Someone she loved was in danger, and all that compassion she’d prided herself on just went out the window, and she was thrusting a blade in the back of another human being’s head, —because she judged that he deserved to die. After a moment she pushed it all away, locking it down as tight as she could again, though her teeth had come to make a mark upon her lip with the effort it took to raise her gaze back to his own. Tess just looks at him then, measuring his reaction to everything in almost a numb way, like she was ready for him to throw up his hands and walk out on her, because she was clearly a magnet for trouble. Blinking slowly she lets her upturned hands just sit in her lap as she finally responds directly to what he’d said.         ”I knew it.          I knew no fence had done all that damage——-.” With that a small spark of herself shown through her eyes once more, as a ghost of a self abasing sort of smile formed and she darts her gaze toward his crate.         ”I really need a drink right now.          Please tell me ya found us something.”His eyebrows lowered and Kazu tilted his head as he absorbed her body language. Tessa had turned from him, taking those expressive eyes from his view and turning in on herself again. _____________________________________________________________________

 His elbows on his knees bent a little as he resisted the urge to move his arms and touch her. She setting off his instincts to sooth and protect without having said even a word yet.                   Christ… When Tessa started speaking, her tone was almost hollow, as if just saying the words physically hurt her. As he began to piece together what she was saying, he looked up at her hair and realized exactly what she had meant. Her hair had called those men to her like a beacon.Even if they hadn’t been looking for her…His gaze sharpened and his hands balled into fists as he mentally went over just how he’d rip those men apart for their transgressions. It pissed him off, men taking advantage of women simply because they could. As hot as he was getting under the collar, he wasn’t prepared for her next implications.His torso jerked in a subtle flex, a physical lockdown to not only her spoken words and the way she said them—but that she blamed herself at all. When she finally did look at him again, he was looking down and lifting his hands to his forehead, pushing his dreads back from his face. Unwilling to speak just yet, because the rage roiling inside him would likely terrify her more than the image of him in the alley ever could. So he annually forced his facial features to relax enough to open his eyes and look at her. Hands still semi-holding his head up and his hair back, the dark of his eyes were both still very angry but also sympathetic.                   The next time I see those fucks…She’d said it herself, she didn’t regret it; but the weight of life’s blood on your hands was something he understood far too well. Kazu was a killer, a beast capable of so much more than she could even fathom; but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand compassion and just what that would do to someone. Someone like her. She’d been given a very hard choice.Dropping his hands he ignored her request for a bottle, for the moment and moved one of his knees to drop to the floor as he shifted his weight forward a little and plopping down into a more comfortable spot.              “ I’m not going to blow colored smoke up your ass, Tessa.                             It sounds to me like you were given a very shitty choice,                             and in your shoes I would have done the same thing. ”He reached into the crate beside him and pulled one of the bottles out. Wrapping his hand around the top, he twisted and broke the seal with a grunt. Offering her the bottle he tossed the cap into the crate and pushing it closer to her for her to inspect.             “ That doesn’t make it your fault.                    Your hair is your only way to signify to David                    —it’s not your fault those bastards were twisted                    enough to use it to their advantage….                               As for the rest of it. ”He grunted and plucked the remaining bottle from the crate and cracked the seal of that one too, for himself. He canted his head as if he were seconds away from mentally ripping the man apart, which he was, and took a long pull from the bottle               “ —I can teach you a few things, so you’ll never                          have to find yourself in a situation like that,                          or be forced to choose between your life and someone                          else’s.                That too, is his fault for making you choose. ” Setting the bottle down Kazu snickered and nodded, reaching up with his other hand to sweep a hand across his beard in a gesture of habit.                “ Well—there ‘was’ a fence involved but no… Not a fence                          that hurt me. Which, reminds me—think I pulled                          something back at the alley. ”

__________________________________________ ▬♦M♦▬          “I know——” The words were mumbled, not bothering to meet his eyes and let him read anymore of her at the moment, because regardless of that fact that her options had been shitty, she’d still taken one that haunted her, and caused her to be hunted as well. Which would make one rather remorseful even if they didn’t regret the choice they’d made.          “Thanks.” Slender fingers wrapped around the bottle, accepting it with a shrug before taking a deep hard swig of it. No, taking several consecutive ones, downing a good measure before pulling back to let the burn settle in with a small grimace and a hiss between her teeth. A shiver shook her too when the heat pooled in her belly and started already to blossom warmth through her veins. It had been a long time since she’d drank whiskey with such abandon. A nip here or there was all she’d had in what must be a year or more. But she figured she deserved to drown a few demons after the day she’d had.          “I’d a’ hid from ya if I could’ve, because a’ those men.           It’s what I’ve been doing since I lost David.           I’ve been too scared t’approach any other survivors,           even when I’d really needed help.           I jus’—- I couldn’t go through something like that again, alone.” With another shrug she snuggles down into her blanket and toys with the neck of the bottle before taking another drink. This one wasn’t as long, but she’d already done a good job of getting a healthy dose of alcohol into her system to help numb her nerves.          "Guess it’s a good thing I turned ya down about walkin’ me here, huh?” If she hadn’t, if she’d went with him, she wouldn’t have been attacked, that was true, but it would have made things worse. Obviously they were watched, and should she had been with Kazu, the man who’d tried to take her might have simply kept watching—- until he found where she was going to be hold up that night. And seeing that there’d been no altercation to cause him concern enough to stay, she’d been there alone, and vulnerable. Especially if he’d brought in others by then . Yeah, as bad as things went, they could have been worse for her. Though none of that was any real reason he should stick around, so she took the offer to teach her with a grain of salt, seeing as he’d told her earlier he’d always been alone. It was probably the way he preferred it. With a deep breath she finally caught his line of sight again, letting him see the look of grim determination behind her otherwise soft blue eyes.          “Look, ya don’t need t’feel sorry for me an’ stick around.           Before I found out you’d been involved with those men too—-           I’d planned t’tell ya you could leave after the storm passed,           cause I wouldn’t blame ya for avoiding burdens like the ones I brought.” Her thumb rubs the smooth lip of the bottom, eyes dropping to that idle action a moment before lifting to his again.          “Now though I see we both made enemies with ‘em,           but the sentiment remains—-           Ya don’t gotta stay.           You killed some cause they attacked ya.           I killed their leader, an’—- well prolly a couple others as well,           when I let biters in t’their camp t’distract them so David an’ I could escape.           I violated their sense a’security, and took out the one they looked to.           Pretty sure that makes me enemy number one to ‘em.           So I’m thinkin’ they’re prolly not gonna come after you.           Ya can jus’ walk away, Kazu.           Come mornin’—- if the storm’s let up—-“ I won’t even be surprised to find you gone before I wake. It wasn’t what she wanted though, and she worried the tone of her voice betrayed that, because she’d felt safer, more secure with him even after all this shit today than she had in ages. And she was loathe to be alone anymore. The very thought of it burned her chest more than the liquor alone. __________________________________________________ Sitting with his elbows on his knees, Kazu regarded her body language with a critical eye. When she thanked him she didn’t respond vocally, instead he picked his own up and lifted it in a gesture of acknowledgement. His eyebrow arced as she drank heavily, long pulls that made him shake his head a little with a frown of someone who recognized the action. Kazu didn’t smother his demons though, they were a part of him and he made peace with that a long time ago. He was, what he was. There was no way to change it, and in doing so was a waste of energy and time he could be putting elsewhere. Now that the world was shit, and he didn’t have to worry about the hounds on his heels, Kazu took it upon himself to dispose of the undead like it was a personal mission. As a tool of war, that was where his skills were needed the most.This however didn’t mean that he was incapable of understanding her pain, and the weight she carried at having taken human life—he’d spent years watching, learning and adapting to the world of man. His time in the Wars were especially telling, what killing did to a man. He gleaned the nuances of their behavior mostly out of habit, but it was an aspect of his training. Kazu liked to people watch like other people watched birds or animals, even if the conditions were as morbid as they had been in the trenches, with explosions and chopper blades, gun-fire and death cries. In the moment of her indulgence, his gaze had gone introspective and it was the sound of her voice that drew him back into the present.                   “ I try and help any survivors I find, so I consider it a good thing.                             Besides, having seen you solitary would have prompted                             me to track you anyway. A woman should never travel                             alone, least of all in the middle of the damn apocalypse.                  “ Our new ‘friends’ being the primary mutual—as if the eaters,                             infection and natural selection were not bad enough. ” He shrugged and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a few healthy pulls before pulling it back and letting the glass neck hang between his knees as he adjusted his elbows.                 “ Agreed, a good thing. Aside from you being on the front line,                             it exposed our enemy and gave us a chance to defend                             ourselves. If you hadn’t, we might have been under attack                             the moment we took shelter. ”She made a point of catching his eye, and Kazu arched an eyebrow as he took another pull of his liquor, recognizing the look of a woman about to play a righteous, self-sacrificing card. He’d seen it before on a woman who’d been bitten and was trying to ‘save him’… Ridiculous, it wasn’t in him to leave her, he stayed with her to the end and not because she had been female. Women weren’t the only survivors he’d come across that had been given cruel choices. Children, men, young and old; but he knew what dying alone felt like. He remembered his own first time dying… before he knew his life was a cruel and twisted joke of nature. As she began to speak though, he lowered the bottle from his lips and regarded her steadily, though silently. It took him a moment after she stopped speaking, letting her words sink in as he grunted with a nod, letting his gaze move to the floor as if in deep introspection. In reality, his mind had been set the moment he threw that man to the eater.                 “ Come morning if the storm lets up. ” He started, looking back up at her from under his heavy brows.                  “ —I’m going back down into the bar and we’re going to empty                            all the can goods I can find and I’m rigging up an alarm                            system and then I’m going to teach you how to use a                            man’s body weight against him. ”Setting the bottle aside and reaching into the crate for the peanuts, he opened the bag and picked out a few before offering her some.                “ If you’re basing your crime off violation, you’re thinking about it all                           wrong to begin with. One ill turn does not beget another,                           however—you did what you had to do to survive, I’m                           assuming in a moment of panic where you ‘had’ to make                           a choice. Don’t fault yourself for the laws of the world as                           they are now.                 “ You can’t save everybody, there are no hero’s. Every action we                           take, no matter big or small, how the world is or was…                           Every action has a reaction, a ripple effect.                           It has always been like that. It will always be like that.                           You will burn yourself out thinking like that and I will not leave                           you in such a defenseless position, and for damn sure not with a                           guillotine swinging over your head.                           So–.” Kazu popped a few peanuts in his mouth and looked square at her, the stubborn arch of his eyebrow and the set of his jaw indicating his own determination.                  “ —strap in, woman, it’s going to be a long winter. ”

[notapaladin]

So I was talking to @zephiraz and they came up with this fantastic headcanon about Aethas and Al’ar bonding just after the events of the Purge (smol sad mage! smol sad birb!) so...of course I had to write it. It’s over 2K words, so it’s under the cut!

In which Aethas mourns and makes a new friend, and in which Rommath is highly unamused.

No restrictions had been placed on his movements within the Spire, which had surprised him more than he was comfortable admitting. One would think that they would want to keep me away from anything else I could fuck up. It’s not as though I’ve a wonderful track record of leaving things unspoiled. He paused halfway in his climb up the stairs, resting his elbow on the windowsill. It was narrow as they all were in this section of the spire, designed more for archers to fire out of than for the view. Still, as high up as he was, it gave him a fine view of the city; he could just make out the Hall of Blood far below. But then again…I suppose I’m useless enough that they don’t have to worry.

Lor’themar and Halduron had been kind enough not to say that to his face, at least. Rommath had held his tongue, but Aethas would have had to have been blind to miss the sneering disdain in his eyes. Another time, it would have stung.

Not now. Not now, with the blood of innocent people—his own people—partly on his hands. Not when he was climbing the highest tower in the Sunfury Spire to escape the certain knowledge that waiting for him in the office he’d been given were stacks of black-bordered stationary he would have to put to use, dozens of letters he would have to write to the families of those killed or imprisoned. Not when he’d weighed the scales—Garrosh’s madness against Jaina’s and Vereesa’s lust for vengeance—and come out the loser.

Not when it was his own damn fault he’d been betrayed.

Again. First Thalen, and now Fanlyr. The Grand Magister is right, it’s because I’m weak and foolish and—

He closed his mind to such thoughts, grit his teeth against the urge to sob, and kept climbing. Clearly nobody ever came this high up; his boots were leaving prints in thick dust. Good. If he was going to cry, he’d be thrice damned if anybody was going to see it. The white marble was growing warmer to the touch the higher he climbed; pausing, he tapped his fingers against it. Doesn’t feel like spell residue, and the sunlight can’t possibly be that bright…

Someone had barred the door to the roof. For a moment, all he could do was stare dully at it; the simple wooden bar set across the gilded wood bore every sign of having been hastily hammered into place, but the nails had rusted years ago and the resulting mess wouldn’t have stopped a child. Without a second thought, he wrapped arcane energy around his fingertips and pulled it out of the way. The sun-warmed door gave way at a push; as he stepped through onto a tiny terrace, he looked around and shuddered. Nobody had swept up here in ages, and the rain and wind had carried up piles of detritus to litter the stone. Upon closer examination, he was sure some of the dead leaves and twigs were being used as a nest for—his ears swivelled as the sound reached them—an entire colony of very melodious pigeons.

And even with the breeze, it was hot. He took a few steps out of the doorway and let his legs fold under him, pulling his collar aside as he tilted his face towards the sun. Maybe if I stay up here long enough I’ll mummify. They’ll find me in a year or so when someone bothers to look. No, Brasael would beat down the doors first, he was always after me to take care of myself—

The lump in his throat threatened to choke him, and he keened at the memory. Brasael would never stop by his office door with half of one of Uda’s sandwiches, because he was dead like so many other Sunreavers, like so many innocent people whose only crime had been to follow him to Dalaran in search of a life free from the stupid, stupid faction war.

At least up here, there were no witnesses to his tears, and nobody tried to offer useless sympathy or coldhearted logic when he landed on his side and sobbed into the stone. A long, orange-red feather had fluttered down from somewhere; he caught his breath and blinked at it blurrily before squeezing his eyes shut. They even killed the dragonhawks.

And that would have set him off crying again, except that the pigeons he’d thought he’d heard suddenly seemed to be much closer, and the sun’s heat was far too bright behind his closed eyes. Something hard, smooth, and warm touched his ear. “Crrrrrrooooooo?”

“Go away—” His outstretched hand brushed something that burned; instinctively he jolted away, eyes flying open, and for far too long a moment all he could do was prop himself up on one elbow and stare at the enormous phoenix perched in front of him. Oh. Oh, sweet Light.

Al’ar, the phoenix god, the beast known to all of Quel’thalas and venerated as a minor deity by at least half of them, tilted its head and made a noise not unlike an inquisitive chicken before following it up with the saddest-sounding croon Aethas had ever heard, feathers drooping.

“Oh.” It was more of a breath than a word as realization crashed into his mind. This, then, was where the great phoenix had come to rest and brood after Kael’thas’s death and betrayal. The locked door retroactively made sense; nobody in the Spire would have been willing to risk instant incineration by disturbing the bird, and so it would have been left alone—all alone, and for years. The thought was heartbreaking, and he found himself murmuring, “You know what it’s like, don’t you? You thought your people would always be there.”

Another low trill from the bird, and its glowing eyes glittered with—tears? Could phoenixes, birds of living flame, cry?

He took a slow breath. It might kill me. But…in its place, I would want to be comforted, too. And at least I will die having tried to do some good. Carefully, he sat up and reached out, fingers trembling, to pet the bird’s neck. “Shhh, shhh. It’s alright now. I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.”

The feathers were fire, warm to the touch, but—to his surprise—no more than that. There was none of the furnace heat he’d expected, no sharp beak and talons tearing at his flesh. Indeed, Al’ar was leaning in, crooning softly, and shuffled closer until it was pressed against his side.

“Um, what—” Oh. A razor-sharp beak was preening his hair, and a massive incandescent wing was arcing over his head and pulling him tightly into thick, soft feathers. For a few agonizing seconds he was sure he was about to be cooked to death, but then the heat abated; it was actually comfortable, and he felt himself relax into the phoenix’s side.

“Crrrrrrr…” The low, grating trill seemed to be a reassuring noise.

He sighed into Al’ar’s feathers. The sorrow was still there—a black beast hovering over his shoulder, slavering teeth ready to lodge in his heart—but somehow, it did help to know that someone in the spire grieved at the same time he did. At least he wasn’t alone.

He didn’t even notice when he drifted off to sleep.

--

Finding Sunreaver should not be my concern, Rommath thought sourly as he trudged up the stairs. That is why we have servants—Sun above, that is why I have apprentices. But no, Lor’themar wants to make sure he knows where the food is and somehow it’s my responsibility to ensure that. ‘He’s had a traumatic day, Rommath, the least we can do is get him to eat and sleep.’ Bah! It’s more than he deserves.

He stopped to crack his back, wincing at the shifting cartilage. This entire mess is all his fault. If he’d ever listened to me in his life or used that brain he supposedly has, none of this would have happened. Maybe this will finally strip him of that reckless optimism of his, and he’ll start thinking rationally about the real world now that the fairytale he lived in has drowned in blood. Blood which still stained under his nails, the scent clinging to the inside of his nose. If he breathed too deeply, he still smelled ash and burning flesh. I swear, when I find him, I will shake him by the collar like the disobedient pup he is.

And it would be “when.” They’d run out of other places to search, knowing that he hadn’t left the Spire and narrowing it down by section. The libraries hadn’t seen him, and he wasn’t in the kitchens or the laboratories. Rommath had even sent someone to check his rooms (still partly covered in dust cloths, with the odd musty smell of unaired furniture) and they’d found no trace of him. That, regrettably, left the roofs as some of the more likely options. Of course, he won’t be on this one if he has any sense at all.

When he finally reached the top of the winding staircase, he froze. The bar had been wrenched aside and the door left ajar; the light streaming through the crack was a steady, vivid pinkish orange he’d only ever seen from one source. Guilt knifed through him, and he had to close his eyes against it for a moment. When Al’ar had come back to Quel’thalas he’d still been sealed tighter than the Violet Hold in the shell of his grief; the thought of having to share it had been intolerable, and the thought of having the old wound reopened was enough to make him seriously consider turning around.

He would have, if the sound of Al’ar singing hadn’t reached his ears. It was so low he almost missed it entirely, a steady polyphonic cooing that brought to mind a half-forgotten lullaby. It drew him onwards, and before he could think about it he was opening the door. “Forgive m—”

The phoenix god wasn’t alone. It had had tucked Aethas against its side, wing mantled over him protectively. From what he could see, the young archmage was actually asleep. He’d taken his helm off at some point, revealing the tracks of tears over his freckled face.

I will not shout. I will not annoy the god. I will…not…shout. He was pleased at how even his voice was when he found it. “Sunreaver. Get up.”

Aethas stretched slowly and extravagantly, shoving his face further into Al’ar’s feathers with a groan before opening his eyes. They were slow to focus, but held a wary glint in them when they finally locked onto his. “Grand Magister.”

“The Regent Lord wishes me to inform you that…” His gaze drifted to the phoenix, who had shifted just enough to allow Aethas to sit up and possibly get to his feet but otherwise seemed disinclined to move. “Food is available, and you’ll be eating it. Meals will be delivered to you in your quarters.”

Judging by the expression on his face, he half thought Aethas was about to refuse—but as the young mage stood up, his stomach grumbled loudly enough that he blushed and averted his gaze. “…My thanks. I should be going, anyway—ack!”

Rommath had already turned to descend the staircase; he looked back over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn’t. Al’ar had bitten Aethas’s sleeve and seemed determined to drag him back, hissing. Aethas, entirely unaware of the gravity of the situation, was sighing at it. “I’ll be back—look, you’re far too large to come with me anyway, you’ll never fit through the windows—“

There was a rush of displaced air as the phoenix changed, becoming no larger than a dove. Aethas stared at it; though he hated to admit it, Rommath knew he was doing the same as it fluttered onto the young mage’s shoulder. Impossible. It chose him, just like that—he’s not a Sunstrider, he doesn’t have a drop of noble blood, for the Sun’s sake I think his parents are tailors…

“Well.” Aethas shrugged his unburdened shoulder awkwardly. “Lead the way.”

He was grateful that Aethas followed behind him; it meant he couldn’t see his face.

[fyeahwonderbat]

I have an idea for a prompt: some of their “firsts” together. First kiss, first date, first I love you, first fight, first baby etc. Thanks xoxo

First Kiss…

If only she didn’t know what his civilian identity is.

That was all Bruce could think about as he watched Diana entertain Mr. Faraday, dancing with their liaison to the UN at yet another government party that all publicized members of the Justice League and benefactors were forced to attend, just so the powers that be could feel as though they had some form of control over the gods and demons and aliens that guarded them from their base in the sky. Scoffing to himself as he threw back yet another drink, the Batman counted the number of times he had saved either a facility that Agent Faraday had been occupying or the two times he had rescued the man himself from certain doom.

And yet he hadn’t asked him to dance.

How incredibly rude.

“Another, sir?” Offered a much more cordial waiter, tray extended, ready to take his empty glass in the very instant that he had lowered it from his lips.

Effortlessly did the persona of Bruce Wayne comfortably fall into place; grinning as if he had ordered a whiskey instead of his ever popular ginger ale, he rambled on in response, “What? Huh? Another… oh, drink! Woo, I think…if I want to be allowed back to one of these things, I better slow it down, right? Hey, you know who might need his glass topped up? That gray-haired geezer dancing with that pretty young thing on the dance floor – hic – right there. See ‘em? Yeah, go get ‘im a whiskey neat or something just as fancy, ha ha.”

The poor young man seemed lost as to what he should say in response to one guest poking fun at another, but given that he had been asked to complete a drink-related task, the waiter nodded his head shakily and hurried off towards the bar. Some of the poise he had shown in his prompt service was diminished when he skated towards the bar tender—

“Bruce,” the elegant, bewitching voice of none other than Diana Prince chilled him, forcing his spine to straighten before he was stunned, “do you have something you’d like to say to me?”

Attempting to play off her sneaky approach, he replied teasingly, “I didn’t take you for the type, Diana.”

“The type of what?” Her voice was challenging. When at first he refused to answer her – refusing to finish his sentence, implying she was the type of simple woman needed a compliment or two to make or break her night – Wonder Woman took no time at all in securing his elbow in her hold and jerked it towards her retreating form; with a pleasant smile plastered on her beautiful face, she dragged the Dark Knight out into the knight, bringing him out onto one of the many balconies that decorated the ballroom that they had previously partying in.

“You know they’ll begin to panic if we leave for too long.” Bruce pointed out.

He barely managed to finish his warning before his toes were nearly stepped on by an unhappy Amazon. “That gray-haired geezer I was dancing with is more than comfortable if I take my inebriated friend out for a breath of fresh air.” Her accusatory gaze was nowhere near as intimidating as she thought it was, but her crossed arms allowed for the night to outline the muscles in her biceps, triceps, providing Bruce with a visual warning if there was ever one to heed.

Clearing his throat, Bruce stood tall when he unintelligently chose to say, “You know we are supposed to keep our civilian identities separate!”

“How can I do that when you continue to chastise and insult King whenever we see him at these parties—”

“I’m sure King can handle going toe to toe with Bruce Wayne.” His tone was just as mocking as it was challenging. Nevertheless, he genuinely hoped that his words were true. After all, this was the man assigned to coordinate the Justice League with the United Nations, to defend them when they were unable to attend meetings or when they were forced to make reckless decisions for the sake of the greater good. The man who believed he could take Wonder Woman’s hand and—

A pair of lips were just as gentle as they were forceful as they came to rest upon his. It was a dusting of a kiss, a mere graze instead of something much more empowering, but soul-searing, it still held the power to be.

Against the skin of his cheek as she slipped away from him, Diana murmured, “But Bruce Wayne won’t be able to handle Diana Prince if she has to come out here and scold him yet again.” Then, she disappeared, rejoining the party as if he had been alone the entire time, as if he had made the conscious decision to step out onto the balcony and had merely fantasized about…

She kissed him.

Diana kissed him.

Bruce fidgeted more than he realized; he fixed his suit in every which way, cleared his throat, rested his palms on the marble railing before him, dropped his head and then looked up to the sky. He stared into the overwhelming brightness of the full moon for quite some time before a chuckle escaped him. Was he not normally being romanced and seduce at these sorts of things? This was such a common occurrence, and yet…

A kiss with Wonder Woman herself? Now that was something that Bruce Wayne could definitely have another of.

First Date…

She was no stranger to what it meant to be ‘wined and dined’. Not only did she find herself entertaining some of the world’s wealthiest people – long before she encountered the Gothamite socialite – but Dionysus, the god of ecstasy in many forms, was a pertinent figure in the history of Ancient Greece.

If anyone knew how to celebrate, it was someone with a rich Greek heritage.

However, Bruce was doing quite well for himself when he carried out a silver platter from the kitchen aboard his yacht, balancing the massive tray in one hand while the other handled an ice bucket stuffed with an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Bruce sheepishly stated rather than asked, the sea breeze tossing his hair about playfully as he set the table to his liking.

Wrapped up in her shawl, back to the wind, Diana was forced to tuck a few wayward strands of her own behind her ears before answering him. “I’m always in the mood for Alfred’s cooking.”

A stale expression was shown to her, before it was immediately replaced by an overdramatic show of offense taken. “Are you saying that I cannot make a meal for my own date?”

“I’m saying,” Diana couldn’t keep her smile from reaching her voice as she reached forth and picked up her wineglass off the table. “I know what Alfred’s cooking tastes like, so I will know if this is a meal he made.”

Bruce hiked up his Parasuco jeans before taking his seat, a cloth napkin falling over his thigh while he defended himself. “That’s not fair, princess – he taught me everything I know about food.”

“My mother taught me everything she knew about men, and I still developed an opinion of my own.”

That managed to stall Bruce while he focused on opening their chilled bottle of wine. It was a momentary lapse though, before he sniggered in reply, “But your mother was right all along, wasn’t she?”

“You think so?” That answer had surprised the Amazonian, and it showed in both her expression and her tone.

Smoothly did Bruce begin to make his case, “She warned you that we are stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“Led around by our wants and needs, and not by what we know is right?”

“Yes.”

“That we will steal a woman’s girdle if we so desire it?”

“Yes.” That time, her voice was firmer. How dare he bring up her mother’s humiliation in the wake of Heracles’ trials! Had they not been flirting? Was he not trying to woo her, after months of avoiding their intimacy after that kiss she had stolen from him, many moons ago? Perhaps she had misread the so-called romantic date that they were on – whisking her away on his yacht for a feast that he allegedly prepared himself was supposed to impress her, was it not? So how could he—

The wink that followed helped her to realize that he wasn’t talking about that girdle.

Dumbfounded, impressed, and all together amused, Diana held up her wine glass, waiting for it to be filled a tad bit more than what should have been an appropriate amount. As the beautifully reddened liquid filled her crystal-like cup, the Amazon who’s history had been poked at knew that she was much too prideful to let her date win any sort of verbal sparring.

With the desire to see him knocked off of his pedestal within his own mind, Diana informed him, “Well, it is thanks to such warnings that I didn’t wear a girdle tonight.”

The fire that ignited in Bruce’s startled eyes went off simultaneously with a gust of wind rushing across the sea, and it carried her Aphrodite-like laughter across the table to the man who she knew would become the most challenging, utterly amusing lover.

First “I love you”…

“BRUCE!” Diana’s voice sounded pained, like someone had cut up his name on her tongue with glass. Or perhaps with his own batarang, similar to the one that had been plunged into his bare chest by…someone. Any of the villains on the battlefield that had become Rodeo Drive had the capability to use his weapon against him, after Bizzaro had broken his usually impenetrable armour with one destructive punch. The fight had been going on for hours, the relentless number of enemies from all walks of life showing up out of the woodwork and pledging themselves to the mighty Darkseid before it was too late.

Before the monster simply incinerated the planet that human and Metahumans alike called home.

All of the men and women they had been fighting were ruthless, intent on showing their power, and what better way could they prove themselves than by murdering a Justice League member?

The blood that had squirted out of the massive wound on his face had been worrisome; his body was in shock as he fell to the ground slowly, shakily, and the blood flow was sporadic at best as it flew out of his chest. His thoughts were just as chaotic.

‘The people…of this city! Like…Gotham! Alfred… Alfred has my will—Dick, a-and Tim! I lost Jason… who will stop the Joker!? W-Who will protect Gotham!? N-Need the League to… to… D-Diana…’

“D-Dian…a.” Her name flew from his cut lips as if it was the last word he would ever mutter. His body began to lurch forward on bruised and beaten knees, yet he never hit the ground. Who else would be there to catch but the very woman who had been his pillar of strength for so many years? The only person who he wanted with him in those last few moments. Dazed and weak, Bruce tried to look up at her as she flew high into the sky, and his weary mind wondered if it would be her responsibility to take him to Heaven’s Gate for his soul to be judged.

Instead, he found himself gazing up into her panicked eyes after she had laid him down on a rather smooth surface, somewhere safe, he imagined. “Bruce, I need… I need to get you home.”

“N-No, don’t…here…” He was trying to tell her to stay here, to stand and fight with their League, but if he wasn’t already losing his strength to stay awake, the sight of his blood splattering onto her signature armour surely stole the wind from his sails.

Somehow, she understood him. She always did, Diana did. She understood him in a way that no one else ever had and he had been shown the first glimpse of light in a rather darkened world the day he had spotted her at Luthor’s party.

God, was he grateful to Luthor for something?

He had to be dying.

“Wonder Woman?” An unknown voice sounded as if it charged towards his lover in the same moment when the world began to disappear in blackened blotches from his sight, sounding a great deal like an approaching noise from inside of a funnel. He watched her turn her head and just as quickly turn it back in order to speak to him.

“Bruce, the Green Lanterns are here to help!”

That…should have gotten some sort of reaction from him, but it didn’t.

“They are going to stand and fight with us.”

A light moment of bliss bubbled up inside his otherwise cold chest.

“Bruce? …Bruce, please!”

He wanted to answer her, truly he did, but he did not even possess the strength to ward away the darkness for the first time in his entire life. He was cold, he was weak, he had Diana to watch over him as he went – that was all Bruce needed, in his final moments.

Or so he believed, until Diana graced him with the touch of her forehead to his and whispered a gut-wrenching, “Please…I love—”

The world disappeared before he heard the last of her words, but it gave him peace all the same.

First Fight…

Diana pretended not to notice Bruce when he entered the BatCave, despite it being the place he went to when he wanted to hide away from the world. “What are you doing here?” Long gone was the sincerity in which he once addressed, currently replaced by the hardened tone he used whether they were in a group or on their own.

“I needed to cross-reference something we once looked into for Ares.”

“The League’s database would have the same information.”

“The League didn’t exist when we interviewed Dr. Sandsmark, and I doubt you transferred all of your intel onto the League’s computers.” Usually, Diana could retain her composure with the heavily guarded bat. After all, she had had a year of practice before they had become lovers, and the motivation to spurn him after he broke her heart could produce a rather unique elegance that she had not known she possessed. However, there were moments – always small, always private – where her tone would sound clipped on a word that could be misconstrued as accusatory or simply mean.

Calling his professionalism into question was yet another dagger she’d dig into him, just like that damned batarang that had nearly killed him, the very one that had changed him from the man she had known.

Thinking about the very man who had wronged her nearly distracted her from his approach; Bruce was behind her in a matter of a dozen heavy steps, his voice just as rough. “You have two minutes.”

That got her back up. “Excuse me?” Diana turned and straightened herself as she stared at the man who dared to tell her what to do. “I tell you I am looking for information on the God of War, and you give me a time limit for my search?”

Bruce looked unprepared to hear her opposition to his disagreeable ways. He was dressed in the latest, sturdier model of his Batsuit, which supported his excuse for his rudeness, “I need my computer for a mission of my own.”

Diana knew that her decision on how to respond was paramount in that moment. If she chose to battle it out with Bruce, they could finally discuss the cruelty he had shown her in decimating their romantic relationship the moment he had awakened after she had worried just to see him live through the coma he had fallen into. If she chose to turn away and take her information with her, there was the chance that they would never recover, never move beyond their tense, bearable relationship, enduring the mere shadow of what they once had.

Settling with the fact that she was no longer anything more than a colleague to him…

“You sound like a child, which is appropriate, given your behaviour.”

A startled light went off behind his hooded eyes, but Bruce inhaled such a deep breath, he looked like an animal ready to pounce. “If you don’t like it, then take your information and go.”

“And this is the way we are meant to function from now on? The founding members of the Justice League, who make harsh remarks at one another and refuse to move forward?”

“I am moving forward!” He raised his voice at her as if it would somehow prove he was correct.

Diana wanted to scoff but withheld from doing so. “You are moving inside yourself! You can be brave and face off against any villain who threatens this world, but you are still nothing more than a stubborn man, doing whatever it is you want and ignore the consequences.”

“What consequences!?”

“Me!” The way Diana slapped her chest reverberated throughout her body and sounded as if she had hit the floor. She did not shake or sway, though, merely carried on. “You destroyed what you had with me in order to protect yourself, and you expected me to comply with your wishes willingly.” Hearing the way she spoke of their relationship, it dawned on Diana that she had indeed done just that – allowed him to dictate the rules, and obeyed him without question. She had bowed down to what he wanted and sulked off to nurse her wounds, refusing to fight against the formidable Batman when she had told him once, long ago, that he could never best her…

As if he was reading her mind, Bruce blurted out as a poor excuse for a defence, “But you did.”

“Yes, I did…but know this now, Bruce,” With two heavy stomps of her own, Diana invaded Bruce’s personal space with grace and strength. He would not have tried to back away from her, but her hands found his shoulders regardless. “I will not let you defeat. I will not let you steal something so precious from me without putting up a fight. Remember that.”

Then, she released him and turned back to her work, almost as if she expected him to both acknowledge her threat and forget that it ever happened. Bruce remained still the entire time she completed her search on his computer and when she left, she did not bother to look at his hopefully dumbfounded expression.

Knowing that she had shut him up had been enough of a prize, for now at least.

First Baby…

Bruce heard Diana walking all over the upper level of the house, but he didn’t have the heart to call out to her. The Manor was a noisy place and it surprised him that Alfred hadn’t said anything, made a disgruntled face, or even reached for his cellphone to text Bruce to keep it down. Perhaps he knew it was Diana making all that noise – he always had favoured her.

Still, Bruce would have done the very same thing, if he was in the butler’s shoes.

After another minute or two of frantic searching, he finally heard his princess racing down the main staircase, hunting for something else this time around. When she spied him, he made sure to lift a pointed finger to his lips.

“Bruce—!”

“Shhh,” warned her husband from his casual pose of leaning against the doorframe she found him lurking in. He felt Diana approach him – the warmth of her body targeting him even from the other end of the hallway – and his arm reached out to welcome him into her hold.

“What are you doing, standing here?” Her inquiry was well-warranted, but he refused to answer. All she had to do was look into main floor study, and she would fully understand his pause.

After all, he wasn’t about to disturb his daughter while she was having her lunch.

“There she is.” Diana whispered as she maneuvered herself into his hold until they were perfectly placed in each other’s arms. Bruce dropped his head against her and let silence accompany them momentarily, just so he could hear the strangely adorable sound Penelope made when she sucked on her bottle. Those big brown eyes of hers were staring up at Alfred the entire time she feasted, and in turn, the butler smiled back at her as if she was his own flesh and blood.

“You were looking for her?” Bruce mumbled softly. “I thought you knew Alfred said he’d feed her lunch.”

Diana huffed, “I know that if I can’t find her, she’ll be with her grandfather, but he keeps popping up all over the manor so I can’t find him easily. I think he’s trying to steal her away from us.” It was clearly a joke, but her tone was a tad sulky. If anyone had been a proper parent to their daughter, it was Diana – she was a picture perfect mother in his eyes, and even managed to convince him that he could be a father when there were moments of doubt – and though she would not ever admit it, she still managed to become a tad jealous over Alfred’s honed experience with children.

The breath of fresh hair that was a baby, and a female one at that, was most likely the reason the old man could never stop smiling.

“I don’t think he’d risk it.”

“Because you’d threaten to fire him again?”“Because he knows he can’t hide from you forever.” Bruce chuckled into her bangs as he kissed her forehead.

Diana laughed into his chest and he could have sworn that her joyous giggle commanded the beat of his heart for a few moments. “You mean he can’t go toe to toe with me?”

There it was – the key phrase that had followed them the entirety of their relationship. Whether it was over a hard drive from Luthor or the jealousy he felt for King Faraday or the way she fought to keep them together even when he tried to foolishly tear them apart, it was always a challenge for them. There was always some sort of battle to be fought for them, but they seemed to have found their peace in the house he had lived in when life had been peaceful once.

It was as if he had a snapshot taken of his life as a child, and he found a way to create the dream life that his younger self had given up dreaming for all those years ago.

“No one can go toe to toe with you, Diana.” Bruce dared to admit as he turned her to face him, ready to kiss her with all of the tenderness he had inside of him in that one moment—

Just then, Arthur’s voice ruined the moment as it blared in their ears.

“Aquaman to Batman and Wonder Woman! Attack on the Atlantean Embassy! All Justice League members, do NOT use the transporter inside! I repeat, don’t—”

“Let’s test that theory.” Diana quipped before she stole the kiss Bruce had intended to bestow her with, then headed off to the BatCave in order to suit up.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin despite the warning of chaos he was being called to face, as his gaze swooped inside of the study one last time. Alfred, finally looking up from the precious baby in his arms, nodded to his oldest charge with a promise to look after Penelope while he was ‘busy’.

Penelope Martha Wayne, the daughter he had had with Diana Prince, the child he had to come home to, threw one of her small arms up into the air as he began to step away, as if to wave him off.

The way his heart was swarmed by a newly acquired warmth made Bruce selfishly wonder, when could him and Diana have another?

((A/N: Every couple needs a story like this – all of their firsts! I tried to tie them all together so they don’t feel as chaotic, and I hope it shows~ Yes, that little baby girl is the very baby Diana talked to Alfred about in another ficlet I did on this blog, called Penny! A lot of people seemed to like that one so I made sure to reference that for the First Baby portion. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and feel free to prompt me whenever you’d like! ~ Maiden))

[rawinternets]

Star Wars Episode 8: a rediscovery

The latest Star Wars installation is all of 3 months old, so it’s hard to call it “a rediscovery,” but here we are. I watched Episode 8 again, and again I was disappointed, maybe even moreso the second time around. 

This movie has lots of good, even great, in it - although for everything it does well, it completely botches at least one other thing. To use the “cooking” analogy that went so well in my Ep1 review: it’s like there are half amazing ingredients, half just straight Crisco, and the instructions, steps, and timing are all off. Instead of a cake (or an Ep1 Jar Jar Shit Cake), you end up with a nasty soup with delicious chunks of gourmet chocolate swimming around in there. 

It’s sloppy, is what I’m trying to say. Not inspiring. It felt like a fairly hollow installation. The magic was gone.

One reason? Cut scenes. Every scene felt *too* fast-paced. Cut, cut, cut. I could barely keep up with my note-taking, and had to pause many times. I reviewed 68 scenes or set pieces in Ep8, far more than the rest: 

R1: 25 Ep4: 29 Ep5: 31 Ep1: 39 Ep2: 42 Ep3: 41 Ep6: 41 Ep7: 46 Ep8: 68

(Yes, there was an upward trend - maybe I just took more discrete notes as I went on - but still, Ep8 is a clear outlier).

This cut-scening gives a frantic pace and no time to emotionally settle into the storyline. It’s almost too much to process. The movie finally settles in when Rey is trying to learn from Luke, but for the majority of the film, we’re brutally bashed between scenes and set pieces such that we become numb. 

The other structural problem with this film is one which you can’t necessarily see in the histogram or the “journey” chart. This is my belief: the glittering veins of the film are the Jedi-Sith struggle, the blurring between the two... the genuine, moving, and perplexing connection between Kylo Ren and Rey. An orthogonalization (is that a word?) of the Jedi-Sith struggle into a young-old struggle (sounds kind of similar......... #trump). 

This is truly some inspired stuff. Some great scenes. many 9′s, a 10. But these veins of value are set in a truly worthless plot substrate. We have a horrifyingly re-treaded and cheesy and just generally infuriating attack on some ship called a “dreadnought,” and then we have a Battlestar Galactica simulacrum for the remainder of the film, a wretched and unnecessary and heavy-handed side-excursion to a cantina v3 (this time rich and black-tie, not a grungy bar!), we have Hux over-acting, and we have a god-awful Snoke, whose cancerous presence from Ep7 metastasized and was mercifully destroyed in Ep8 but not before causing lasting damage to the story arc.  We have so many moments of “this will never happen now... oh wait, it happened!” both on the good swing, and the bad. It’s as if in trying so hard to subvert the old tropes, the movie itself was simply an inverse image of the same old tropes. 

The other problem this movie has is that everyone... I mean pretty much everyone, except Kylo, Luke, and Rey, are mediocre at best. They’re caricatures of themselves, or someone/thing else. They have no depth and nuance. It’s extremely off-putting.

You can see I have a lot to say about this movie, which maybe is not surprising since it prompted me to undertake this entire exercise. Without further ado... 

Average score: 6.31 Standard deviation: 1.89

SCROLL. 6. Really lacking nuance. Everything is "heroic" vs "tyranny". And then... "But the Resistance is exposed!” How did they get exposed? I just don't get any of this. Why do they hope Luke will save them? This scroll is a total shit show. And it sets up another desperate escape from another rebel base... You know what? It seems like a bot got trained on all the other scrolls, and this is the output.

Rebel base discovered. 6.  Umm, intense walking and stilted dialogue and "oh no..." as the First Order arrives... mmm ok? This is at least a cool shot, where you can see the Star Destroyers from Earth.

Hux. 5. Dialogue is so bad. "I have orders from Supreme Leader Snoke himself... this is where we snuff out the Resistance once and for all." Incinerate Obliterate blah blah blah. Dreadnought.... meh. Burned out on superweapons.

Dreadnought and Poe’s Joke. 5.  Are we supposed to be afraid of another Mega-Star Destroyer after seeing so many destroyed by single ships in the past? And this is like a Death Star Lite with ground assault capabilities. I mean this just feels kind of uncreative and bland. Maybe a bit like Star Trek sorta showed up in Star Wars... REALLY bad cheesy joking with Poe. "Can you hear me now” joke? Your mother joke? Come on. Meh.

Attack the Dreadnought. 4.  Like I said... another single ship beats a huge ship... another “droid fixes shit in the middle of battle” shot... another hot shit pilot disobeys orders... and the worst part of all, Fuckin' gravity in space! If the bombers’ bombs are so dangerous, why do multiple bombers fly in such tight formation? Why not put them on oh, I dunno, missiles? Anyway, it's all down to one bomber... one person has to save everyone, of course. Of course the trigger falls below the deck but OH WAIT! she catches it with a backhand grab. Of course the bomb doors are open and she's not sucked out into space... Of course one bomber can take down the whole ship but they had like 10 at the beginning all tightly clumped. This is pure spectacle with no thinking at all. This is Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and 3. This is Michael Bay level shit, and not The Rock Michael Bay.

Snoke angry. 5. Snoke sucks. He can do Force shit that nobody else can to the extent that it’s diminishing, kind of like back to Eps 1-2 treatment of the Force. Slaps Hux from across the galaxy. OK. 

Finn wakes up. 5. Why was he in a coma again? Because he got back-sabered by Kylo on the Death Star 3? I guess. And he wakes up: “I’m sure you have a ton of questions...” “Where’s Rey?” Laying it on preeeeeettty thick here with the whole “hey, guys, this guy really cares about Rey!” unrequited love thing. (By the way, this unidimensional Finn shit will continue). 

Rey meets Luke. 8. ... and Luke throws the lightsaber over his shoulder. Some have criticized this for being a “try too hard to be different” moment but the first time I watched, I laughed genuinely and appreciatively, and the second time, I still liked it. What’s with this Rey hair of three-loop-ponytail? It’s trying too hard. Leia’s earbuns were truly singular. 

Porgs+Lightsaber. 8. I liked this near-Porg-death joke. And Rey sees the X-wing. OK. 

Chewy and Luke. 7. Luke starts putting it all together... but if he abandoned his family, the Jedi, and everyone else so many years ago, why does he care “Where’s Han?” Shouldn’t he be totally resigned to the inevitable decay and death of the universe and everything? 

Throne Room Snoke. 6. Meh. “We have them tied on a string.” Meh. Snoke is being a dick to Kylo. I am distinctly aware of Serkis overacting. Maybe Serkis Saturation is a thing... March of the Empire music is hokey here, rather than good. Snoke says "HOPE lives in the galaxy" Meh. The former evil empire wasn’t so like, blatantly and caricature-evil. “You're just a child in a mask.” Fine. Snoke sucks.

Kylo kills his mask. 8. Another “Reject Ep7″ moment, but I still liked it. Fits well with the character also. 

Rey and Luke. 7. "Within weeks, the First Order will control all the systems." "You think i'm going to walk out with a laser sword and face down the whole First Order?" Three thoughts here: 1) yeah good point Luke, actually. 2) Wait, how does Luke even know what the First Order is? 3) Wait... this is the first of many “I’ll/we’ll never X” and then (spoiler) X happens later. Anyway, the island is beautiful. I don't know how I feel about the milking the weird animal. OK I guess? It's different at least. Flying across a pole to a cliff to stab a fish? It's OK. I guess this is a decent sequence.

The Jedi Tree. 8. Rey is called to the tree, Luke figures out she has force sensitivity (why didn't he sense it before? wasn't listening for it?) and she explains she feels the Force after he confronts her. I liked this scene fine. “It's time for the Jedi to end, i came to this island to die.” All good.

Leia on the ship. 6.  Cloaked binary beacon connecting Leia to Rey... mehhhhhh. Poe demoted - good, what an idiot. The Dreadnought thing was a disaster. Finn sucks here. Just not greatly acted. Probably not his fault - script problem. So overly focused on Rey. Now they need a new base for asking for help from outer rim.... wonder where we’ve heard this kind of thing before...

Snoke’s ship shows up. 5.  Snoke's ship is like 1,000x the volume of regular enormous Star Destroyers? Mehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. And Poe “permission to get into an X-wing and blow something up,” with Leia’s “permission granted”... meehhhhhh. and then Kylo Ren fucks up the entire hangar bay anyway. Just doesn’t feel right. And this is where the “poor man’s Battlestar Galactica” really starts to set in. 

Kylo attacks the cruiser. 6.  Another "one ship destroys the fuck out of an enormous ship"... but I liked the conflict in Kylo, can’t fire on his mother.

Keeping out of range of shields. 3.  It was at this point I realized there were a lot of cutscenes in this movie. Like we had been been cutting and cutting and cutting for the first 30 minutes. I wrote: “I can barely keep up. and what the fuck? a smaller, lighter ship in space can keep out of range? what kind of bullshit physics is this? SPACE! FRICTIONLESS!”

Leia survives. 3. I wrote: “ OH dear god. that was atrocious.”

Chewy and Porgs, Luke. 6.  "Nothing can make me change my mind." OH REALLY? I BET SOMETHING WILL! R2D2 Plays Leia’s old message to Obi Wan. Mind Changed! Luke: "Tomorrow at dawn. 3 lessons."

Battlestar Galactica Laura Linney. 5.  Back to trying to escape the Cylons. Akbar dies offscreen, all Resistance leaders are dead. Bridge dead. Laura Linney comes in as the so-blatantly-queer leader of all. "The downtrodden and oppressed"... Hollywood laying it on a little thick, here. They are the spark that will light the fire, fine I guess. But even as a pretty left-leaning person, this scene broke my fourth wall. 

Holdo slaps Poe silly. 8. Very good scene. Finally, someone puts Poe in his place. This was the kind of feminist “resist toxic masculinity” thing that regardless of whether you like the message or not, had some subtlety to it rather than being ham-handed. 

Finn escapes, meets Rose. 4. Finn the idiot trying to find Rey for really no good reason. No depth of character - really obvious. He’s just the "GOTTA FIND REY!" guy this movie. Rose overacts. Finn running away again... Good, this makes sense! Finn and Rose are smart enough to talk jibberish at each other and solve the whole situation! Yeah, let's shut down the Destroyer! Yea let's sneak on board the Destroyer and disable the tracker! Also... how did Rose not already know they could be tracked through lightspeed? that obviously already happened literally hours ago, and there’s no way she didn’t know about the attack...

Poe and Finn stupid mission. 3.  Poe: "It’s a need to know plan and she doesn't." Ughhhhhhh booooooooo. Worst fucking plan. This is truly painful... another ragtag small group mission against the odds and against the wishes of leadership. Sure, this movie (spoiler) subverts the trope eventually, but in such a clear and blatant way that it still feels like the trope. 

Maz Kanata in union negotiations. 3. You can just imagine the writer’s room... “well, Kathleen Kennedy / JJ Abrams says we need to have Maz in Ep8 so she can return in Ep9. So how are we gonna get her in there? Hmm... well, let’s make it a hologram cameo so we don’t have to change script or design set. And maybe, hey, here’s an idea, a fun cameo! Something funny and unexpected! Like let’s have her be in the middle of a gunbattle! With who though? Nothing too serious... Oh! What about like Union negotiations? haha, that’s great! But let’s make sure it has some plot relevance... I got it, she can be the one who tips them off to the master codebreaker! Let’s make sure she says ‘find the master codebreaker’ twice so everyone is clear what’s happening.” fin

Rey-Kylo mind bridge. 8.  Pretty interesting scene. Kylo is good again, here as in most scenes. "You can't be here... the effort would kill you." Foreshaadowwwwwwingggg. Rey fires her blaster at the wall and the Nuns are pissed. Why didn't Rey tell Luke? Caretakers of the island. nice.

Luke trains Rey. 9.  It's a bit too fast how Rey just "gets it" ... like can't we warm up into that please? Kind of OK with the joking around with her when she reaches out, literally... OK and then the balance point is pretty cool, and Luke's lesson is pretty good. Although I don't love the seaweed anus (you know what I’m talking about), I do think that was a pretty cool scene. Luke is scared of Rey.

Back to Battlestar Galactica. 4. Getting frustrated, I wrote: “fuck i mean why are they so dead set on dumb ass missions?”

Chewy and Porgs. 7. Still too many scenes! I’m fine with porgs, I guess. I dunno. Not loving them, but also don't hate them like I hate the plot.

Rey and Kylo bridge 2. 9. Pretty great bridge scenes. Kylo more nuanced and mature than Rey. Kylo has water on him from the rain... should have been a foreshadowing to transportation in the galaxy or something awesome like that.

Canto Bight intro. 6. “Worst people in the galaxy.” Of course this would also be Hollywood ham-handed... The worst people are fancy richers. Stupid Western accent on big monster. It’s basically Monte Carlo. And it’s a New Cantina... but with bowties and cocktails this time! meh.

Canto Bight reveal. 4.  It's bad people! Heavy-handed. BB8 full of coins, ha, ha.... ha. Codebreaker plot gamut is over, good (sort of). 

Rey training. 7. Rey knocks over some rocks with her lightsaber. Funny. Decent. Although I wasn’t really impressed with her lightsaber wielding, to be honest. It seemed like they were trying to make it impressive. 

Luke and Rey lesson 2. 7. “The Jedi legacy is failure, hypocrisy, hubris.” I NOW KNOW THIS IS TRUE! Kylo takes a couple students and kills the rest... fine. Leia blamed Snoke... boooooO!!! Snoke is so dumb.

More BSG - fleet dying. 4. Current fuel at 6 hours. How does this square with the Luke/Rey pacing? Are we on two different timescales, like the great movie Dunkirk? Hux is lame.

Back on Canto Bight Benicio. 3.  Benicio del Toro is fine. The stutter tick is a bit overwrought. I wrote: “BB8 shoots coins like a fuckin’ bullshit idiot” so you know I was enjoying myself. I continue: “They escaped and left the fuckin' grate open?! now they're with the big dumb animals. show kids they're with the resistance. yay rebel logo. now they're riding the big dumb animals. on a track. now they're bulldozing a casino. now they're destroying cars. now the ship is destroyed. now they run up cliffs. and of course there's a cliff they almost fall down. ‘It was worth it to tear up that town and make'em hurt’ BOOOOOOO. Free the animal! ‘Now it's worth it...’ booooooo.”

Benicio saves the day. 4.  ddddddddd need a lift? what kind of stutter is this, anyway? 

Kylo-Rey and Luke-Leia bridge. 9. “Let the past die. Kill it if you have to. it's the only way to become who we're meant to be.” In addition to being a fantastic @EmoKyloRen tweet, this line and scene was pretty great. 

Rey goes to the dark hole (seaweed anus). 9. She opens up to Kylo. so cool. Really like this complexity. They fall in love halfway between light and dark, kinda? Luke blows up the cabin and Rey confronts him.

Rey and Luke fight! 8. “ This is not going to go the way you think!” “I saw Kylo's future as solid as I'm seeing you. Ben Solo will turn.” Seen this before! It's cool but it's also a bit of a rehash. Luke won't take the saber. she leaves.

Luke and Yoda. 9. Yoda, laughing, burns the tree. “Skywalker. teach the failure. always looking to the horizon, not here, the need in front of your nose.” “Failure the greatest teacher is.” “We are what they grow beyond, that is the true burden of all masters.” I guess Yoda is just an amazing character because the lines writers write for him are almost universally great. 

Finn, Rose, and Benicio. 7.  Selling weapons to the bad and good... military industrial complex. "It's all a machine. Live free, don't join." OK... I like the different take, at least. 

BSG Again. 7. Poe confronts Holdo. Meh.

Rey goes to Snoke’s ship, Poe mutinies, Finn and Rey slip through shields. 6.  Who cares.

Robots ironing joke. 8. I liked this!

More sneaking around. 6. Is the hacker a good guy!? they get caught trying to shut down the tracker. I wrote: “Now stupid chrome Captain Phasma is dumb.”

Rey and Kylo in throne room. 9. “My good and faithful apprentice, my faith in you is restored.” Snoke still sucks but this scene is good. 

Poe and Leia. 6. Poe stunned by Leia. He's a dumbass.

Leia and holdo bye. 7.  Didn't feel that much emotion here either. Rebels "escape" sneaking out the back. 

Throne room again. 7. Snoke is super all powerful mehhh. "I bridged your minds, I baited you all." Emperor 2. Just like Luke, Emperor, and Vader. Tired. 

Crait rebel base. 6. Send a signal to allies in Outer Rim. Holdo knew to get transports out. Hide until First Order passes. Poe: "that could work" mehhhhh.

Benicio Betrayal. 3. How did he know that the transports were happening? nobody else did. Ridiculous. Why are the bombs arcing!?!!?! TOO MUCH GRAVITY. THIS IS SPACE. 

Throne room again. 7. Snoke super all amazingly powerful evil amazing omg. so dumb. Andy Serkis overacting is not good. Kylo "turns" against Snoke. Snoke really ruins this scene.

Transports getting domo’d. 5.  Still meh!

Post-Snoke throne room battle. 10. It's fine. So much action. Not sure why Red Guards are scary really. Rey and Kylo kill all the red guards. TWIST! Kylo didn't actually turn! Old v New, not Light v Dark! Great stuff here. "Your parents sold you off for drinking money. They’re dead in a pauper's grave in the Jakku desert. You don't have a place in this story. You're nothing. But not to me. Join me. Please." I mean this is really interesting!!! This like light-dark love mixing here! The Rey-Kylo interactions in both movies have been great. 

Holdo’s sacrifice. 9. I mean OK holy shit, but why had nobody ever done it before? Beautifully shot, total quiet was very impactful as well. Good job on this, although potentially problematic for the greater Star Wars universe.

Finn vs. Phasma. 6. BB8 in an ATST? meh. Finn: "Let's go, chromedome." Phasma: "you're a bug in the system." Matrix callback! Bleh. another villain falls down a large chasm. Good riddance, Phasma. 

The New Supreme Leader. 6. The supreme leader is dead, long live the supreme leader, mehhhhhhhh.

The New Hoth. 5.  Rey and Rose sneak under the door, of course :( Miniaturized Death Star Tech. Battering ram cannon. Siiiiiiiiiigh. Ice foxes are cool I guess. We have now had a Death Star or a Death Star-like superweapon in all films except Episode 1.

Battle of Salt Hoth. 6.  Trench warfare. It’s salt, so it's OK that it looks just like Hoth! Everyone drive in straight lines right at the enemy, Yeah that's the ticket. Monoski, yea that's the ticket. It's pretty, at least. Remember at the beginning of the movie when they said it was “A dreadnought,” not the last one? Why not just bring a dreadnought to this situation and destroy the whole planet? Falcon + Chewie + Porg + Rey having fun again. The falcon goes into a mine that looks exactly like the Death Star 2 scaffolding and tie fighters follow...... sigh.

Finn tries to sacrifice. 3. Rose saves him from himself.... booooooo. And in the process basically kills herself... to save each other from .... the evil? By love? We're gonna win by not fighting what we hate but saving what we love! As the Death Star tech punches thru the door and she passes out. dumb dumb dumb. Could have given Finn a non-unidimensional redemption!

Luke and Leia. 6. “The galaxy has lost all its hope. The spark is out." I BET IT’S NOT! mehhhh. How many times do we have to do this in this movie? "nothing can change my mind." "it's over." the spark is out." Just kidding! Something Can/It's Not/No it isn’t! Here's Luke! zomg!

Luke faces down the First Order. 9. Very pretty. intense. Hux "do you think you got him?" is funny. Kylo's anger is good. Very pretty shots. Luke brushing dirt off his shoulder is good. Hux getting crushed to the wall is a good and funny joke.

Luke vs. Kylo. 9.  Luke no footprints on second viewing, hey, nice job guys! “Every word of what you just said, is wrong.” Good Luke line. Second time in the movie he’s said it to good effect. I like that. 

Escape! 7. Why wouldn't Luke have just told them, "Hey, I'm stalling, you escape?" Why make Poe figure it out? Rey lifts the rocks. Hooray Force. 

Luke was projecting!! He dies. 9. That was an emotional end. Well done. Sun setting. Good callback.

Resistance escapes. 7. Luke is gone, Rey and Leia talk, Finn and Rose, how do rebuild Rebellion from this, we have everything we need right here. Meh. Aaaaaand we're back where we started 9 movies ago.

Little kid has Force. 6. ...and Rose’s rebellion ring. Hooooookey. "The masses will rise up.” Once again... It's been 70 years and we're back where we started.

VERDICT: 

Given the score distribution, I was surprised to see that the stdev was not the highest of all the films - but I suppose Ep1 had both Jar-Jar and Darth Maul. With the sheer scene count, our histogram starts to approximate a normal distribution around 6. Which is sad. The outlier 9′s come to us because of the good Force-centric scenes with Kylo, Luke, and Rey (but not Snoke). The outlier 3′s come to us because of Dreadnoughts, Canto Bight, Poe, and Finn (bad storylines). 

Which brings us back to what I said before about this movie being great in its Force thread and bad everywhere else. When you calculate the scores for all scenes with any of Luke, Rey, and Kylo Ren, but nobody else, the average score is an 8.42. All other scenes average a 5.52. This movie had a very good story vein, set into a very bad plot structure. 

Perhaps the most damning verdict of all, however, is that I just don’t really care what happens next. I read one review which made the point that by this movie, the struggle between the Empire and the Rebellion has been going on openly for 70 years, and so little has changed. I noticed that, too. Death Stars have been built and destroyed and built again, destroying planets, narrowly missing the chance to destroy planets, and so on. Rebel forces have been against the wall and overwhelmed all odds to defeat an evil menace, only to find themselves under the menace’s thumb once again with historically instantaneous speed. Why is Leia still fighting? Maybe beyond the botox, this weariness is what kept me from connecting with her character or struggle at all. And no wonder nobody answered the call for help at the end of the film. 

Yes, Ep9 will have some inspiring uprising by a bunch of nobody’s, just like the climax of V for Vendetta, but how predictable, how uninspiring. Episode 9 - take it or leave it. And that’s the saddest realization of them all. 

REVIEW LINKS:

Introduction: Star Wars, a rediscovery.

Rogue One: 6.92 / 10.00 (stdev 2.06).

Episode 4: A New Hope. 8.00 / 10.00 (stdev 1.34).

Episode 5: The Empire Strikes Back. 8.00 / 10.00 (stdev 1.29).

Episode 1: The Phantom Menace. 5.00 / 10.00 (stdev 2.08). But probably worse than that, actually.

Episode 2: Attack of the Clones. 5.48 / 10.00 (stdev 2.07).

Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith. 7.00 / 10.00 (stdev 1.77).

Episode 6: Return of the Jedi. 7.90 / 10.00 (stdev 1.91).

Episode 7: The Force Awakens. 6.57 / 10.00 (stdev 2.01).

Episode 8: The Last Jedi. 6.31 / 10.00 (stdev 1.89).

Verdict: Star Wars, A rediscovery.