#killing still works fine though - it leaves no room for vengeance

[stormy-nights-are-best]

It is almost impossible to make sure you enter a furnished old room with 1000 roaches and manage to kill all of them. They multiply easily, roaches can reproduce for years without mating - if you let even one of them escape or fail to properly smash each and every one of them to death, you'll have another fresh batch of 1000 roaches in your attic in no time.

A person dies if you throw them out the attic window.

[f9clementine]

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enchanted to meet you ⋙ 21. everything out in the open

CW: panic attack, kidnapping, implied death/murder

⋙ written part included 『••✎••』

The last thing you remembered was watching the bus drive away, leaving you at the bus stop while you bemoaned to Minho that you'd be late. You felt bad, wasting his time but part of you was relieved. You didn't feel like you could see him just yet.

'I'll tell you I like you in person.'

Your face had burned as you remembered his texts from earlier in the day. "Please be serious." You had whispered to yourself as you shot him back a message asking for a milk tea. You didn't think your heart could take it if he wasn't, but at the same time, you knew that he wouldn't say such things lightly. A giddy little grin broke out on your face, wondering if he'd hold your hand again on the way home.

"Y/n?" A voice called out, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You looked up and then it all went black.

Now, your head was pounding as you gingerly opened your eyes, the small amount of light in the room causing a shooting pain behind them.

What the hell, you weakly thought, starting to shift yourself into a sitting position when you realized your hands were bound behind your back.

You inhaled sharply, fighting the panic rising in your throat as you tugged on your arms, but whatever it was that was restraining you wasn't giving you any leeway.

Luckily, your legs were free and you were able to awkwardly push yourself up against a wall before looking around.

You realized you were sat in a library or an office of some sort, the walls lined with books of every color from floor to ceiling. You looked to the wall behind you, realizing you were sitting under a portrait of a man you didn’t recognize.

The panic from earlier began to return with a vengeance as your thoughts started to race. The room was suddenly spinning and your heart was beating uncontrollably as you fought for air.

You didn’t know where you were. You were tied up. You weren’t blindfolded so whoever that had you didn’t care that you could possibly identify things so that means they planned to kill you and you’d never see your family or your friends again and oh god poor Minho would be stuck in that apartment on his own and you’d never again get to see the way his eyes would soften when eating something he liked or the way he’d subtly tried to make sure you eat or-

“Drink.”

A bottle was suddenly held to your lips, the water catching you off guard enough that all your thoughts ceased and you focused instead on drinking it properly.

After a few seconds, the bottle lowered and you were able to breathe.

“Catch your breath.”

You nodded, realizing at some point you had squeezed your eyes shut. When you felt your heart beat had slowed enough, you finally opened them.

“Wooyoung?”

The young man grinned at you, unfazed as he crouched down in front of you. “Hey Y/n.” He simply greeted before placing the water bottle down next to you.

“W-what's-" You tried to ask, confusion settling heavily in your mind.

"Don't freak out. You're safe." Wooyoung reached out and patted you on the head, still grinning. "For right now, at least."

You ducked your head, avoiding any further head pats from Wooyoung. For some reason, the idea of him touching you made your skin crawl even though the other man had been doing that to you for as long as you knew him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if your boyfriend and his little coven come through, you'll be fine. Doesn't make sense to hurt a hostage."

"Hostage? What do you mean?" You questioned, "Woo, what's going on?"

"I mean, I probably shouldn't tell you..." Wooyoung trailed off before looking behind himself. After a second of making sure you both were alone, he turned back to you. "I guess it won't hurt to get everything out in the open. Haven't you been wondering why magic wasn't working in your apartment?"

You frowned, confused as to how he knew that. "Uh... yeah?" You hesitantly answered, already not liking where this conversation was going.

"About six months ago, we reached out to your roommate and offered her a spot in our coven if she'd get us a special something that the Blackpink Coven was hoarding." Wooyoung began to explain, moving to sit in front of you now.

"Special something?"

Wooyoung nodded excitedly. "Right, so, they have- had this amulet, super old and super powerful. It basically erases any magic done around it without having to invoke any words, even passively. It's the kind of thing you'd want when you have enemies, y'know?" You nodded absentmindedly and Wooyoung continued, his eyes bright. "So obviously, any coven would want that. It's how Blackpink became as big as they are. But they're an all girl coven, so we couldn't even get close to them. So we got your roommate to come to them as a prospect. Honestly, it's super impressive how she was able to lift the amulet. She was probably more talented as a pickpocket than a witch, to be honest."

"But she left?" You asked, pressing yourself closer to the wall. Suddenly the idea of him being in your personal space felt wrong, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. "Ran off with no warning."

"Oh yeah, we're so very aware of that." Wooyoung let out a laugh devoid of any humor. "She got what we wanted but then when we were supposed to make the switch, she suddenly didn't have it anymore. I think she thought she could bargain with us for more than she already did, y'know?"

He shrugged and looked at you, waiting for a response as you only stared back at him in horror.

"The most she would tell us was that it was hidden somewhere. And if that was all she was going to tell us, we really didn't have any more use of her. I mean, at that point, you and San were getting along great so it's not like we wouldn't have access to your apartment at some point."

"San?" You parroted, stomach sinking.

"Yup, San." Wooyoung nodded, unfazed before continuing. "So you know, you didn't have a roommate anymore and the plan was to have San move in but then..." He sighed heavily, as if disappointed in you. "Your boyfriend answered the door."

"N-not my boyfriend." You weakly said, too engrossed to protest properly.

"Boyfriend, roommate, the same thing." Wooyoung waved a hand, dismissing you. "But now we had a problem. We tried to get in but our magic wouldn't even work on the front door! So we definitely knew the amulet was somewhere in the apartment. But then you got his entire coven involved so we had to take a step back from that plan."

"You guys tried to break in?" Your head began to swam with all the new information being thrown at you.

"Yup. And when that failed, I was supposed to grab you but again, Lee Minho got involved." Wooyoung rolled his eyes, annoyed. "'I'll come get you from the bus stop.'" He quoted and your stomach sank, realizing you were right, that you had been followed that night. "At this point, the rest of our coven is getting annoyed that we haven't come through yet. Ugh, and they can be so pushy sometimes, y'know?" He asked and paused, as if waiting for you to agree. “So we were basically out of time to wait.”

“It’s unfortunate you missed your bus, isn’t it?” A familiar voice called and both you and Wooyoung looked up to see San leaning against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed over his chest. You realized you had been so engrossed in the conversation that you hadn’t heard him walk up. “Thanks for letting me know when you would be by yourself, by the way." He turned to Wooyoung, tossing him something. "Take care of this for me, won't you?"

Wooyoung nodded and turned to you, holding up what you realized was your phone. He held it up to you and you watched as it read your face, unlocking. "Woah, that's a lot of messages. It's kinda sweet how concerned your friends are." Wooyoung grinned before standing up, walking over to San with your phone held out.

"Aww, look at this one. 'Kitty Minho.'" San read aloud and you felt your stomach drop to your knees, hating this blatant breach of your privacy. "He's messaged you more than anyone else has. 'I'll come get you even if I have to do it as a cat.'" San read in a mocking voice, then paused, looking at you over your phone. "What's that mean?"

You shook your head, refusing to answer. "Don't get him involved." You pleaded.

"Too late." You could see San typing and heard the 'whoosh' of a sent message before he suddenly turned to look at you, excitement evident on his face. "'Kitty Minho'... is he Kitty?" San turned back to your phone, eagerly typing out a new message. "No wonder why your cat hated me."

Wooyoung giggled, draping himself across San's arm as the other man continued to text on your phone. "Talk about a crazy cat lady, you had to turn your boyfriend into a cat..." He paused, tilting his head as he thought about it. "Or wait, did you turn your cat into your boyfriend?" He laughed again, placing his head against San's shoulder. "You could turn me into a cat, babe."

San smirked but didn't say anything as he sent out a final text message, locking your phone afterwards. "He has until midnight to bring it. Otherwise..." He shrugged, jostling Wooyoung who pouted at being moved.

"Otherwise what?" You asked, looking between San and Wooyoung.

"Don't worry about it. He'll come through, right?" San clicked his tongue and turned, leaving the library with Wooyoung trailing behind him. "See you in a few hours, Y/n."

You watched them leave, the door closing behind them with a definitive 'click' as you were left alone with just your racing thoughts.

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Tag list: @mal-lunar-28, @kpopsstuffs, @cassidymb121, @brooklynie, @owotalks, @honey-pop, @hanniemylovelyquokka, @chlodavids, @abbiestearsricochet, @maexc, @seungmyynie, @brinnalaine, @kalopsian-thoughts, @jiisungllvr, @asherthehimbo, @pinxeajin, @vampcharxter, @jluvselandabs, @bettybeako, @borahae-reads, @raehawthorne, @yongbbokkie, @skzhoes, @lauraliisa, @meloncremesoda, @cutiespaghetti, @beaann, @thesassy-mia, @sclassstay, @twobluegoldfish, @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad, @hyuneyeon, @hyunniethepooh, @thecararcticmonkeys, @sunnibearr, @miserablywasted, @feybin, @inniescandy-01, @autumn-lv, @mushrooms-moon, @mae-is-cute98, @bada-lee-ily, @amelee23,

*red means I can't tag you D:*

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

'Life' as a Ghost Drabbles: Invite

Summary: has the mafia boss even seen Hat kid since her death? As absolutely petty of a man he is he’d probably be glad about it and say it’s justified an all that, since now they’re both without bodies, would probably piss snatcher dafuq of if he upsets Hat kid like that bur ye.

~

Hat Kid glanced down at invitation and then back up at the building. Yep, this was the place. Why would someone hold a party in a seemingly abandoned building at the edge of Mafia Town? And more importantly why would they invite her?

This was trap, wasn’t it? Damn it! … She probably should’ve figured out that the moment the invite showed up in her ship’s mailbox though, huh? But she was already here so she might as well go in and see who was trying to trap her and what exactly they wanted. Curiosity killed the cat and all that but she was already dead so it would probably be fine.

She folded the paper up and put it in the pocket of her ghostly cape before floating through the door. On the other side was barren room that had perhaps once been a living room. Now though the only piece of furniture still standing within it was a single table. On which was a jar, not just any jar though but the one that the Mafia Boss now resided within.

“Ha ha,” he said at the sight of her. “I had heard you were a ghost. I didn’t quite believe it until I saw it for myself.”

In hindsight, given the location, Hat Kid wasn’t surprised. “Yep. I’m a ghost now. Speaking of that though, are you a kind of ghost too or… or what? Because you should be dead, right?” Such had occurred to her before but it had seemed like a really rude thing to ask about. Now that she was dead though, it was okay for her talk about such things, right?

“Well, uh… hmm… good point. I’m not sure what I am anymore. Nor does it matter because you are without your proper body now too. You deserve nothing less. I am only disappointed it wasn’t me who orchestrated your demise.”

Hat Kid held back a flinch. She didn’t deserve any such thing. “I don’t need a body. I don’t even want one anymore.” Not entirely the truth but he didn’t need to know that. “Being a ghost is cool. So you’re just jealous you’re stuck in a jar while I get to float around freely doing whatever I want whenever I want.” She stuck out her ghostly tongue to blow a raspberry at him.

He gasped, offended. “Such insolence! Your days of freely floating are done! Get her boys!”

Hat Kid jerked upward just in time to avoid the pair of Mafia goons jumping in from behind where she’d just been floating. They both had empty jars in their hands, the lids to which they held in their other hand. Had they been trying to capture her in one? How rude! It wouldn’t have worked anyway… probably.

Unless like Vanessa’s ice, the jars were magical. Which they might not be, they were just Mafia goons after all, where would they get magic ghost catching jars from? But now the the thought had occurred to her, it was probably best she leave before she find out the hard way again. She’d satisfied her curiosity about what this whole thing was about anyway.

***

The Mafia Boss could only frown as he watched Hat Kid’s ghost phase up through the ceiling. Damn it! He’d been so close.

“You know, Boss,” one of the goons said, “considering the fact she’s a ghost, we probably should’ve guessed she could float through the ceiling to escape.”

“We could’ve had another waiting on the second floor for her,” the other added.

They were both right of course. Mafia Boss should’ve thought this plan through better but… “Shut up!” He didn’t want to talk about it. He’d have to get his vengeance later, some other way.

[jassrain]

Meditation brought Kenobi back to Mandalore, the red armor stiff but still allowed a reasonable amount of movement. He was before the Zabrak and the Throne of Mandalore. Under Maul's control the place has become drab and cheerless, as the dark side settled into the Throne room.

"Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you and your Dutchess. You should have chosen the dark side, Master Jedi. Your emotions betray you, your fear and yes your anger. Let your anger deepen your hatred."

"Don't listen to him Obi-" Satine squeaked out before Maul silenced her.

"Quiet!" Maul snapped, lifting the Duchess by her throat and waving the Darksaber.

"You can kill me but you'll never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the dark side, only the weak embrace it." The words were more defiant than Kenobi felt.

"It is more powerful than you know." Maul snarled.

"And those who oppose it are more powerful than you'll ever be.

But I know where you're from. I've been to your village. I know the decision to join the dark side wasn't yours. The Nightsisters made it for you." Whatever Maul's plan was, Kenobi was sure Satine had been figured into it, just what remained to be seen. It was difficult to focus on anything, with Satine held aloft in Maul's grip, the Darksaber being waved carelessly. Savage Opress looming and menacing itching for something to happen, probably and preferably the death of a jedi.

"Silence!" Maul snapped, the anger obviously rising in him. "You think you know me? It was I who languished for years thinking of nothing but you. Nothing but this moment." He pointed the Darksaber at Satine. "And now the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you but I will make you share my pain, Kenobi."

With that Kenobi felt the tremor as Maul readied for the kill, an attempt to step forward was greeted with blaster butts to the back, knocking him to his knees. If not for the armor he would have completely lost focus as it was he held enough to redirect Satine's path as Maul pulled her to the Darksaber. With a growl Maul pulled Satine to the Darksaber again and again Kenobi found the strength to redirect her path, now to his waiting arms. The guards around him swung their blasters to strike but he was already on his feet to grab Satine, though he misjudged and they collided falling to the floor together.

“Again, Ben?” Satine sassed using her old nickname for him as she worked herself free to get up.

“I’m sure it beats what Maul is planning.” Kenobe was to his feet first and pulled her up and towards the door as she fumbled to get her feet under her. Blaster bolts started singing past them, he reached for his lightsaber that wasn’t there, taken by the guards. He flung Satine forward through the door “GO!” He shouted for her to run as he turned to face their pursuers, as she passed through the doors the wall seemed to have exploded debris raining down around him and knocking back those intent on recapturing him. Looking over his shoulder Kenobi saw a Mandalorian woman in an owl-eyed T-visor helmet talking to Satine, using a wrist shield to block incoming blaster bolts. Another Mando took Satine in a speeder as the owl-eyed Mando came to Kenobi's side flipping his lightsaber to him.

"This might do you better than just standing there." The Mando grunted while dodging more blaster fire. "Now, let's get out of here and regroup."

"Fine by me" Obi-Wan agreed, deflecting blaster bolts back, disabling weapons and jetpacks while moving back to where his rescuer entered.

"Can you handle one of these?" The Mando asked passing Kenobi a jetpack.

"I'm a fast learner" he answered, attaching it to the borrowed armor.

"Good, we'll get you out of the city and back to the Republic, you can report what happened here to the jedi and the senate."

"That will bring a Republic invasion." He protested.

"Better that than leave Mandalore in the clutches of Maul."

"Very well, I'll make my report but I'm not returning to the Order or the Republic. I'm leaving both until everything here is put right and that old wound Maul is dealt with."

"Why would you do that?" If Mandalorian could have any expression, hers would have confusion.

"I think your sister would know." He then added under his breath "maybe in my leaving for love, Anakin would find the strength to do the same."

As the vision faded images of Satine and Bo-katan were in the hut, Satine leaning against the counter and Bo-Katan sitting on it, both women talking and starting to get animated about the best way of dealing with the current state of Mandalore or pushing back against the Empire.

[rotshop]

help girl i just woke up and im already thinking abt mag s/o again. anyway please consider ;

[ tw body horror, some brief light gore and violence ]

[ note ; reader is SLIGHTLY described. the only thing mentioned is that they have a noticeable, identifying scar on their face

hank + mag s/o

-he knew you even before the boombox incident. he doesn't even really remember how you two first met, he just remembers that you started talking to him and then just kinda kept coming back. at first he wasn't the biggest fan of you since he was 'doing just fine on his own,' but...he admittedly was already really attached to you. they've never been much of a talker and that's especially noticeable to you at that point in time but ,,, they respond enough with signing, nodding / shaking their head, or the occasional speaking that you're able to carry some conversations pretty well.

-he doesn't really. have. a lot of people in his life. you're really his only real close friend, it's kinda hard for him to fully wrap his head around it so !! they chose not to, instead focusing more-so on whatever it was you were rambling to them about that day.

-not super sure of where to put this lmao but ummm ehe . he's actually surprisingly touchy with you????? like. you've hung out at his house a few times and he just like. you'll start out sitting next to each other and you'll end up either laying with your head on their chest or vice versa . its . a little funny . you tease him about it a little and he just flicks your shoulder. also traces your scar a lot if you'll let them, they're not entirely sure why they do it, they just . like asking you about it occasionally.

-also you have scary dog privileges. they might look like any other grunt at that point but they're still tall as fuck and idk man !! something abt getting a blank stare from someone who towers over u would probably make u shut up and mind ur own damn business.

-again, he's not super good at fully recognizing / acknowledging certain thoughts and feelings of his but . yknow. he can definitely tell he at least worries about you a lot more than he would some other grunt he just met. he can definitely tell there's a reason he doesn't mind you touching him, whether by grabbing his hand to go show him something or just placing a hand on his shoulder or arm (most likely arm, again. hes tall. ). they can definitely tell there's a reason that they find themself genuinely enjoying your interactions.

-after the park thing you don't see them for a long time. everytime you try and call him the lines dead, everytime you try and ask others about him you just get choice words, all in all you're pretty much lost on the entire thing. sure, you know what happened but . it just never sits right with you. it doesn't help whenever people ask questions about them or give you wary looks because of your association, half steps back when you take one forward.

-anyway. yeah nevada goes to shit and you get magnified for the aahw. by now you just. don't really talk about hank. surprisingly, you have a little more of your old memories than the average mag !! congrats. problem is they're all foggy enough that you only really distantly decipher them. lmao. you aren't super high on the ladder but you're a pretty tough mag to beat. you're well known enough that other mags tend to hang around you when there's not much else going on. v2 mags especially think it's fun to mess around with you by jumping on your back or otherwise clinging onto you . idk man u've got like . a little family here .

-at one point or another there's an outing youre on that ends up going wrong. you get split up from the rest of your unit and are forced to hide out in some old abandoned building while you wait for backup. you're a little too injured to try and walk all the way back, a heavy gash on your side preventing you from doing too much in the moment. when you hear heavy steps on concrete you're able to give some sort of noise of relief, turning your head to look over your shoulder at whichever agent in your group had finally found you-

-you're instead met with red goggles and the end of a gun.

-any kind of relief is snatched away, you know damn well who it is by just the bit you can see in the dark alone. even standing in the shade between two windows (one of which you were sitting by, probably how they seen you in the first place- if that's the case though, it's a little weird they hadn't just shot at you through it.) you knew it was him. you're already stumblingly forcing yourself up to as much of your full height as you can manage, taking some kind of defensive position even as one of your hands ghosts over your gash. the throbbing pain of it and the feeling of blood sticking and running down your skin is enough that you can't seem to focus on the fact that he won't stop staring at your face.

-it doesn't take long before your legs seem to fail you, forcing you forward a bit as you kneel in some sort of attempt to keep upright. you're too busy hissing under your breath and screwing your eyes shut in pain as your hand covers your side to notice your company stepping forwards. you're snapped back to attention when there's a hand on your face, fingertips digging into your skin as they yank your head down a little further. you know you should be grabbing him, that you should be digging your claws into his torso and ripping him clean in half, throwing whatevers left aside and leaving. you know thats what you were told to do, what you were told they deserved anyway. yet, you aren't. instead, you're just giving some warning growl as you stare at them. you notice how the end of the gun is pointed away from you, how their touch seems to outline the mark on your face.

-"If you try and hurt me, I'll kill you." That's the only real heads up you get before he's crouching down and shoving your hand out of the way, grabbing something from his pocket to get to work on you. you don't fail to notice how little attention they're paying to you (aside from the focus on your wound, of course), that you could just rush forward and slam them into the ground if you really wanted.

-ok im skippin g ahead bc this is already way too goddamn long for hcs DEJWJCS

-anyway. it's a complicated relationship for a while. the others tend to avoid you a little but he just keeps showing up around you. they keep staring at you and just hanging around in your general area. it's not that much of an irritant if you ignore all the weird emotions and thoughts it keeps bringing to the forefront of your mind, forcing you to once again try and meddle with your memories.

-eventually he just starts walking over to you and sitting down next to you. sometimes he doesn't say anything at all, just sitting there and seeming to wait for one thing another- he never seems to find whatever that is, as he always gets up and leaves without a word at some point or another. then they start talking, its just little things at first, point-blank statements you can't say much on. sometimes they're just saying they and the other three will be gone for a bit othertimes it's some half-demand to let them look at the stitches they did on you (semi-related, he's not good at them. the stitches are pretty rough. at one point or another sanford has to redo them properly lmao)

-but then there's one particular night. they do the normal thing, come over, sit down next to you, not say a word. this time though you note how they're facing you. instead of some reminder or a demand for anything, he's pulling his ask down and asking a simple question. 'What do you remember?'

-it's a long conversation. he's talking more than he normally would by a long shot, occasionally stopping whenever his words seem to especially fail him and get stuck in his throat. you don't even really remember moving around, or even him pulling you in any way, you just know you somehow end up laying next to him with your head on his chest.

-whenever the memories do seem to click into place, it's hard. you have a lot of choice words for them yourself, months of being left alone without a word bubbling up with a vengeance, they listen to them. while some mags (such as yourself) do have the ability to speak, the san and dei don't think they've ever heard one with that much emotion in their voice. they've especially never seen a mag just break down like you do, they're both tensing up a little from their far away spot when hank's walking closer to you. instead of you lashing out or swiping at him though, you just sit there while he wraps his arms around you (as best as he can at least, it's a little difficult but he's able to get them around your neck and reach his other hand behind you well enough). you're eventually doing the same to him, though it's more so just your hands resting on their back.

-it takes a good while for proper trust to be rebuilt along with an honest, proper explanation from hank that only you're privy to. eventually though, there's enough trust that you're able to hang around him again without narrowly avoiding an argument or anything. they don't like being super affectionate or 'vulnerable' in front of the other two, so most times they prefer being in your or their room. also they're still touchy lmao, doesn't help that you're mag sized now and so they just want to hold you . its hard to explain, he's never been super affected by others heights and even when he is it's usually a negative thing for him but . for some reason . he just likes being shorter / smaller than you lol ,,,,,,,, hope you like holding them a lot bc that's what you're gonna be doing

-holy shit these are long so . i think .i am going to stop here.

[galadhremmin]

We have derived Caranthir liking the Dwarves (and vice versa) because apparently, Finrod succeeds in every field Caranthir fails, and at this point it's clear this derives from the in-universe writer of the Silm and his own biases. Think about it: "Dark Finwë" , a grumpy, prejudiced lordling, and "Hair Champion", most handsome, noble king, have met with the same people!! Yet the king of the first secret kingdom is everyone's friend, but the prince that trades with them regularly is not... seems sus.

Hence, Caranthir is friends with the Dwarves. (But that is just an interpretation, so you're free to think what you wish, I just have several opinions on in-universe prejudice and the almighty narrative.)

I think that 'we' might actually have been Dawn Felagund years ago. Maybe this reading existed even before that, but I doubt that-- she's been very influential in silm fandom and was long before tumblr was much of a thing. https://dawnfelagund.com/caranthir-the-slandered

I wouldn't say it's 'clear' that what amounts to Caranthir's entire documented personality derives from the bias of the in-universe narrator, though as you can see from Dawn's writing it's a reading you can argue for. There are a number of different approaches you can take to the Silm and its biases anyway. One of the few times when it's absolutely clear the text isn't telling the entire story is when it talks about the Easterlings. I've posted about this before but the recorded names are, uhh.... the ones to betray the elves are unlikely to actually have been named things like 'ugly lord' and 'ugly beard.' 'Dark Finwe' on the other hand is a documented reference to his haircolour being dark like Finwe's own; hardly a negative judgement!

I personally think Caranthir can be exactly as ill-tempered and prejudiced as the Silm paints him without becoming an unsympathetic character. If a writer cannot make a moody, deeply prejudiced man an interesting character that is a failure as a writer; there are after all enough books who manage exactly that. That is not to say choosing not to write him that way is a failure (obviously not), but it's not necessary in order to make a reader feel for him at all.

Just going by the text, I think it actually might make for a more interesting narrative to explore in fic to me. Because he does change his mind about something, and at a very specific moment; when he meets the Haladin. That is much less dramatic if he secretly been as nice and popular as Finrod, and got along with everyone all the time already. He's been raised by Fëanor, who said things like 'No other race shall oust us!' and rallied the Noldor not motivated enough by vengeance for Finwë alone by playing on their deep-seated fear of being replaced by the Secondborn. Very unlikely that had no impact. At best it has made him uninterested in humans in his area (while they're not much of a threat to ruling instead of the elves anyway). The text says they paid them no heed.

And yet! Caranthir sees how brave Haleth and her people are. He 'does her great honour.' He changes his mind and offers them lands. His tragedy to me is not that of a slandered figure, but of this deeply, deeply prejudiced person raised to distrust the motivations of human beings -- who overcomes those beliefs, offers friendship, is rejected! then extends that same trust to the Easterlings anyway... and it's those specific Easterlings, not the ones who ally with his brothers-- who betray them all. And cause the disastrous ending of the Nirnaeth. It's the 'to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well' part of the curse hitting him in the least fair way possible. Someone finally changes for the better, and the outcome is treason and destruction.

That is a very good character arc to me, actually. His aesthetics-based scorn for the Dwarves is reprehensible but strikes me as deeply Elvish, and part of his prejudices. Naugrim is too unflattering a name for them for it not to be common. His temper-- well why can't he have one? Sure there's only one recorded instance -- but that's imo because there are hardly any conversations in the Silm! Anyway I like some people with tempers well enough. Personally I think people are missing out on opiniated grouches.

Obviously the biased anti-Feanorian Pengolodh reading is a nice one, and I have enjoyed a lot of stories written based it. But it's not at all a reading that is necessary for me to read Caranthir as a flawed but sympathetic character. He can have serious faults and still, ultimately, be someone I feel for.

What I was asking though was if I overlooked any canon evidence of Caranthir being particularly, personally fond of the Dwarves; and it seems I did not. Also; there is room for Caranthir growing to like the Dwarves over centuries without an anti-Feanorian bias reading this strong, there is simply no evidence for friendship in the rather barebones narrative (I'm not interested atm because it's wildly overdone to me & I like variety).

That said, in my opinion making Caranthir the hidden, slandered Feanorian Finrod equivalent with a dash of Curufin's Dwarf affection is not as enjoyable as simply working with what little canon character is actually there. Because there is one (and it's not the greedy tax collector of some fanon depictions either imo)

1. To start with, wrt Caranthir as the anti-Finrod, I don't think it works that well. Sure sure dark/light, open/prejudiced, repressed/shouty, but different motivations, different locations, plus they meet very different peoples even if both are Edain-- besides, Caranthir's own older brothers do successfully ally with the Easterlings without betrayal, while Curufin (much more so than Finrod! no Khuzdul for Finrod!) is the Dwarves' Friend(tm). Also, a flawed Finrod already exists. That's just the regular edition. He has his own faults and (very different) tragic arc.

If Finrod never seems to have strong prejudices to overcome, and if he's not confrontational (which... look he's a diplomat. Make of that what you will. Pretty awkward there in Doriath, buddy!) he does have trouble facing his own complicity (he wanted to sail those ships despite the murders) until Sauron beats him to death with it. He leaves Valinor with the idea of ruling but he has to give up the crown. He's ambitious, he seems emotionally repressed, he's.. possibly paying the greater Dwarves to drive the Petty Dwarves out of their ancestral home to build a city? Oops. Depending on the version you go with in that case, of course; there's also ones where he's free of the blame of that one. Not of wanting to sail those ships and being uneasy with the guilt wrt wanting to do so despite their being stolen and murdered for though. No he doesn't kill; but he wants to use the result of it anyway, and to make it worse he is actually half Telerin.

There's also (to be fair, only for sure after the disaster of the Sudden Flame because that's the recorded instance) his guards killing random innocent trespassers to keep his kingdom hidden -- yes, that's right there in Silm, yes he's still King at the time. Beren has to wave that ring. People just seem to miss that he'd be killed without it somehow.

I think it's just too easy to reduce him to the golden perfect opposite of Caranthir. Yes he's described more positively; he's also just mentioned more because unlike Caranthir he rules an actual kingdom, the greatest and richest in Beleriand in fact; and does things that have a lot of very longterm effects, like helping B&L steal a Silmaril. They don't 'meet the same people' anyway -- the Haladin have a different culture from the Beorians which contributes to their reaction to Caranthir (and iirc their later fate).

Sidenote: Dawn's essay attributes the Green Elves helping the Feanorians at Amon Ereb to Caranthir's diplomatic skills; but why not to those of Amras or Amrod? This is the quote; 'Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves' -- nothing here indicates it was Caranthir who got them that aid. In fact A&A are the hunters, i.e. more likely to have roamed in various forests where they would have encountered Green Elves, imo.

There's also the very desperate times to consider in which this aid takes place. This is just post Sudden Flame, and even if the Green Elves didn't like Caranthir they probably liked him better than Morgoth. Also, speaking of cosmopolitans, Maedhros allies with, yes, Dwarves (Azaghal), Grey elves, Easterlings (and you might say: Fingolfinians); even part of the remaining people of Dorthonion rally to Himring post sudden flame (that means Edain and Arafinwean followers in Himring, at least for a time), and he manages to be friendly with Felagund despite calling him a badger. ;)

Finrod is not the only other leader to forge diverse alliances, and though B&L ends happily his people mostly do not. Caranthir's not much like Finrod in any way. Not in motivations, temperament, tragic arc. That's fine. No hidden kingdom for a dragon to eat either. Finrod could probably do with being a little less like Finrod sometimes, though he's well-intentioned and likable. Caranthir loves to shout and isn't sneaky. Good for him.

2. Curufin also already exists. His love for Dwarves is one of his defining and redeeming characteristics and boy does he need them. He's daddy's favourite, a sneaky overambitious bitchy bastard who is also a talented smith and linguist, and truly considered a Dwarf friend, which is apparently exceptional. He's quite flawed; tries to help Celegorm force a political marriage, laughs with a bruised mouth, seeming to lose his mind while attempting and failing murder after first losing his own stronghold and then the city he tried to take from his cousin. He's just... a personality. Mostly a bad one! You can feel for him though, because he seems like an utter mess. Many 'i would love to study you' feelings on my part. Would hate for him to be real but also I'd pay to be his therapist.

3. And then finally there's Canon Caranthir. A difficult, prejudiced person who despite that (which doesn't at all have to mean there is no despite, the despite is what makes it juicy)

- seems to be responsible for re-establishing (large scale?) trade with the Dwarves, whatever he might think of them (and they of him) to their mutual benefit. I don't think he's greedy either. It seems like a mutually profitable situation. Access to Dwarvish goods seems pretty vital to Beleriand, and facilitating trade is a real service.

As someone pointed out in the replies, the Silm does mention Dwarvish companies travelling east to Nan Elmoth and menegroth various times, but quote wrt Caranthir says 'Caranthir’s people came upon the Dwarves, who after the onslaught of Morgoth and the coming of the Noldor had ceased their traffic into Beleriand' and 'when the Dwarves began again to journey into Beleriand.'

They stopped at some point and Caranthir's people made it happen again.

- which means he's practical. He seems like he's good at organising, and setting his own feelings aside if necessary despite his prejudice and temper (which is an achievement it wouldn't be without his, hm, everything). Also he and his people as well as the Dwarves work together well because ''either people loved skill and were eager to learn,' despite their (initial?) mutual dislike. Those aren't bad characteristics; seems like it was an exchange of skill as well as goods and possibly providing safe travel opportunities.

I don't like the 'greedy Caranthir' fanon and don't think it is even that easy support entirely with canon. 'They had of it great profit,' the text says-- both Caranthir and the Dwarves. They exchanged skills and knowledge and Caranthir seems to have helped them start trading in Beleriand again. That's hardly Scrooge Mcduck.

- Another thing we can say about canonthir (lol) is that he apparently attaches a lot of value to aesthetics (was he a visual artist? is a he a sculptor like Nerdanel? WORSE: AN ART CRITIC?! Feanorian art critic is truly nightmare fuel) and that's why he dislikes Dwarves (of all things...). Either way points to 'aesthetics' as something apparently important to Caranthir. Which makes sense given who his parents are. What is interesting to me is that this apparently DOESN'T matter to Curufin, who is a lot like Feanor in most things. That's interesting!

I've never, never seen this but I think it would be very funny to attribute his aesthetic prejudices to Nerdanel. I love her; but why should her opinions be perfect? I know she wasn't considered beautiful herself, but she's an artist. She's got to have had some strong opinions on aesthetics anyway. I doubt it's the beards; Mahtan had one as well. And 'stunted'...at least some of this comes down to the Elvish obsession with height yet again. Hm.

- eventually Caranthir overcomes what have to be some very deeply held beliefs about human beings and their place in the world, and offers what for all intents and purposes looks like real friendship, not the ruling over Men Feanor seems to have had in mind at best. He's capable of real change!

Anyway his character works just fine to me from canon, and what he achieves and the ways in which he fails are more interesting that way rather-- neither slandered Feanorian Finrod 2.0 nor Curufin 'Dwarf Fan' Feanorion without the sneakiness and murder attempts pack the same punch as a stupidly prejudiced grouchy man doing his best anyway for centuries in this stupid ugly cursed land, eventually changing for the better, opening up-- and being brutally punished for it by the Doom.

Dammit. I hope there's therapy in the Everlasting Darkness.

hm a bit long but that's what I get for trying to gather my thoughts wrt why after considering it a bit transferring Curufin's love for Dwarves to Caranthir is a bit boring to me personally. Though there are still stories that still do it very well.

[shurisneakers]

shut in [7]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, death, implied ptsd, injuries, broken bone, origami and paper planes

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: ONE MORE WEEK !!!!!!!!! ONE MORE WEEK !!!!!!!! also gif is somewhat related except steve isn’t there sorry to crush any hopes

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Is there a reason you’re back so early?”

Both of the men nervously glanced at each other, silently urging the other to talk. A quiet form of encouragement.

“We chec- we checked all the neighbouring towns. All your safehouses,” one of them finally sputtered up after his partner elbowed him in the ribs.

“And?”

“We coordinated with all our guys across the country to look for them-”

“All I’m hearing are a bunch of excuses,” they twirled the gun on its barrel like it was a plaything. “Get to the point.”

“No one knows where they’re hiding,” he finished, swallowing thickly. “We’re still looking though. We just thought-”

“What?” their voice was surprisingly calm. “That your little status update would impress me? That I’d feel sorry for you for working so hard?”

“N-no boss,” his partner finally pitched in, saving face for his companion who opened and shut his mouth wordlessly. “Just keeping you in the loop. We’re close, I can feel-”

“Do you remember what I told you the last time you were here?”

Both of them shut their mouths immediately. Knuckles white, nails digging into their skin as they clenched their fists shut.

“That you wanted them dead,” the first one said with faux confidence. A waver in his voice gave it away.

“Yes, but you’re forgetting the important part,” they tsk’ed, shaking their head, eyes downcast.

They didn’t give anyone a chance to react. They slammed the gun down, swiftly picking it up before taking aim at his partner’s face.

“I said I’d blow your brains out.” They pulled the trigger.

Bits of bone fragment and blood splattered across the first agent’s face. He inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling haphazardly. He had his eyes shut tightly, face away from the carcass slumped over next to him..

“I want every fucking part of this country searched,” they roared, throwing the gun to the side carelessly, leaving someone else to scurry after it. “And since it’s so fucking hard for you to finish two tasks, just get me their location.”

The agent barely nodded, looking like he was about to throw up. His partner’s blood trailed down the side of his face like sweat.

“I’ll kill them myself.”

Hugh Grant was starting to look less appealing on your 6th rewatch of Notting Hill. In fact, he was starting to blend together with the characters from Die Hard and it was becoming difficult to differentiate which part belonged to which movie.

Sam sat opposite to you at the dining table, a set of papers assigned in front of him. The TV was left on, serving as background noise and occasional fillers to substitute the lack of conversation.

“That movie is not making sense anymore,” he stated objectively.

“It stopped after the third time for me.” Your words were hushed, your focus remaining on the swan you were trying to create from scratch.

“If I hear her say ‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy’ one more time, I actually think I’ll projectile vomit.” You could tell that his eyes didn’t shift from the screen though. “I can feel the bile. It’s going to happen.”

You only hummed in agreement, more interested in his lamenting than the actual movie.

Although origami wasn’t one of the skills you picked up in the fucking mafia, you still knew a few basic things. The rest you just folded with confidence and prayed it would work.

What other options did you have when you were stuck together in a house with no WiFi?

Sam had made a paper bowl to hold the car keys and the few dollars you picked up from Pierce’s place. It looked like it would fall apart at any given moment, its structural integrity questionable at best.

You had made a small flower that rested on the table in front of you. You were sure it would go missing the minute a draft entered the room.

He had given up after his contribution of the bowl. Apparently his creative expertise extended only towards that and paper airplanes, not that that stopped him. He was folding and manufacturing them with a vengeance.

“How is this supposed to help, Wilson?” you questioned, unable to contain the smile that grew on your face at the sheer number of planes he was making.

“Just because it’s not a decorative marvel-” he shot back in its defence, “-doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

“Oh, yeah? What else can it do other than not fly?” You watched as he launched one of them. It did a loop before falling miserably to the floor.

“Hey, you can put a message in it. Maybe one of those button trackers, a microphone. The possibilities are endless.” He laughed, folding another one out of the limited supply of paper he had left. “Besides, your thing won’t even lift off the ground.”

“Yeah, but this one can float.” You held up the swan that you had created. That about concluded your knowledge of origami.

“That’s actually… pretty cool,” he admitted. “Teach me how to make one.”

“A true master never reveals their secrets,” you eluded, placing it on the table.

“I dare you to make another.” Sneaky bastard. He knew you wouldn’t be able to replicate it. He saw you struggle the first time.

“Why, so you can just copy off of me?” you dodged, and Sam narrowed his eyes at you. You followed the same.

Neither of you blinked for a while.

“I’m out of paper,” he finally relented, gesturing to the fleet of planes that littered the table.

“I’m out of ideas.” You paused, looking down at how you’d spent the last hour. “Do you wanna go test these outside later?”

Sam looked up eagerly and you could just tell he was intending on getting competitive. “Hell yeah.”

“I’m going for a run in some time.” You got up to stretch your limbs, shrug off the fatigue that was setting in. Along the way you left the swan and one of the paper planes on top of the mini fridge alongside the car keys. It was cute. “We could do it then?”

“Sure,” he affirmed. “What time?”

“At around 6-” your eyes landed on the clock on the wall before widening, “-shit, shit, shit, I didn't realise it was five thirty. We have a call with Ransone.”

“Phone’s on the couch,” he mentioned to the living room, sitting up straight. “Why are you freaking out? We still got a few minutes to go.”

You pushed yourself away from the table, forcing yourself to shakie off the drowsiness that had begun to set in.

“You wouldn’t get it,” you mumbled, “He gets pissy if I don’t do things his way.”

You grabbed the phone, punching in the buttons and having it at the ready.

You noticed Sam focused on you with knitted eyebrows but not voicing whatever he had on his mind.

“Ready?” you questioned, but more as a formality. You had to do it regardless.

He simply nodded, looking on as you let the phone ring. If he had noticed your antsiness towards the call, he didn’t bring it up.

Ransone picked up on the last ring, not skipping a beat in answering, “Y/N.”

“Hey Ransone.” You switched the call to speakerphone.

“Are you alone?”

You glanced at Sam. He shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, edging you to continue with the arrangement you had planned the day prior.

Ransone trusted you more. He was more likely to communicate openly if Sam wasn’t around.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Where’s the other one?”

Sam silently scoffed.

“He’s taking a nap.”

“Ah,” Ransone’s tone was condescending. “How have things been?”

“It’s fine.” You press your lips into a straight line, not elucidating. “What’s the update out there?”

“Everything is a mess. We’re trying to figure out who attacked you but since there wasn’t anything left behind or any kind of trace, it’s proving to be... inconvenient.”

“Is it safe to travel?”

“What, with your face on national television?” he laughed. “Nah, I’d say it’s a little too early to be thinkin’ of a road trip. Just stay where you are, I’ll tell you when you can come out.”

Your fingers were thrumming at the table rhythmically, peeking at Sam every now and then for anything he found suspicious or wanted you to ask about.

“Listen, we’ve paid off every big guy to keep this under wraps as much as possible but Pierce was an important person. All the higher ups want this to be solved as quickly as possible. They don’t care about sacrificing a player here or there.”

Pinning the blame on you was easy enough. The faster you were put away, the faster they could stage an “accident” in prison so that none of their secrets were exposed. Wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before.

“Others in the business aren’t likin’ us accusing them of attacking one of our own. Our best bet right now is Serpentine but we haven’t gotten anything to prove it.”

You doubted they ever would. Even if they did do it, Serpentine was notorious for being cunning and stealthy in their operations. They made sure there would be no tracks leading back to them.

“So, we’re at a dead-end,” you verified. There was no telling when this would end, your exit looking further and further away. “We’re fucked.”

“No. We’ll just- Y/N, listen to me,” Ransone called out, drawing your attention back to the call.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve always protected you,” his voice was noticeably softer. “Don’t you trust me?”

You felt the temperature in the room drop.

“You said there would be no one there!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ransone scoffed. “I never said that.”

“I walk in there and there’s four people, completely armed.” Forcing yourself to recall it was making your head spin. Maybe you could ask the nurse for a painkiller. “It was supposed to be empty.”

“I think the blood loss is making you delirious,” he chided, looking at the bag of drips hanging above your bed. “It wasn’t even that bad-”

“You’re lying.” The words slipped out before you had the chance to think it over.

“Excuse me?” he tilted his head, tone suddenly sifting to that of warning.

You knew he was. You had agreed to this mission because it was supposed to be easy. It was a break.

“Ivan was there when you briefed me.” You lifted your good arm to point at him shakily. “He knows you’re lying.”

“Does he now?” Ransone quirked an eyebrow, studying his aid who stood in the corner of the dingy hospital room.

A beat of silence passed where Ransone stared at Ivan, waiting for a reply of confirmation.

Ivan only lifted his shoulders in unawareness. “I don’t remember you sayin’ that.”

Your mouth fell agape but you quickly rushed to shut it. Fucking liars. You shouldn’t have expected anything better.

“Told you.” Ransone shrugged. “You’re a smart one, Y/N, so I’m going to let that slide this time. But next time you accuse me of something I didn’t say…”

He trailed off, resting a hand on your broken shoulder. You flinched, jaw clenched so tightly you thought your teeth might break. You tried to imagine yourself somewhere else, desperate to reduce the quivering of your body when he squeezed it lightly.

“You know I’ve always tried to protect you.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting your head to meet his eye. “Don’t you trust me?”

A beat passed before you responded.

“I do,” you said through gritted teeth, pulling your face away from him.

“I’ll ask them to up your dosage.” Ransone took a step away from you, dropping his hand. “I’m going to need my best player on the field as soon as possible.”

You didn’t acknowledge his statement. Every part of your body felt like it was going to combust.

Did he really say that no one was going to be there or was it just the injuries playing with you?

“Get well soon,” he offered, one step out the door. “Buttercup.”

“You trust me, don’t you Y/N?” he repeated when you didn’t respond.

“Yes.” You swallowed, gaze falling to the floor.

“And I trust you. You wouldn’t do anything to break that, would you?”

Sam raised his one hand questioningly as if to ask what the hell he was talking about. An intimidation tactic. He had been using it for several years to reinforce your loyalty.

“I wouldn’t.”

There were things you weren’t telling him, of course. Details about that day or where you and Sam were hiding right off the top of your head. More if you thought about it deeply.

“Good,” came his response. “So if there’s anything you need, let me know. I’m always a call away.”

“Thank you.”

“Talk to you soon.” He ended the call there.

You stood there blankly for a while before dropping the phone to the ground and crushing it. Usually you wouldn’t have to do that; removing the battery would be enough. This time you wanted to.

Your chest rose and fell heavily. You loathed him. Yet, you couldn’t fucking leave. 

“Hey.” Your eyes snapped back to Sam. “We still going on that run?”

__

The wind felt good.

Your muscles were burning and you could feel the constriction of your lungs but you liked it. The endorphins were working their charm.

Sam was right beside you, not questioning why there was so much aggression in your movement. You had lost track of how long you had been running. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus on that.

The path was paved with fallen branches and roots sticking out, forcing you to hop over some of them to avoid falling. It only annoyed you further.

You wanted to punch something. Or someone. The tension was rolling off your back in waves, and if someone saw you the’d probably believe you were going to commit an act of violence.

It was a while before you felt your steps begin to falter, the need for a proper breath taking precedence over the want to run more.

“Timeout?” you asked Sam breathlessly, slowing your pace to a jog.

“Sure about that, Usain Bolt?” he huffed, slowing his pace to match yours.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed it. “T’was fun.”

Now that you had slowed down, it forced you to come to terms with how much energy you had just burnt out.

“You wanna talk about what’s on your mind or ignore it?”

“Rather not talk about it for now.” The more you thought about him, the angrier you got. And as of late, you had realised that your method of dealing with that anger wasn’t the best.

The air was getting colder. It was getting harder to see what was in front of you, relying on the few rays of sunlight that shone through the treetops. You took a roundabout at your self declared checkpoint, changing course back to the house.

Sam followed wordlessly, but his presence was strangely comforting. Warm.

“Thank you.”

“For...” he trailed off, prodding you on.

“I don’t know. This.” You gestured to the path ahead of you. “I didn’t think you’d agree to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyebrows knit together in puzzlement.

You didn’t have an answer to that. Probably because you weren’t used to people just doing nice things for no apparent reason.

“How are you so calm all the time? I’ve never seen him get under your skin,” you asked quietly. “How do you do it?”

He didn’t answer straight away. He mulled over it as he dodged broken sticks and upended roots on the ground. You would be fine if he didn’t answer either; as long as he knew that you appreciated it.

“I just realised that everything he put into me was destructive. Actively worked on unlearning it,” he replied after a while. “It took me years to even begin.”

You expected to hear that but it didn’t make it easier.

“I don’t even know how to start,” you mumbled. It was so tiring, even thinking of where and how it began. It was all you knew. All you were taught.

“If I could add something?”

You looked at him questioningly.

“You had a different relationship with him than all of us, Y/N. A deeper one. It’s not easy to forget that,” he pointed out. “But… you’re not him. That takes strength.”

These weren’t new revelations. It was things you had told yourself earlier to rationalise all your actions. You knew it on a surface level but it was difficult to convince yourself sincerely.

You didn’t say anything, just continued jogging with an eye on the ground. 

It felt better to hear it from someone else. A starting point to maybe get to where he was, too.

“I just can’t believe anyone took him seriously enough for him to get this far,” Sam added, a tick of annoyance in his voice. “I don’t condone bullying but someone should have just punched him in the face as a child.”

It wasn’t even the funniest thing you had heard him say but for some reason it elicited a snort from you, soon giving way to a laugh.

His face snapped to yours at the sound of your laughter, a small smile growing on his face.

His brief moment of distraction was all it took for him to not notice the tree root sticking out in front of him. His ankle got caught in the wood, sending him stumbling to the ground face forward.

“Oh shit,” you cursed, halting in your place immediately, dropping to your knees to where he was.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, turning onto his back. “I think I broke my face.”

“That may be a bit excessive but your nose is definitely bleeding,” you knew this was serious but you were finding it difficult to control your laughter once you realised it wasn’t a life threatening injury.

“Just leave me here to die.” He covered his eyes with his elbow, refusing to look at you.

“C’mon, Wilson. Let’s get you fixed up.” You stood up, offering your hand. He grabbed onto it, hoisting himself up.  “Can you stand up straight? Do you think you have a concussion?”

“World class assassin,” he grumbled, shaking his head to imply he was fine other than a possible broken nose.

“Promise I won’t tell. Your reputation is safe,” you said it humorously but with conviction, hoping to make it less embarrassing for him. Not that you’d let him forget it any time soon.

It took longer to walk back considering how far you had ventured out, along with the fact that you had to guide him as he held his nose in the air to try and control the bleeding.

You pushed open the door to the house, holding it open as he walked in. Sam made his way to the dining room after you told him you’d get the first aid kit for the second time during your stay there.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, grabbing an old t-shirt along the way, he had a single ice cube pressed to the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not going to be enough.” You dropped the kit onto the table, opening the mini fridge. You emptied the ice cubes from the tray onto the t-shirt, twisting it into a small ice pack.

“These are my battle scars.” You could tell that he was trying not to use his nose. He sounded ridiculous. 

“Whatever makes you feel better, Sam,” you chortled. His mouth eased into a half smile and you didn’t get why until you realised it was the first time you had called him by his name. You didn’t acknowledge it, surprised by how easily it slipped out from your mouth when you weren’t actively stopping it.

You gave him a bit of cotton to wipe off the blood that had dried on his face.

“Look up,” you instructed, standing over him so you could assess the damage. He complied, letting you cradle his jaw softly, tilting his head to see if there were any signs of a fracture or anything worse.

It was a bad fall, but nothing he hadn’t been through before in terms of severeness. It wasn’t going to leave a mark.

“Definitely going to bruise but it’s not broken,” you concluded, going over it once more to make sure.

“Thanks, doc,” his voice came softly from below you. Only then did you realise how close you were standing to him. You could feel his breath on your wrist that was still caressing his face.

It felt like eternity, but he didn’t make an effort to move or shove you away. Your eyes flitted down to his lips for a second. If you just leaned dow-

“Right,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back. “Just hold this to your face for a while to reduce any swelling.”

You handed him the makeshift ice pack, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

“Your turn to use the bed tonight, right?” His voice was significantly lower than what it had been a few minutes ago, something you weren’t acclimated to hearing. It only made your face feel hotter.

“Yeah.” You avoided meeting his eyes, using the time to close the first aid kid. “Unless you want it.”

“No, go ahead.”

It was too early to retire for the evening but suddenly you weren’t all that hungry anymore. Apparently neither was he.

“See you tomorrow, then?” you inquired, turning away before he could see you cringe.

“See you tomorrow,” he confirmed, “Good night.”

You just gave him a short wave over your shoulder and physically restrained from walking to the room, shutting the door and never looking at him again. You hoped he didn’t notice or at least never bring it up if he did.

You couldn’t do this. Not again.

Not when you knew the consequences.

Next part

[sophiamcdougall]

So, there’s something I think is missing from the Booker Discourse and the focus on anger vs forgiveness, and whether Booker’s “punishment” is too harsh and who’s responsible if so, and its absence is beginning to slightly disturb me and it’s this: They don’t punish Booker. At all. 

No, really.

It’s one of the things I really like about the film -- how compassionately it treats Booker, both on a narrative and on an inter-character level. In most genre films wrongs against the good guys are usually settled with riproaring vengeance, even if in some the hero conveniently gets not to be the one to enact it directly.  But in the moment Booker’s betrayal becomes clear, character beats we have taken for mere melancholy click into place as heartwrenching grief and suicidal depression. We’re encouraged to grieve for him. We see Andy and Nile’s empathy for him. We see Nicky urging Joe to stop shouting at him even before they yet have any hope of escape. We don’t see a  moment of explicit compassion/restraint from Joe, but he does instantly put aside his anger to accept Andy’s decision that Booker’s coming with them, and does nothing to sabotage that choice. (In fact, it’s unthinkable that he would, but in plenty of action films it wouldn’t be.) And I agree with some of the arguments I’ve recently seen – the intensity of Joe’s fury isn’t necessarily a measure of how long it would last.

And then, as I say, they don’t punish him.

They don’t beat him up. They don’t work off steam killing and re-killing him. They don’t leave him for Kosak, or for the police. Of course they’d never do a full Quynh on him but putting him a box for ... a year? Six months? A week? It would be an option. They don’t do that, either.   

They simply stop hanging out with him. And they have the extraordinary grace to promise this won’t be permanent. And Andy, whom he shot in the back, sees him off with a goodbye hug.

I’m seeing a lot of debate about whether Joe (hotheaded, passionate) vs Nicky (still waters run deep) is The Angry One and which one of them might, by contrast, have been totally fine letting Booker back into the group immediately. I think you can plausibly headcanon the first part of that various ways. Personally I think Nicky would take a more severe line than Joe, although, as I’m about to argue, I don’t think that necessarily has to mean he’s “angrier”.)

What I don’t think you can plausibly headcanon is that either would actually be “fine” taking Booker back immediately, or any time soon.

Now I want to preface this with pointing out that anger is a completely natural and appropriate response to being hurt and whoever is The Angry One out of Nicky and Joe, has every right to that feeling. And to be fair I don’t think that’s really being disputed. But there does seem to be the idea that The Situation  – Anger = Everything’s Fine Now! And I do think it’s slightly ... victim-blamey, like the barrier to HEA isn’t what Booker did, it’s how long the people he hurt retain one specific emotion about it.  Whoever’s angriest is being staggeringly generous to Booker, and the result is 100% compatible with their not being “angry” at all. It’s compatible with “forgiveness” having already taken place. Just for a minute imagine writing to ... Captain Awkward, or Dear Prudence or Reddit Relationships. And explaining that your friend placed you in the power of people who wanted to hurt you, deliberately exposed you to very serious danger and your worst personal fear, and caused you to watch your partner trapped and in pain for somewhere in the ballpark of 48 hours ...  BUT, he is going through some very bad shit, guys, and you really do feel for him. Imagine what the response would be.  (”My friend wanted to commit suicide-by-cop, so he planted weed/guns in the car with me and my husband in it and called the police, although he knows we both have a particular phobia of cops after what happened to another friend who was arrested a while back. Oh and he attacked our other friend, because he wanted to be totally sure the cops would come for him, but he only meant to knock her out not to nearly kill her and he’s depressed and very sorry. I still want to put our friendship on a break. AITA?”)  They would yell at you to oh my god get away from him WTF how is this even a question please get some therapy learn to love yourself. 

And if you repeated that he’s really sad! And it went down worse than he thought it would! And you don’t want to hurt him! they would yell that it’s not about hurting him it’s about protecting you.   Just ... think about it. Imagine you’re either Joe or Nicky. Assume your anger has already completely evaporated, whether you think that’s in-character or not, and imagine you feel truly sorry for Booker. Take the most generous stance on what he did that you can. Fine. But every time you turn your back on him, or see him go off on a mission alone with one of the others ... how do you feel? Even if you don’t think he’d actually do this again, do you feel safe? 

 And imagine trying to recover from the trauma of what just happened to you. Imagine how much it would help to take refuge in all the soft, “family” touches which were also such a refreshing distinguishing feature of this film. Gift exchanges and bets and TV and hugs. Imagine trying to do that with the person who put you through it right. there.

 Nicky and/or Joe could honestly wish Booker no suffering at all, nothing but recovery and healing and peace, and Booker would still be a walking PTSD trigger and working/socialising with him would be downright self-destructive. 

Now, of course this is unpleasant for Booker because he’s already lonely and self-hating and it’s difficult -- though not necessarily impossible! -- for any of them to form a support system outside the group. But that really isn’t the team’s responsibility and, what is really the alternative? 

Maybe it’s being framed so much as “punishment” because Andy says “there has to be a price.” And there does; the consequences of Booker’s choice will unfold in some way whatever they do. The team do not have the option of simply resetting to normal, even if they wanted to. The only question is only who carries the weight of those consequences and how. Should Nicky and Joe have to pretend to feel comfortable around Booker, should they force themselves to go through the motions of friendship – hug him, smile at him, pass him a coffee – while their shoulders go up around their ears whenever he’s in the room, regardless of what that means for their own healing?

The injustice of that should be obvious but even if they did it, even if they made that colossal sacrifice for the person who just hurt them, would it really help Booker? Imagine being him and settling down to watch the football beside Joe and knowing what he likely remembers whenever he looks at you. Honestly, I don’t see that being a healthy path to recovery for him either.

Or OK. Maybe they don’t put on an act. They  keep spending time with him, but they don’t try to hide the nightmares and the flashbacks or the way their smiles drop whenever he comes into the room. Maybe they flinch whenever he gets too close and sometimes they yell at him but they all have to put that on hold every time there’s a mission and somehow they also they try to be his therapists?

I don’t know, it sounds a lot kinder to everyone to just get some fucking space.

Not hanging out with someone who gravely hurt you isn’t punishment, it’s basic boundaries and self-care for you and I’m beginning to worry about what it means that many of you don’t seem to know that.

[marjansmarwani]

maybe, I’m afraid 

3.8k || ao3

Episode 2x06, but with Carlos (as it should have been)

Just me here again to give Carlos the screen time he should have had. 

A little late to the party maybe (I have no idea how you all manage to get fics up within 24 hours of the episode, I am in awe of that ability) but I still felt the need to make my contribution.

--------

Most days Carlos was pretty sure that after 7 years on the force he had seen everything there was to see. 

Other days he got a call to respond to two teenagers trapped in a homemade minefield and he was forced to reevaluate that sentiment. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out all there is to know, including just how bad it really is, and by the time the familiar ladder truck pulled up (because of course it was the 126) he was waiting outside the passenger door to give Owen the rundown. 

“Officer Reyes,” he greeted when he saw him, “I’m surprised to see you. I thought this would be a little out of your jurisdiction.” 

Carlos shook his head, “Just barely within it, another half-mile and the sheriffs would be handling the call.”

“But you managed to snag it, lucky you.”

“Can’t say I would have been too upset if I had missed out on this one,” Carlos agreed drily. 

Owen hummed in agreement as he surveyed the scene, “What are we looking at, exactly?”  

It was a bleak picture: two brothers, trapped. One injured, both scared and stuck in an active minefield without a map. And the bomb squad was at least 40 minutes out. He saw his concern reflected on Owen’s face as he considered the situation and all the implications. If they waited, the boy would die. If they went in, he would be possibly sending some of his people to die too. 

And yet Carlos knew what choice he was going to make before he even opened his mouth. He had learned so many things during his time with TK, and one of them was that in so many ways he and his dad were a lot alike. If it were his call, TK wouldn’t have been able to leave those boys in there either. So when the instruction came, he wasn’t surprised. 

“We’re going to need the heaviest duffel we can find and spray paint - the brighter the better.”

Carlos locked eyes with TK briefly as he and the rest of his team turned to start gathering supplies, giving him a smile and hoping that it conveyed everything he wanted him to know: it would be alright, no matter what. 

He almost believed it too. 

All was calm at the start, the 126 functioning like the well-oiled machine they were. In no time they were prepped and Owen was striding back towards the ambulance, asking the new guy if he was ready to go. The discussion quickly transformed into an argument and Carlos couldn’t help but glance back over at the minefield and the brothers. Every moment they argued was one less moment these boys had. Carlos was considering stepping in when a new voice entered the discussion, effectively bringing the escalating argument to a halt. 

“I’ll go.” 

And Carlos froze because he knew that voice. He would know it anywhere, it drew him like a moth to a flame in any room. He turned slowly to find TK standing slightly apart from his crew, stance relaxed but jaw set in determination. 

“I was a dual function FD medic in New York,” he explained, voice calm and firm, “all my certifications are up to date. I can do this.” 

Carlos didn’t need to be looking at him, didn’t need to see where his gaze shifted to know that those last words were directed at his dad. The knowledge made Carlos’s heart ache. The fact that his boyfriend still felt the need to prove himself to his dad after all this time and all he had accomplished killed him, but the thought of TK willingly walking into the minefield killed him even more. 

But it wasn’t his choice to make and when Owen nodded, he felt a cold dread spread throughout his body. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. Today was not supposed to be the day he watched his boyfriend walk into an active minefield. That day was never supposed to come, and yet here it was. 

He walked over to where TK was switching out his gear, struggling with a strap that was twisting over his shoulder. He reached out for the strap without a word, smoothing it out and snapping it in place. They didn’t speak as Carlos stepped back, surveying the harness and gear for any other twists or issues. 

“It’s going to be fine, Carlos.” 

TK’s voice, soft and reassuring, broke the silence and Carlos met his eyes sharply. He wanted so desperately to believe him, but there was a field filled with explosives that had already claimed one life today behind them and he was finding it hard to be optimistic. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked instead. 

TK pulled his helmet on, his steady gaze never leaving Carlos, “Of course I’m sure, the kid’s going to die if we don’t go out there, Carlos. I need to help if I can.” 

Carlos reached down to grab his medical bag and held it out to him. He didn’t like the thought of the man he loved purposefully putting himself in harm’s way, but he also knew TK. As much as he might hate it sometimes, this was TK: always ready to help, always willing to put himself at risk if it meant saving someone else, and there was nothing Carlos could do to change that. And he wouldn’t want to - it was a part of TK that made him who he was: someone that Carlos loved with all his heart. 

When TK reached out to take the bag from him, he didn’t release it immediately. He let his grip linger for an extra moment as he studied TK, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Just, be careful,” he told him softly. TK gave him a small smile, and Carlos released his grip on the bag, allowing TK to walk away, towards the minefield. He was still watching as he ascended the ladder that would drop him out onto the minefield when he felt the presence of others appearing at his side. 

“He’ll be okay kid,” Judd said quietly, eyes never leaving the sight of the two Strands climbing to the end of the ladder. 

“You don’t know that Judd,” Carlos responded just as quietly, already feeling his fingernails digging into his palm as he clenched his hands at his side. 

“No,” the older man agreed softly, “I don’t. But I do know they’ll be as careful as they can.” 

Carlos nodded, eyes tracking every movement desperately. They had reached the edge of the ladder now and he watched as Owen tossed down the duffel, as they both reeled back in preparation for an explosion. He could feel his heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat as they waited, but there was only silence and after a moment, he allowed himself to breathe again. 

“I don’t know if my heart can take this,” Paul lamented from his left, “that was nerve-wracking and they still have a long way to go.” 

Carlos nodded wearily, but caught his retort before it slipped out of his mouth: if they made it that far. He didn’t need to release that idea into the universe and the others didn’t need to hear it. So he swallowed it and continued watching. Each and every movement they made was agonizing to watch, but each and every thud of them landing unharmed gave him a moment to catch his breath, a brief reprieve for his heart to beat normally. They had settled into a rhythm, and everything was going smoothly. 

Until it wasn’t. 

The sound of the mine exploding filled the air around them and worked its way into Carlos’s soul. It sent shockwaves through his body as he watched, desperately trying to see through the haze of smoke and debris. He couldn’t see him, he didn’t know if he was okay. 

That fact was more than enough to bring on the fear. It attacked him with a vengeance, freezing him to the spot. He felt as if the whole world froze in that moment; suspending him in the terror of not knowing, trapping him with doubt and fear. 

And then he heard TK’s voice, and he could breathe again. It might just be the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. 

When Owen’s voice sounded across the radios, confirming that they were both in one piece, time picked back up at its usual pace. He felt himself sag in relief, grateful for the knowing and supportive hand on his shoulder from Judd. He spared a glance at the others, seeing his relief reflected on their faces and in their stances. 

Marjan let out a long breath, “That was…” 

“Intense,” Paul agreed grimly, “let’s never do that again.” 

They all nodded, and Carlos couldn’t agree more. 

If there was an upside to that moment it was that the path forward was now clear and the two Strands made quick work of the rest of the journey, closing the distance between them and the boys in seconds. Carlos watched in awe as TK slipped into medic mode the moment he reached the boys’ sides, calmly managing the scene and taking care of the patient. It was a wonder to watch. He handled it all with focus and compassion, quietly reassuring the boys even as he gave instructions to his dad and administered care. He was cool and steady even as he delivered the lifesaving compressions, forcing the teen’s blood to pump through his veins with his own hands. It was only minutes before his voice sounded over the radio, announcing that the injured boy was stable and no amount of fear or worry could have stopped the intense pride Carlos felt in that moment. 

“Kid’s got some skills,” Judd observed with a fond smile and Carlos could only grin. 

Paul nodded, “Looks like someone’s been holding out on us, that was pretty impressive I must admit.” 

“Badass is more like it!” Mateo exclaimed and Marjan, standing next to him, laughed even as she placed a hand on his arm. 

“Steady Probie,” she reminded him, “they still have to get out of there. Let’s not jinx anything.”

Her words tempered the celebratory mood of the group, but even though Carlos had never let go of that fear (he knew he wouldn’t until TK was out of the minefield and at least 2 miles away) it felt different from before. It was wrapped in that pride now, and even as Carlos watched them prep to move and the bomb squad moved out to locate and detonate any mines along the path, he couldn’t shake that. It was almost stronger than the fear now, this pride he felt for TK. That was his boyfriend; the person who had just saved two young brothers in the middle of a minefield was the man he loved. Just when he thought that he had come to know every bit of his body and soul, he managed to surprise him all over again. 

It took every ounce of restraint and professionalism Carlos had to not rush over to TK the moment he cleared the edge of the minefield. He forced himself to wait, focusing on his own job while keeping a watchful eye on TK as he reported back to Captain Vega, as he got an exam from the new paramedic. It wasn’t until he headed back to the ladder truck that Carlos broke away from the crowd, meeting him at the side of the engine. TK looked up as he approached, a smile on his face and a greeting on his lips, but Carlos pulled him into his arms before he even had a chance to speak. 

He held him tightly, savoring the feeling of his breath on his collar and the faint sound of the beating of his heart. His familiar scent filled Carlos’s head with each breath and he closed his eyes. He would have been happy to stand there forever, feeling this and just being them and while he knew they couldn’t, he was determined to have at least a few moments more before the world interrupted. If nothing else, the universe at least owed him this. 

“I’m okay Carlos,” TK said evenly, his voice muffled against Carlos’s shoulder. 

But you almost weren’t. The words rang through his head, but he didn’t speak them. Instead he pulled away just enough to see TK’s face as he asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” TK assured him firmly, placing a steady hand on his chest, “the new medic looked me over but I could have told you anyway, I’m fine. Not injured, my dad and I both made it out and so did the boys. This was a win Carlos, I’m more than okay.” 

And he was, Carlos saw as he studied him. He was beaming; enthusiasm pouring out of him. His eyes were alight with something Carlos couldn’t name and he was practically vibrating. Despite everything, Carlos couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was still worried, still terrified by all the ‘what ifs,” but seeing TK like this gave him a lightness he couldn’t have imagined feeling even a few minutes before. 

He shook his head, trying to mask his smile with little success, “I am glad you’re so pleased with yourself, considering you almost gave the rest of us a heart attack.” 

He had been going for a joke but he instantly regretted it when TK dimmed, “I’m sorry,” he told him sincerely, “I didn’t mean to scare you guys, especially you. I just knew I could help…” 

Carlos interrupted him, moving his hands so they were on each of TK’s shoulders, “You have nothing to apologize for Ty,” he assured him firmly, “you did the right thing. You saved a kid’s life and you did amazing. I am so proud of you.” 

TK’s smile returned, softer than before but still glowing with pride, “You are, are you?” 

Carlos leaned down to place a soft and tender kiss on his forehead, “I am. So incredibly proud. You’re a pretty impressive guy, you know that?”

TK’s smile could have lit up the world and Carlos would have been happy to let it. But they were both still on the job and decidedly not alone, as they were suddenly reminded when Paul peaked around the side of the engine. He smirked at them before calling over his shoulder, “Yeah, they’re decent back here, you guys can come around.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes at his friend while TK casually flipped him off. Paul crossed towards them, completely unfazed before reaching out and pulling TK into a hug of his own. “You can’t keep scaring me like that man,” he told TK when they pulled apart, “I’m getting too old for that crap.” 

TK rolled his eyes at his teammate and Carlos chuckled. He looked behind him to see the rest of the team materializing. 

“That’s my cue,” he told TK, “I need to get back to work and get this scene wrapped up anyways. I’ll see you at home later?” 

TK nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand, “I’ll be there right after my shift.” 

“Think you can make it until then without nearly dying on me again?” 

“I’ll do my best,” TK assured him and Carlos smiled. 

“That’s all I ask,” he responded, “I love you.” 

“Love you too, Carlos.” 

Carlos smiled at that, the warmth he felt every time he heard those words from TK rushing through him. With one last squeeze of the hand holding his own, he stepped away, letting TK’s team get in their time. As he reached the corner of the engine he looked back, still feeling the whirlwind of emotions deep in his chest. 

But TK was safe and happy - he couldn’t ask for anything more. So he turned the corner and returned to the task at hand. 

----------

“You know, that call today? It felt good, really good.” 

Carlos looked up from his dinner sharply to see TK idly playing with his, his focus clearly elsewhere. “Please don’t tell me this means you have decided to become a real-life minesweeper, I am going to have some objections to that,” Carlos deadpanned. 

TK laughed lightly, shaking his head, “No, not quite.” 

“Thank god, I don’t think my heart could handle that.” 

TK shook his head fondly at Carlos before his expression grew more pensive, “I didn’t mean the minefield, or even the danger or adrenaline. I meant the saving the boy part. I know I do that all the time as a firefighter, but there’s something different about doing it as a medic. I haven’t had the chance to really do any medical calls since moving to Austin, with the way the department is structured.” 

“You’ve never really talked about it before,” Carlos noted, “I’ve seen you do medical stuff in the field, but before today I didn’t even know you were dual certified.” 

TK shrugged, “It just never really came up, I guess. It’s pretty typical in New York, but their firehouses are structured differently. I guess once I made my peace with being down here I never really thought about it again. It’s not like I could do both the same way I used to.” 

His tone was almost wistful as he turned his gaze down to his plate, but Carlos had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing the food on it. “Sounds like you miss it,” he ventured after a few more moments of silence. 

“Sometimes I do.” 

“So why not go for it?” 

TK looked at him sharply, but Carlos just shrugged, “What? You’ve spent most of the past hour talking about it and you mentioned how the new guy quit and there’s an opening on the paramedic team within your first 10 minutes of showing up tonight. I know you and I know you’re already thinking about it, so why not try it?” 

“Even if I applied, there are so many other candidates. There’s no saying she’d pick me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She knows you and how dedicated you are to your job. She saw you in action today, willing to take the risk that someone else wasn’t in order to save a patient. You did the job well and you did it under insane pressure after months of not doing it. If I were her, I’d be wondering what you’d be capable of on an average day.”  

TK looked startled at the efficient takedown of his doubts, but Carlos just raised an eyebrow, “Next?” 

He would dismantle his boyfriend’s doubts with logic one by one if need be. Whatever it took for him to start believing in himself the way Carlos did. 

“I’d have to leave the team,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be working with them anymore. We’re like a family, I can’t just leave them.” 

Carlos reached across the table to take TK’s hand in his own, “It’s not like you’d be leaving the station,” he reminded him, “you’d still be in the same building and on the same schedule. And they’re not going to feel like you abandoned them, Ty, they’ll still be right there. And right here,” he added with a laugh, gesturing towards his living room, “we’ve fed them, I don’t think we are ever going to get rid of them now.” 

That pulled a smile out of TK, but there was still so much doubt in his eyes that it hurt Carlos to see it. 

“What do you think they would say, if you told them it was something you wanted?” he asked instead, “Do you think they would tell you to forget about it? To stay with them because it was more comfortable?” 

“No,” TK said quickly, “of course they wouldn’t.” 

“So why are you worried about them? They want what’s best for you and they always will. Unless,” he hedged when TK’s expression didn’t clear, “they’re not the ones you’re worried about.” TK pulled his gaze up from the table and Carlos saw all the confirmation in them that he needed, “Your dad?” 

TK nodded, and Carlos sighed. “TK…”

“It would be a big change Carlos,” he said softly. “Except for my probationary period, I have always worked with my dad. I don’t want him to take it personally.” 

“But it is a little personal, isn’t it?” 

He was careful to keep his tone even, non-judgemental and he watched TK closely, waiting for his response. 

“Maybe a little, yeah,” TK admitted. “I feel like this would be a way for me to really see who I am without him right there. It’s not like this is a reaction to him or any news he may have shared recently,” he added hastily, “I would hope I’m past the ‘blowing my life up to piss off my dad’ point, but it is something to consider. And…” 

He trailed off, but Carlos had a feeling he knew what was going to come next, “And you’re worried he might take it personally?” he suggested. 

TK nodded and Carlos sighed and set down his fork, reaching across the table again to pull both of TK’s hands into his own, “Look,” he began, “what’s important is why you’re thinking about this. So, what is it? Why are you thinking about becoming a paramedic?” 

“Because I think I’d love it,” TK said without any hesitation, “because I feel like it’s the best way I can help people.” 

Carlos smiled at him, squeezing the hands in his grasp softly, “Then I think you have your answer. You should do this because it is what you want and because it is right for you. That’s all that matters. Everything else - and everyone else - will fall into place.” 

“And if they don’t?” TK asked softly, and Carlos felt a pang in his heart at the sound of so much doubt in the other man’s voice. 

“They will,” Carlos assured him. “Nothing ever stays the same, remember? And your dad knows that. We all know that. And,” he added, leaning forward in his seat to close some of the distance between them, “I will be here for you, every step of the way. No matter what.”  

The smile TK gave him warmed every inch of his body. They sat in companionable silence for a while, intertwined hands connecting them across the table until TK spoke again. 

“If you really mean that,” he began with a grin, “I could probably use some help with my resume.” 

“Anything for you,” Carlos quipped back, but even as he said the words he squeezed their clasped hands. He meant that, in every way possible. He would be here for resumes and job interviews and everything in between, as long as TK wanted him to be. 

Judging by the way TK met his eyes, and the soft ‘thank you’ that fell from his lips, he had a feeling he felt the same way too. 

[anna-pixie]

padawan -> obi-wan kenobi {part three}

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

hello!! i have written and rewritten this part a lot, and i still can’t decide whether i am completely happy with it, so honest feedback is encouraged!! ty all so much for your love on the last part, i hope you enjoy <3

summary: you and obi-wan head out on another mission, but something has got him in an awful mood (lmk if you guys figure out what his mood is about before the next part!!)

pairings: obi-wan kenobi x reader

warnings: mentions of sex

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

“Y/N, when you said you were serious about your training I expected I would see you there on time each morning.” The familiar lilt of Obi-Wan’s voice jerks you up from your incredibly deep sleep. You wipe away the drool from the corner of your mouth and gaze around your room with bleary eyes. 

There’s nobody there. 

Then a knock sounds from your door and you realise that your Master is too respectful to just barge into your room without permission. 

“Come in, Master.”

You hear the hiss of your door sliding open and smile sheepishly as your favourite bearded face peers around into the unhomely expanse of your room. Unlike the Jedi Masters, padawans weren’t encouraged to decorate their rooms. That’s a privilege earnt through time and experience. You’re thankful that you went to bed wearing a large jumper last night, though as you stretch the material exposes your stomach ever so slightly. 

“I broke my datapad yesterday…” You trail off, knowing that this is the third one you’ve gone through this year, “I didn’t have anything to set an alarm on.” An innocent smile graces your lips as Obi-Wan sighs, sitting next to you on your unmade sheets as he returns it with his own wry grin. 

“Whatever am I going to do with you, Padawan?” You know your Master well enough by now to be able to tell what he is feeling by the tone of his incredibly expressive voice, and thankfully right now he doesn’t seem too annoyed by your lack of care for your datapad. However, you also know that you’re treading on very thin ice, that you’re going to have to start putting a lot more effort in unless you want him to give up on you like everyone else has. 

It’s been a few weeks since you met Ahsoka which gave you the motivation you needed to get back on track. To say it’s been a hard few weeks would be an understatement. You’re up every morning before the light, fighting and learning and meditating with Obi-Wan. The two of you spend a lot of time together alone in the mornings and evenings when most other people in the temple have already retired to bed, but a lot of your time in the day is shared by Anakin - he thinks it is a great idea to train you and Ahsoka together. 

Now that was a kick in the teeth. 

You like Ahsoka, you really do, but it’s so humiliating to be trained alongside someone so much younger than you. Especially in front of the man you’re head over heels in love with. And, as another cherry on top of the cake of your shit life, the senate has been quiet as of late, which means Padme has plenty of free time to come and oversee your training sessions. Keeping an eye on the Jedi Temple, she says, but everyone sees the smiles exchanged between her and her Jedi. It makes you feel queasy. 

How are you supposed to focus on training when your biggest distraction is hanging in front of you everyday?

You have to give it to Obi-Wan, he tries his best to steer you away from the pain caused by seeing Anakin and Padme together. He stands directly in your eyeline when he knows they are near each other, so that you can’t see anything except his smiling face. When Anakin suggests lunch with Ahsoka and Padme, Obi-Wan regretfully informs him of the non-existent prior engagements the two of you have with a sneaky smile your way. 

With all the hardship of the past few weeks, you’re happy with how close it has brought you and your Master. 

“Can we just leave it for today, Master? Please.” You flop back down onto your bed, your eyes remaining on Obi-Wan as you send him your best pleading, doe-eyed look. 

“Sadly, we’ve been called away to war so I’m afraid that isn’t an option. It seems as though this is going to be a long operation. We’re first needed in Umbara, it seems as though General Krell has been executed by the clones. After that we go straight to Mandalore.”

“The clones executed a Jedi General?” Your voice is high as you stand up, heading over to your small closet and quickly rifling through your clothes to find something that would hold up for a few days. 

“It appears that he was a Separitast sympathiser. He turned two clone units against each other, forced them to kill their own.”

Your eyes are wide as Obi-Wan continues to explain the situation awaiting the two of you on Umbara, and your heart clenches as you think about what the Clones must have been gonig through during their time there. You know attachments are forbidden as a Jedi, but you can’t help the close relationships you have formed with some of the soldiers. Captain Rex is like a brother to you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

An hour later, you’re holding onto the bar above you as your ship takes off in the direction of Umbara, Obi-Wan looking more jittery than you’ve ever seen him as he paces around next to you. 

“You okay, Master? You seem shaken up.”

“I’m fine, young one.” He dismisses you with a shake of your head, “Come with me, we may as well get some training in whilst we’re enroute.” He doesn’t say anything else, just turns away and heads out of the bridge with not so much as a glance back to make sure you’re following him.

What on Alderaan is going on with him?

His mood doesn’t let up during training, you’ve never seen him come at you so relentlessly. If it wasn’t for the fact that they knew you so well, the passing clones would probably assume that the two of you were fighting to the death in your training room. 

A cry escapes your mouth as he knocks the saber from your hand, as it clatters to the ground and rolls somewhere you don’t bother to look for, you expect him to stop. However his saber remains active, and he seems to be in a trance of sorts as he swings for you once more, only stopped from making contact with a part of your body when you swing your leg out from beneath you, causing the two of you to fall to the ground with a low grunt from him. His saber falls from his grasp in the same way yours did, and you work on figuring out how to calm him down as his body cages yours into the ground. 

The only noise in the room is the sound of you both breathing heavily, and when your eyes finally look up and meet his again you almost feel as though he has used the force to steal your breath away from you. His blue eyes capture yours, not letting up as his gaze seems to only darken the longer the two of you lay there. 

You can’t help but be reminded of a similar situation you found yourself in with Anakin a while ago, the two of you ended up tangled on the ground after a round of playful sparring. It was all heavy breathing and dark looks and you remember that all you could think was how much you had wanted him to kiss you in that moment.

So why, Maker tell, do you have the exact same feeling now? You thought that your crush on Obi-Wan had been a silly, fleeting thing back when you first began training under him. You didn’t think it would return with a vengeance, your mind silently asking him to lean down further as you struggle to pull your eyes away from his own. When you and Anakin has been in this same situation, you had hoped that he was going to kiss you, so it was humiliating when he finally tore his gaze from yours and pulled himself away from you with an awkward cough. 

You think that Obi-Wan will do the same. Of course he will, he’s the most rule abiding Jedi you’ve ever met. 

That’s why, when you feel his lips being placed softly on yours, you think you’re just hallucinating. It takes your mind a moment to catch up to what is actually occurring, your eyes fluttering shut as he pulls away and then presses his lips to yours with more fervour once he realises that you aren’t going to push him away. 

The hand that almost struck you with his saber minutes before reaches up, holding onto your jaw whilst the other keeps him steady on top of you. He breathes heavily as he kisses you, your breath minging as you savour the feeling. This isn’t your first kiss, you had snuck out to the clubs of Coruscant before and kissed random boys before, but this was different. This was your first kiss since you had fallen in love with Anakin. All those nights you had spent dreaming, hoping, praying that he would be the next person you kiss. Yet here you are, your lips moving feverishly against your Master’s as you thread one of your hands into the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

You must stay like that, basking in the feeling of each other for a good few minutes before a loud bang from the corridor snaps you both out of the spell you had fallen under. Obi-Wan quickly gets up, sticking out his hand to locate his saber, unable to look you in the eye as you slowly rise from your position. Your mouth tingles and your eyes are wide as you stare at the side of Obi-Wan’s head. 

He smooths his hand over his beard and mumbles a quick, “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry, Padawan.” before leaving the room hastily. You flinch at the way he says the word Padawan, like he is reminding you both that what you just did was not only forbidden but also extremely morally wrong. You’ve never been one to care about such trivialities, but Obi-Wan is definitely a fair bit older than you, to say the least. 

As you catch your breath and find your lightsaber, you think to yourself that it’s good that you were interrupted, because if you weren’t then you might’ve been found by a soldier who would’ve reported what he saw back to the council. You ignore the part of you that wishes you would have continued, that thinks of how well your lips worked together and how at home you felt with his body on top of yours. And most of all, you ignore the part of you that wonders if him kissing you had anything to do with his sudden mood change since departing for the trip.

The rest of the journey is slow and quiet, you take some time to meditate and gather your thoughts, knowing you’re in no state to be dealing with anything important right now. A soldier offers you something to eat but you have to decline, with the way your stomach is turning you know you won’t be able to stomach any food. 

Obi-Wan seems to have retired to somewhere quiet on the ship, you don’t see him until you touch down on Umbara. The capital has been captured now, and that is where you will spend the night before heading to Mandalore, however you must first deal with the execution of General Krell at a nearby facility that was taken by the clones. 

You walk silently alongside your Master, an awkward tension in the air that is an extreme change from your usual playful banter and general good moods. As you approach Captain Rex and his troopers, he shoots you an inquisitive look, which you quickly brush off with a whisper that you’ll talk to him later. 

The situation is resolved quickly, you and your Master both know you can take Rex’s word for the events that transpired, and you make sure Krell’s body is properly taken care of. 

“We’ve only got one spare speeder on us, General, so Y/N will have to ride with one of the boys.” Are Captain Rex’s departing words before his gunship takes off towards the capital, leaving you, Obi-Wan and a few more troopers to travel back via speeder. 

“You can ride with me, Y/N.” A clone who is about to depart shouts over to you, though your attempt to walk in his direction is thwarted by a sudden, harsh grip on your forearm. You turn quickly, shocked to see Obi-Wan shake his head, gesturing over to his own speeder instead. 

“She’ll ride with me.” 

The trooper offers no argument, simply saluting the two of you before speeding off towards the capital with a trail of dust in his wake. 

You notice that Obi-Wan still hasn’t directly addressed you since the incident on the ship, so you stay quiet whilst climbing onto the speeder, waiting for him to say something. A squeak leaves your mouth when you’re pushed forward, Obi-Wan’s large body enveloping you from behind as he reaches past you to grab hold of the handles, and you’re off before you can even think about what is going on.

“We need to talk when we get back.”

Are the first words spoken to you, and the last, because he quickly falls silent. Though, you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you when his chin rests on your shoulder, his beard scratching your cheek oh so slightly. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dinner in Umbara is a quick affair, you scoff down what you can, not talking as much as usual due to your preoccupied mind. Obi-Wan disappeared after you both briefed Master Windu who is still back at the temple, and you wonder if he is off meditating somewhere, trying to reconcile for the ‘mistake’ that the two of you made. 

You’ve been fighting your own inner turmoil about the situation since it happened earlier that day. Once you finish your food, you retire back to the uncomfortable bed in a tiny room at the top of the large building, assuming that Obi-Wan has decided to forgo the conversation and ignore you altogether. 

As you lie on the hard metal, your mind wanders over the past few months. You wonder how Anakin would react if he knew you and Obi-Wan had kissed. Would he be angry? Jealous? Happy? Deep down you know you would want him to be jealous, you would want him to be angry at the thought of any other man having you in the way that he wants you. 

But he doesn’t want you in that way, you remind yourself. Does Obi-Wan even want you in that way? You know he is a well revered man, and nobody can deny how good looking he is. If he really was looking for a romantic, or even just sexual, connection he could probably find that anywhere - why would he get that from plain old you?

A pang of sadness hits your gut as you think about him regretting the kiss, returning to Coruscant and finding another girl that he would rather betray the Jedi code in order to be with. And with wide eyes and a whisper of ‘oh no’, you realise that this is exactly how you felt when your feelings for Anakin started growing stronger. Just what did that kiss stir within you, surely your years old feelings for your Master haven’t suddenly resurfaced, right?

A knock on your door startles you, that deep in thought you hadn’t heard anyone approaching your rather isolated room. 

“Y/N?” It’s Obi-Wan. 

“You can come in, it’s open.

He slides the door open, his actions sheepish and small and not at all like the overly confident man he usually is. It pains you to see him like this, stumbling and second guessing everything he does. 

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked when you’re not on Coruscant, anything could wander in.”

“Sorry, Master.” You’ve shuffled to the edge of the bed now, Obi-Wan sitting beside you, mirroring the exact position you were in when he woke you up this morning. Before everything turned into a mess. 

“I… I’m so sorry, Padawan. I abused my position as your Master and I never should’ve even thought about doing something like that with you. Especially after you confided in me about your feelings for Anakin, I don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage of your vulnerability.” His voice is so shaky that you barely recognise it, and a wave of sadness hits you when you realise that he must’ve been carrying this burden of guilt around with him all day. 

“Obi-Wan, it’s fine. You didn’t force yourself on me, I was completely on board when it happened, in fact I quite enjoyed it. I know it was wrong, against the code or whatever, but I won’t tell anybody. Please don’t feel guilty.” You make sure he keeps his eyes on you, a delicate touch on his cheek to keep him faced your way. A sigh emits from his mouth and your heart swells in your chest when he leans his head into your hand, seeking your comfort. 

“I’m tired, Y/N. This war, I’m beginning to feel it’s toll.”

“There’s no shame in admitting you need a break, Master, but it’s not just tiredness that is eating at you right now. I know you, there’s something else going on. You can tell me. Is it something to do with Umbara, Mandalore, anything?”

“Thank you for your concern, Padawan, I’m quite alright.”

“Don’t do that, Obi-Wan.” Your voice wavers this time, “Don’t use that title as a way to brush me off. Yes, I’m your Padawan, but I hope that by now I’m also your friend.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to have friends, Y/N.”

You scoff, removing your hand from his face as you turn away from him, not wanting to look at him as he lies to you. 

“I was always jealous of him, you know.” He speaks again, after a few minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence. 

“Of who?”

“Anakin.”

You turn back, your interest peaked as he looks at you. You swallow, a blush coating your cheeks as you note that his eyes are as dark as they were before. Before he kissed you. 

“What reason could you possibly have had for being jealous of him? Oh, Maker, don’t tell me you’re in love with Senator Amidala.”

He chuckles, “No, little one, I was jealous of him because he always seemed to have your attention when he cared so little for you. I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at him.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

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[angel-tries-to-write]

No Control (epilogue)

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Rating: General Pairing: Arno Dorian x fem!reader Word count: 1005 Genre: fluff

A little epilogue set after "Dead Kings DLC".

A few years have passed, you were back in Paris, standing in front of the desk at Assassin's headquarters, leaning heavily onto it and thinking about the next plans. Since you worked as the council's personal assistant, you had to be prepared for every meeting. That meant unfortunately more job and less free time, which was actually a good thing. You haven't heard a word from Arno, no one knew where exactly he was and you didn't have the time to look for him yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Arno was climbing the stairs in the Assassin's Den just the moment you thought about him. He snuck there unseen by anyone, since there was actually no one. Everyone was busy somewhere else, so the entrance and the path to council's room was rather clear. Therefore, the former assassin used everything he had to sneak into the headquarters of the Brotherhood.

“(Y/n)” he called you softly and you jumped, startled and surprised. You were so busy with your work, that you didn't even hear him coming. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you” he gave you a weak smile.

“It is fine, I just did not expect anyone” you said, moving your notes and plans aside. “Come in.”

“I brought you something” Arno approached you and put the sword he was carrying on the desk.

“Is that...”

“The Piece of Eden. Yes. I have found it” he nodded and took his hood off. You could see he didn't look well. He was paler than usual and he had certainly lost some weight, but you were sure he used to look way worse.

“What happened?” you asked, taking his hand. He looked at you with extremely sad eyes. You pulled him lightly towards you and he came closer, lifted you by your hips and sat you on the desk. Then he leaned into a comfortable hug, his head on your shoulder, arms tightly entwined around your chest. You could tell he needed someone's closeness.

“Élise is dead. I failed to save her” he said quietly and you got breathless for a moment. Élise meant the world to him, no wonder he looked this bad. “She didn't listen to me and let Germain kill her. She was blinded by vengeance.”

“I am so sorry” you whispered, caressing his hair and back. You wanted to take some of his pain and help him somehow.

“I wanted to leave France forever, I thought I have nothing left, with her gone. Then some things have happened and I realized I have so much work to do. I need to make sure no one will end up like Élise. I decided to go back and try again to become the Assassin” he pulled away from you to look into your eyes. You gently wiped tears from his cheek, he did the same for you.

“I will speak to the council. They all agree that you are too valuable for us to simply let you go. When they hear that you understood our true mission, I am sure you will be welcomed back” you said, smiling warmly.

“That would be nice.”

“I missed you, Arno” you whispered after a moment of silence.

“I missed you too. I even thought... maybe the world without Élise isn't as terrible as I always thought. Maybe there is hope for me... for us?” he looked at you sheepishly.

“Oh, Arno” you smiled, deeply moved. “I have never stopped waiting for you, if this is what you ask.”

“Then you may stop now. I want to try to move on.”

“That is wonderful. Because I am also ready to move on” you said with a wide smile.

“What do you mean?” he asked and you started undoing your clothes. “Uhhh... are you sure I shall see this?”

“Like you haven't seen already” you smirked. Finally you managed to loose your clothes enough to expose skin. “Here” you said, showing the man your stomach.

“I don't see anything.”

“Lower.”

“Still nothing.”

“Exactly.”

“Wha- wait, you had a nasty scar there, if I remember correctly?” he finally realized what you were trying to tell him.

“Yes, I had” you laughed, fixing your clothes. “I have been quite busy since our last meeting. My mission turned out to be really fast, so I did not come back to Paris right away. I went to Masyaf, the old Assassin's fortress-”

“I know, I did my history homework” Arno interrupted you, only slightly annoyed.

“Sorry. So I went to Masyaf with the help of Turkish Brotherhood. I got access to the Apple of Eden that belonged once to great master assassin Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. I used it to heal my wound. I just wanted to get rid of the pain, but when I undressed to take a bath, I have found out that the scar was gone. And nothing hurt since then. I can finally live and use my full potential. So I spent the time mastering the things I wasn't capable of earlier” you explained.

“How about... the other stuff? I mean, how deeply did it heal you?” he asked hesitantly.

“I assume the missing part is still missing, so getting pregnant is still difficult. But at least it shouldn't kill me.”

“Good thing I already adopted a kid. Though it was more like he adopted me.”

“You adopted a kid? How did that even happen?” you raised your eyebrows with disbelief.

“It's a long and complicated story. But his name is Léon, I brought him to Paris and he wants to be an assassin, so you will meet him soon.”

“You are the most incredible man I have ever met” you smiled, looking at him with shining eyes.

“You are pretty awesome yourself” he answered, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Shut up and kiss me already” you pulled him by his collar and he gladly obeyed. You had waited way too long to do that, yet you knew it was worth it. You had a whole new future ahead.

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Come and Lay the Roses 29- No Room For Innocence- [Ivar x OC]

Summary: Aaline witnesses a blood eagle.

Characters: Ivar x OC, Bjorn x Torvi, Ubbe x Margrethe, Hvitserk x Thora, Sigurd x OC, Ragnar, Lagertha 

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, sex, torture, language, mentions of rape/sexual assault

Word Count: 2544

Ch. 28

AN: I’d like to apologize for how long it’s taken me to update. I have no excuses. All I can say is life. 

It took me a while to get the blood eagle scene done. I wasn’t sure how I wanted that to look for a while. I think it turned out okay. I listened to Heimta Thurs by Wardruna the whole time I wrote it to put me in the right head space. 

I’d like to thank everyone who’s stuck with me for this long. I sincerely appreciate you.

“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.” ~ Samuel Johnson

Aaline heaved as her body expelled what little she’d eaten that day. Her stomach had been in knots all day and it finally rebelled against her. She heaved again as a timid knock sounded on the door. “What?” she croaked. 

Torvi pushed the door open with care and peeked around the frame. She winced when Aaline gagged again, nothing coming up except bile and saliva. 

She pushed her way into the room and shut the door behind her, turning the lock and leaning against it. “Are you alright?” She asked. 

Aaline rolled her eyes up to her sister-in-law and bit back the snarky comment she so badly wanted to express. She clenched her eyes shut as her stomach seized but was thankful when nothing came up. 

“I’m fine.”

“I vomited when I saw my first blood eagle.” Torvi shared. Aaline slowly sat back, her hands still clutching the rim of the toilet. Her nausea had dissipated but her stomach still felt weak. 

“I hid behind the shed. I swore everything I’d eaten in the last week came out of me that night.” Aaline turned her head and stared at Torvi. She had a faraway look in her eyes and a sad smile on her face. 

“Did you love him?” Aaline asked. She remembered that Björn was Torvi's third husband and that her first had been blood eagled by Ragnar after he tried to kill Aslaug and their children. Ivar hadn’t even been born yet and Björn was just a teenager. 

Torvi blinked and turned her head. She smiled fully at Aaline and shook her head. “No. I thought I did but I was young. I didn’t know what love was. The love I had for him was one of companionship and youth. I did not love him like a wife should.”

Aaline nodded, processing. “And you married the son of his executioner.” She looked up when Torvi laughed. 

“I didn’t blame Björn. I didn’t even blame Ragnar. I was angry, yes, but my husband broke our laws, committed crimes. He was going to die no matter what.” Torvi shrugged and stepped deeper into the bathroom.

“Ivar will understand if you are unwell. This is a difficult experience.” Aaline shook her head. 

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve been feeling under the weather for the last few days. It’s probably just a stomach bug.” Aaline made to stand. Torvi helped her up and studied her closely. Aaline closed the lid of the toilet and flushed, wincing at the reminder of her episode. 

“How long have you been feeling poorly?” Torvi asked. Aaline shrugged, washing her hands. 

“I’m not sure. A few days at least.”

“Just nausea or something else?” Aaline sighed and dried her hands, trying to be patient. 

“Mostly nausea. A few headaches,  some stomach cramps. I’m tired all the time. Really, Torvi, I’m fine. It’s just a stomach bug.” 

She tossed the towel down onto the counter and pulled the door open. “Can we please go? Ivar’s supposed to help me get ready.” Torvi looked at her, her gaze skeptical. She nodded once and preceded Aaline out of the bathroom. Aaline shook her head at Torvi’s behavior and followed her, closing the door behind her.

.

“It’s a preposterous plan. I don’t even know how you talked me into it.” 

“It’s because you know I’m right.” 

Ecbert looked up with sharp eyes at the young woman before him. She held her head high and carried an air of superiority around her. Ecbert didn’t know if she was stupid or just insane. Perhaps a bit of both. 

Ecbert himself wondered where his own sanity had gone to consider this plan. It wasn’t even a good one and he truly didn’t even know its purpose. 

 “I don’t see how this plan will weaken Ragnar.”

The woman scoffed and he narrowed his eyes. “Ivar will go mad with grief and anger. Ragnar won’t be able to control him thus losing control of his men. He’ll be overthrown and you’ll be able to swoop in and take control of his empire.”

The plan was shaky at best. It all hinged on a small group of men being able to go unnoticed by Ragnar Lothbrok’s very observant sons. Even then they weren’t guaranteed a win right away. The women before him needed to stay out of it personally and Ecbert wasn’t sure if she was capable. 

“You remember what we discussed.” He said. 

She narrowed her eyes and sat up straighter almost like she was trying to look intimidating. “I remember.” 

Ecbert arched one perfect brow and waited, hoping she’d take his cue. She did and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not to approach anyone in the Lothbrok family.” She admitted through clenched teeth. 

Ecbert sat back only marginally satisfied. 

“Good.” He waved a hand at her, dismissing her and she rose with anger. Ecbert didn’t flinch when she slammed through the double doors. He was too engrossed in calculating everything that could go wrong with their plan.

.

It was late, almost midnight and Ivar was helping Aaline into the traditional white outfit worn during a blood eagle. Aaline knew very little about the traditions involved in a ritualistic murder. She knew it was a big deal. Their family was taking revenge on the man who murdered Sigurd. 

The blood eagle was a sacrifice to Odin. Aelle would serve as both a warning and a blessing. His death would bless their retribution, keeping them safe from further harm. It would also warn others intent on wronging them. His death would tell them what would happen to anyone who tried to take them down.

White was worn to show the blood that was spilled. It was expected for blood to transfer on all spectators and it would symbolize the blessing that Odin brought upon them.

Traditionally, it was expected that the victim remain silent less they be barred entrance into Valhalla. Björn had talked long about how Jarl Borg had taken the whole of his punishment in silence, never making a sound as Ragnar killed him. 

She could see the respect shining clearly in Björn’s eyes. Even though Jarl Borg had tried to murder his brothers and step-mother, Björn had admiration for the man. Aaline was eager to understand why.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up. Hvitserk opened the door and nodded once, pushing it further open and leaving them again. It was time.

Ivar settled his hands on her shoulders and stepped around to face her. “It’s not going to be pretty.” She rolled her eyes and looked away but he caught her chin between his fingers and pulled her back to look at him.

“There’s going to be blood, lots of it. He’ll scream and he’ll cry and there’ll be piss and shit along with the blood. Do you think you can handle that?” Ivar’s voice was soft when he spoke but she could hear the hard edge. He still wanted her to back out. He wanted her to sit up here in their room alone while the rest of the family witnessed the execution of the man responsible for their pain. 

She wrapped her hand around Ivar’s wrist and gently pushed it away. “I think you forget who you’re married to.” She said. 

She stepped around him and headed towards the door, turning at the frame to look over her shoulder at him. He was staring at her, his face unreadable. She cocked an eyebrow. He shook his head and followed her out the door.

As they descended the stairs, the light grew dimmer. The shadows on the wall danced. The smell of incense was heavy in the air. A heavy bass resounded in the air and chains rattled against the stone.

 When they turned the final corner into the room, Aaline allowed herself to take in the scene. Ragnar stood in the center of the room on a raised platform. His back was to them and his shoulders flexed as he worked with something on the table before him. Behind him, standing shoulder width apart, were two identical wooden posts with half circle brackets at the top. 

Ivar cupped her elbow and steered her towards the rest of his siblings. The brothers and their wives were standing in a semi-circle around Sibylle whose eyes were glassy.  Aaline didn’t know if it was her tears or the drugs that gave her the appearance. 

Ivar stopped beside Hvitserk and nodded, folding his hands in front of him as they waited. Aaline surveyed the room. Lagertha stood just behind the table that Ragnar was working at. Rollo and Floki stood across from them, Helga next to Floki. Several of Ragnar’s men filled the rest of the room. She and Ivar were the last to arrive.

Ragnar turned to Rollo and Floki and nodded once. The two men retreated behind a door behind Lagertha. The drum beat held steady. 

Rollo and Floki returned with Aelle bound between them. A gag was tied tight in his mouth and his wrists and ankles were hogtied. He was naked from the waist up. Rollo and Floki stepped onto the platform and shoved Aelle to his knees between the wooden posts. 

She couldn’t hear what he was saying to them but Aaline could see his mouth trying to move around the gag. Rollo and Floki ignored him as they tied his wrists to the posts beside him. Tears poured down his face and she felt more than heard Ivar chuckle behind her.

The fires surrounding them were hot and the incense made her drowsy. She felt like she was outside of herself, watching the movement around her with detachment. She hardly felt Ivar’s hands on her shoulders.   

Ragnar turned then to the trembling Aelle and scanned the line of his back with clinical apathy. He placed a hand on Aelle’s shoulder and the man startled. Ragnar stilled him with strong fingers pressed deep into the meat of his shoulder. Ragnar bent low and settled his face next to Aelle’s. 

Aelle’s screams were drowned out by the thumping of the drums and the crackling of the fire. Blood pooled around his knees as Ragnar drew the blade up the center of his back. Ivar’s fingers tightened on her shoulders.

Her eyes were glued to the scene before her. She felt entranced by Ragnar’s work. Ivar brought his chin down to her shoulder and watched with her.

Ragnar drew the knife quickly across Aelle’s shoulders and back, pulling the skin back from the bones. Blood sailed through the air, spattering the spectators with warm drops. 

Aaline inhaled sharply and the scent of copper filled her sinuses. Ivar’s hands trailed down her arms and to her hands. He knotted their fingers together as more blood sliced through the air and painted their faces. 

Ragnar soon replaced his blade with an axe, the blade winking in the firelight. Aelle’s screams had died as shock set in. He wasn’t dead yet. Aaline could see his chest heaving up and down. Blood dripped down his arms and sides as Ragnar moved his flesh as he pleased. 

With a flash, the axe came down and separated ribs from spine. The sound of breaking bone reverberated through the air, over taking the drums. Ragnar hacked at the bones, sending blood flinging through the air. Aaline could feel it settled on her cheeks and fought back the urge to lick her lips.

Ivar did no such thing, leaning close and licking a long stripe up the side of her face, humming at the metallic taste that coated his tongue. Aaline shivered as his breath ghosted over her ear. “I can’t wait to lick his blood off you.” He nipped sharply at her earlobe and she shivered. He was hard as steel against the small of her back.

With his ribs now spread wide away from his body, Aelle died. Aaline watched as Ragnar finished the ritual, slipping his hands inside Aelle’s chest from behind and pulling his lungs from within. He settled the useless organs across Aelle’s still shoulders and stepped back.

He was covered in blood. His bare feet were sticky with it as he stepped around to Aelle’s front. His hands were stained crimson as he, almost reverently, pushed Aelle’s hair back off his forehead. His face and beard were saturated in the life giving fluid as he gazed down at the man who ordered his son dead. 

When Ragnar’s head came up, Rollo and Floki got to work. 

Aelle was to be placed on display outside of Ecbert’s home. He was to serve as a warning to the rest of the Saxons.

Once Rollo and Floki began cutting down Aelle, the rest of the spectators began making their way out of the ceremony room. A bonfire was lit in the backyard and they were to spend the rest of the night celebrating Aelle’s demise and Sigurd’s life. 

Aaline was confident she and Ivar wouldn’t make it to the bonfire. 

Ivar tugged her back the way they’d come with insistent hands. She allowed him to lead her away, her mind still preoccupied with the blood eagle.

As soon as Ivar had their bedroom door shut, she was pressed face first against the wood of the door. She gasped and smacked her palms against the door. 

Ivar already had his hands under her dress and his fingers inside her panties. His groan vibrated against her back and she shuddered when he immediately sank two thick fingers inside her. “You’re soaked.” He whispered brokenly against her ear. 

She moaned and arched her back, pulling his fingers deeper and feeling him hard against her ass. 

“Did it turn you on? Watching a man die?” He rocked his fingers inside of her, pressing his palm against her clit. She pressed her forehead to the door, pressing back against him. She needed more. More pressure, more fingers, more friction. Just more. 

“More.” She moaned. Ivar cursed and withdrew his fingers. She felt him fumbling behind her. Before she had time to take a breath, he was sheathed to the hilt inside her. She yelped, her muscles stretching to accommodate him. 

The sting between her legs quickly subsided when he started moving. His fingers returned between her legs and circled her clit in quick, firm circles. Her knees buckled but he wrapped an arm around her waist and kept them upright. 

Ivar groaned against her neck before sinking his teeth hard into the muscle of her shoulder. Her pussy clenched around him and he groaned, the vibrations against her skin sending goosebumps down her back. 

Her whole body vibrated and her knees began to shake as her orgasm crested inside her. Ivar circled her clit twice more and her orgasm washed over her. She shook against him, her internal muscles squeezing him tight. He wrapped a hand around her throat and grunted, his cock twitching inside her. 

She sagged against the door, her heart pounding and her knees like jello. Ivar licked the side of her neck, moaning at the taste of sweat and blood.

Tags: @dreamlesswonder @youbloodymadgenius  @inforapound  @bcarolinablr @funmadnessandbadassvikings @feyrearcheron-nightcourt @londongal2810 @khiraeth @didiintheblog @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @kingniazx@revolution-starter @jay-bel

[kbstories]

noodle soup (a little KRBK sick fic)

The squad thought they knew their beloved Blasty was a bit of a feral-type mom friend… until Kirishima got sick from one day to the next, and they witnessed the full extent of how overbearing a worried Bakugou can be. At first Kirishima plays up the whining because, well, he’s sick and that sucks, and hogging Bakugou’s attention is nice and makes everything suck less.

It’s a tactical mistake.

Suddenly, absolutely nobody is allowed close to Kirishima ("Or d’ya fools wanna get sick too, hah?!"). Kirishima’s room becomes a biohazard zone guarded by 1-A’s very own Dynamight akin to Cerberus at the gates of hell.

The thing is: Kirishima is still allowed to do everything he wants. He gets away with demanding hugs (even if Bakugou pointedly leans his masked face away when they snuggle up), or marathon his favorite TV series Bakugou insists actively kills braincells. When Kirishima wakes up coughing and groaning miserably, Bakugou is there to force some cold medicine on him as well as the home-made broth that happens to have those noodle letters Kirishima not-so-secretly finds delightful.

It’s fun until it gets a little claustrophobic. Kirishima is used to working out daily, and hanging out with most of 1-A in some shape or form throughout the week. Being locked in his room is making him antsy in a way that even the virus wreaking havoc on his body can’t dispel.

"Bakuuu", goes Kirishima on day three. "You know I love you, right bro? And that hanging out for all eternity is like, manly as hell—"

Bakugou’s eyes narrow over his mask. He aggressively folds a wet towel and shoves it — deceptively gentle — against Kirishima’s brow. "But?"

"I miss the others, dude! Have you seen Denks blowing up the group chat? This is giving him separation anxiety and stuff."

"Sparks isn’t a fucking dog, he can deal."

"And what about Mina? She needs our combined intel or her gossip operation will suffer!"

"Gossip?! I don’t gossip, you do."

"Fine but like, Sero—"

"Just say you’re tired of me and go!"

Only when Bakugou yells those words does Kirishima realize he’s been actually keeping his voice down when around him. And sure, Kirishima’s aching head had appreciated that — the volume is all the more jarring now.

"Huh?!"

With a glare, Bakugou puts pressure on the towel until Kirishima gets the memo and holds it himself, watching the other get to his feet and start to pace.

"Or— Fucking don’t, your stupid ass is still sick. I’m going. You stay in that bed, Kirishima Eijirou, or so help me—"

Kirishima sputters, "But, dude! I meant like, letting the squad in, not— I wouldn’t get tired of you, I don’t think I can."

"Save it", hisses Bakugou, whirling around on his way out. "Fuck you! And there’s lunch in your mini fridge!"

Then he’s gone.

Continuing to dutifully hold the towel to his too-hot face, Kirishima gapes at his closed door. It takes him a good minute or two to one-handedly text the others not to cross Bakugou’s path.

Then he sits in the sudden silence and misses his best friend.

*

Bakugou stays away for the duration of Kirishima’s sick leave.

It’s a little dramatic, admittedly, especially because (a) they live next to each other, and (b) food seems to magically appear at Kirishima’s doorstep for every meal. His bro is sneaky when he wants to be, though, so Kirishima knows it’s pointless to try and catch him in the act, or even attempt an apology.

(That doesn’t stop him from doing it anyways or from hoping he’ll succeed, of course.)

Guilt keeps Kirishima from using his new-found freedom for anything other than watching TV, finding the comfort lacking even from episodes he knows by heart.

By the time he’s back on his feet, Kirishima has a plan to hunt down the ever-elusive Bakugou and clear things up. And by 'plan' he totally means camping out in front of Bakugou’s room until he shows up. So what if Kirishima is feeling a bit wobbly from residue sickness? He’s a man on a mission, and once Kirishima has made up his mind about something, there is no turning back.

Even when the Bakugou that finally shows up around midnight is looking about as exhausted as he feels. Leaving the fact aside that it’s hours past Bakugou’s bedtime, he looks… weirdly subdued. In actuality, he doesn’t even seem to realize that Kirishima is on the floor, back against Bakugou’s door, until Kirishima pipes up with an uncertain:

"Bakubro?"

Bakugou damn-near startles, blinking and letting his gaze roam until it falls on him. The immediate frown that follows makes Kirishima wince. Yup, alright, Bakugou is still pissed.

"The fuck d’you want?" asks Bakugou in the same moment Kirishima offers, "You good, man?"

Another awkward moment of staring. Kirishima gets up to level the playing field a bit, the elaborate speech he’d thought up blown away by how hazy Bakugou’s eyes are. Oh no.

"You look a bit pale there, Kats. Sure you’re feeling alright?"

"Fine", comes the predictable reply. Bakugou shoves Kirishima aside with half the force he usually would and okay, uncharted territory here.

Because Bakugou definitely caught the virus from Kirishima.

"How about we, dunno, skip the part where you pretend I didn’t manage to get you sick and you let me help you out too?"

There’s hope in Kirishima’s voice. In retaliation, Bakugou’s glare is double as venomous (even if his flushed cheeks maintain a certain softness there too).

"How about you go hang out with the rest of the idiots and leave me alone?"

Yikes. Kirishima shuffles on the spot a little, "You didn’t deny it, though", wanting to reach out but kind of enjoying having un-exploded limbs, as well.

"Kirishima."

Hrghh, definitely still hurt, too. Kirishima whines and leans against the frame of Bakugou’s door, not standing in his way but not letting him go without a fight, either.

"I’m sorry, bro, seriously, I am! I didn’t mean to complain when you were working so hard. Didn’t mean to sound like I don’t appreciate you having my back, either, but I did and just… Couldn’t ask for a better friend, y’know? You being all overprotective about me and stuff, I’m really honored!"

"Kirishima", Bakugou grits out.

Kirishima grins. "Just tellin' the truth."

Huffing out, "I’ll show you truth", Bakugou scowls at this own threat. Probably not murder-y enough. "Whatever. You done? I’m fuckin’ beat."

The worry in Kirishima’s heart returns with a vengeance. Bakugou, openly admitting he’s tired? He must be feeling pretty bad already.

"Okay, yeah, I’m letting you sleep. Just— Lemme get you some of those pills before you do? And like. I’m totally bringing you breakfast in bed, Kats, just a heads-up!"

That gets a scoff out of Bakugou, undeniably amused. "Do me a favor and don’t burn anything, will ya?"

Kirishima beams at the unspoken go-ahead, saluting before rushing to grab the meds Bakugou got him not too long ago. There’s no way he won’t ace this rare chance of taking care of Bakugou.

He learned from the best, after all.

[emilia3546]

Shadowsinger Part 10 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

*****

Rhysand hadn't found anything new, he still had a long list of who might try something this drastic, but it would take far too long to search every place they could be. Feyre hadn't found anything in Cassian and Nesta's room either. Gwyn paced around Azriel's room once more, surely there was something they'd missed. Something moved in the corner of the room, and Gwyn froze,

"Rhysand," she muttered, "Something moved." Before he had even turned around from the corridor, the darkness moved again, and something shot towards her. She almost screamed, but something stopped her, it wasn't that darkness of before, no, this was a shadow. "Where is he?" She whispered, and the shadow swirled around her feet, nothing. 

"Is that one of his?" Gwyn nodded,

"It must have gotten scared and hidden." She held a hand out for the shadow and it swirled up her arm to rest on her shoulder. "It's okay," she muttered, "We'll find him." Rhysand narrowed his eyes,

"I've never seen them leave his side, ever. They hide, but with him, never away from him." Gwyn shrugged, not quite noticing the way Rhysand stared after her as she followed the shadow out of the room. 

"Where is he?" She repeated, and the shadow only pressed closer to her, "Do you know where he is?" The shadow fluttered again, "Okay, left hand for yes, right hand for no. Do you know where he is?" The shadow  flickered between both hands, "You're not certain?" Left hand. "Can you find him?" Left hand. "He's alive?" Left hand. "Did you get scared and hide?" Right hand. "Are you still here on his orders?" Left hand. "To tell us where he is?" Right hand. "To help us when we go and fetch him?" Right hand. "To protect something?" Left hand. "Me?" Left hand. Gwyn couldn't stop the tears from forming, even as Rhysand stepped out of Azriel's room. He stopped moving at the sight of her tears, and stepped towards her, but stayed a couple of steps away from her,

"Gwyn." She met his eyes, saw the concern shining there, but concern for her, not for his missing family, "We're going to find them, we are." Gwyn nodded,

"I know. I, the shadow, it says its here to protect me, it says that Az made it stay for me." She rubbed her eyes with the back of a hand,

"You talked to it?" She nodded,

"Sort of. I can't understand it, but it understands me, it's going to my left hand for yes, and my right hand for no." Rhysand sat onto a chair across from her,

"Does it know where they are?"

"No, but it thinks it can find them, Az at least." The shadow had fallen still, and remained that way for about and hour while Rhysand and Feyre collected Azriel and Cassian's notes on Illyria, and tried to narrow down who could have taken them.

"This will take too long, anything from the shadow?" He called from another room

"Not yet. Perhaps a map." Rhysand reappeared with one moments later, and the shadow immediately swirled around a spot on the map,

"That's still a big area, can it be any more precise?" The shadow raced to Gwyn's right hand, and she shook her head, "That does narrow it down, though, there's two camp lords who hold sway over that area, and a few other minor lords, but only three who openly oppose us." Gwyn nodded, 

"Az's spies?"

"He pulled them out a few days ago, we had reason to believe that they were compromised." Shit.

"So we have no way of finding where they are? Can't we send someone else in?"

"Perhaps, Nuala and Cerridwen might be able to get in, but they'll be obvious as not belonging there if anyone sees them. I don't want to risk whoever it is getting spooked and doing anything rash."

"You mean killing them early."

"Yes."

"Don't sugarcoat it." She snapped, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh shit, she'd just snapped at her High Lord, "I'm sorr-" Rhysand laughed, actually laughed,

"Relax, Gwyn, don't tell Feyre I admitted this, but I do need someone to snap at me occasionally." Gwyn stared at him in disbelief, forgetting her worries, her tears drying up, Are you okay to come back to the River House, we need to tell the others. Gwyn nodded, and squeezed her eyes shut when Rhysand winnowed them away.

*****

Azriel spat in the male's face, his brother just let out a course laugh,

"Aw, does baby bastard not like it? Oh well." He strained against the chains, but with the enchantments, his strength wasn't enough, and he slumped back into the chair. "Now, talk to me, dear brother, how do you talk to them?" He jerked his head towards the shadows, still swirling around the magic binding them, desperately trying to reach him,

"In the common tongue." Azriel's head snapped to the side as a heavy fist slammed into his jaw, he shook his head, blinking to recover,

"You're familiar with this situation, don't make me take this further."

"Then don't take it further." Azriel met his gaze, the eyes that were so like his own, but filled with coldness, cruelty.

"How do you talk to the shadows?"

"In the common tongue. Are you stupid?" Another blow. At this rate, he'd be lucky to go one day without a broken jaw.

"Don't fuck with me, my patience is not endless."

"I'd say it's non existent, but that's a long word for you." Anger simmered in the male's gaze,

"Why do they talk to you?"

"Now that is an entirely different question. They talk to me because I'm a shadowsinger." His brother rolled his eyes,

"I know that. How did you become a shadowsinger?" Azriel shrugged, "How can I become one?" Azriel laughed again,

"You can't, either you are or you aren't."

"I need it, you don't understand." 

"Try me." The male stepped back,

"You're just as useless as you've always been. I need that edge in the coming battles, we're going to claim our birthright as ruling family, even without father, it's my birthright, I will be camp lord, even without your help." Azriel smirked again,

"You sure about that?" His brother surged forwards, and slammed his fist into Azriel's nose, bone crumpling under his fist, making tears spring to his eyes, even as Azriel tried to blink them away,

"Shut up! You have no idea what you're meddling in, bastard, none of you do. You will tell me how you gained mastery over them." Azriel shrugged, ignoring his broken nose, bruised jaw, and numerous cracked ribs,

"I don't think so."

"You will. Or it won't be you getting hurt next time." With that his brother walked out, leaving Azriel alone in the darkness, but the moment he left, the restrictions on his shadows lifted, leaving them free to rush back to his side,

Azriel!

I'm fine. Don't worry.

Our sister says she can feel us, she knows where we are, and she's shown the High Lord. Hold on.

Gwyn?

Safe. She's safe, worried, but safe.

Gwyn was safe. It didn't matter then, so long as he got Cassian and Nesta out, nothing else mattered. The shadows swirled around him, guarding him as he tried to make out anything of the dungeons around him. They were still with him when he passed out.

*****

Rhysand had marked out all potential places where prisoners could be held in the area Gwyn's shadow had indicated, too many. Even discounting those that could never hold powerful fae, there were too many. Gwyn stared at the map,

"Any hunches?" Rhysand asked,

"Why would I have a hunch?" He shrugged,

"You found the rooms first, any hunch is better than nothing." Gwyn ran her hand across the map, her bracelet glowing brighter when she moved her hand to the left. She blinked and moved her hand to Windhaven, to Emerie, the bracelet shone bright. 

"I can find Nesta." She breathed, returning to the marked points. The room held its breath as she checked each one, nothing. Feyre squeezed her other hand,

"There might be some sort of shield." Gwyn nodded, or Nesta could be dead. No, she couldn't be. She turned to face Feyre, Mor and Amren sitting silently behind her,

"What happens if we can't find them?"

"We will."

"What if we can't?" She leaned back on the map,

"I've considered it." Rhysand rubbed his face, "Worst case, we can't find them and, you know, best case, we can't find them, but we work something out to keep them alive. In a few days, if we still have nothing, I'll call a meeting, figure out who's most excited at the prospect of modifying the laws, and we can go from there." Gwyn nodded, at least someone had considered it. She closed her eyes, Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. Almost of its own volition, her hand moved across the map, falling still on an unmarked keep, but the bracelet shone bright as the sun.

"What is that?" She muttered, the shadow leapt up from where it had settled on her shoulder, racing around that spot on the map,

"Abandoned is what it is." Mor muttered, standing up to see where she was pointing, "It was Azriel's father's keep, but he died in the war, his legitimate sons moved out afterwards."

"So no-one would think anyone was there?"

"Perhaps." Mor mused, "We can easily get Nuala and Cerridwen to check if its still empty. We'll know by tomorrow." Rhysand nodded,

"Okay, let's do it. We're going to find them, Gwyn. Thank you." Gwyn offered him a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, all she could do now was wait.

Even reading was too difficult with her mind occupied with worries,

"Hey," Mor flopped onto the couch across from her, "They're gonna be okay,"

"Yeah." 

"Here, I thought you might want this." Mor handed her a leather jacket, Illyrian fighting leathers, covered in Azriel's scent. "He's always kept a spare set at the townhouse."

"Thank you." Mor squeezed her hand, 

"Nuala will find him, then we'll rain hell down on whoever took him from us, okay?" There was nothing but kindness in Mor's gaze, kindness, and perhaps gratitude, although for what Gwyn had no idea.

"Okay." She would, she would destroy whoever it was, and if he was hurt, there was nowhere that would be safe for them, not from the vengeance she would bring down. For the first time since yesterday morning, she really smiled.

*****

A scream split the air, and Azriel jolted awake, female, down the corridor to his left, she screamed again, a scream of utter terror, and Azriel tried to rise, but he was still chained to the chair. On the third scream he recognized her voice, Nesta. If Nesta was screaming, then,

"Don't touch her!" That was Cassian, Nesta screamed again, but differently, she might have been screaming in horror this time, then she screamed Cassian's name, and every sound that reached his ears had Azriel straining against the chains, someone was hurting them, or at least one of them. He managed to shuffled the chair forwards, and Nesta's screams grew louder, she was being moved towards him. Cassian bellowed again, threatening hell for anyone who hurt her, Nesta was still screaming his name when she appeared in Azriel's field of view, three males dragging her backwards along the corridor. She kicked out, but they kept her off balance, chuckling at her scream when Cassian shouted her name again. She fought as one of the males let go to open the cell across from Azriel, and tossed her inside, Azriel winced at the crunch as her ankle wrenched sideways. She glanced around, and let out a sob seeing Azriel, but her attention was immediately snatched away from him at the sound of a thump from where she had come,

"Cass!" She screamed, slamming herself against the bars of her cell, "Don't hurt him," she screamed, "Cassian!" Another two males appeared from that corridor and Nesta dropped to the floor, not noticing them step towards her. 

"Don't even think about it," Azriel snarled, shuffling forwards, and his brother's voice sounded from the stairs,

"Then tell me, how do I control the shadows?" Nesta scrambled backwards as one of the males kicked out at her. "I warned you that it wouldn't be you getting hurt from now on." 

"You can't." One of the males drew a dagger and held his hand out for the key to Nesta's cell. "You can't, damn you!" His brother nodded, and the male unlocked the door. Shit, no-one else should be here, this was his burden to bear, and his alone, "She has nothing to do with this!" Nesta glanced around, there was nothing she could use to fight with, and from the look of her, she was already injured, he met her terrified gaze. "No-one knows why shadowsingers have their power, not even me." The male stopped at a gesture from Azriel's brother.

"Go on,"

"Go on? That's it, I don't know how you could even try to control them." The male with the dagger stepped towards Nesta, and she dropped into a fighting stance. Azriel jerked the chair forwards, and it slipped, sending him sprawling, face-first, onto the floor, his bruised jaw shrieking in pain. He couldn't see from this angle, but footsteps faded, and the bars of his cell clanged, as it someone had kicked it on his way past. He didn't care, just so long as they'd left Nesta alone,

"Az?" She whispered, "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He muttered, "Just a bit battered, what happened to you?"

"I'm okay, they got bored, I think," Azriel managed to flip himself over, so that he could at least turn his head to face her, "Cass is worse." Her gaze returned to that corridor she had come from,  "Where are we?" she whispered,

"My father's old keep. They'll come for us, just hold on." The impact of the floor still had his head spinning so he barely registered when the guards returned to take Nesta somewhere else again, only her kicking an screaming alerted him. He was just conscious enough to have a shadow sneak out and make a set of keys fall from the closest guard's belt, the shadow floating it to Azriel. He still couldn't get the chair upright, and passed out again, waking to the sound of a key in his door. 

Without having been fed, overpowering the guards was not an option, so Azriel waited until they released him from the bindings, one of them slamming a fist into his stomach, leaving his chest heaving as he fought to refill his lungs. Memories flooded into him, this was the first time he had allowed his focus to slip enough for the fear to set in. He closed his eyes against the flames from the torches lining the walls, only sheer force of will keeping his breathing slow, measured. Never again, this time, he was older, this time, he was stronger.

He had a key now, step one complete. Step two, escape.

Azriel watched the guards' rotations closely, marking when they changed, where the guards went, how long it took for changes, who was slowest. The day it took to note the rotation was perhaps the longest he'd ever lived, his mind full of images of Cassian and Nesta, of what his 'brothers' might be doing to them at any moment. Flames filled his vision, and he blinked to clear the memory, but it wouldn't fade, and cruel laughter surrounded him. No, no, no, he scrambled backwards, but smoke filled the dungeons, filled his lungs, and he coughed, again and again, until his stomach heaved, trying to empty itself, but came up empty. As the smoke kept surrounding him, Azriel dropped to the floor, in a vain effort to escape the smoke, his vision hazy as that damned laughter continued. The torches, one of them had fallen to the floor, there must be some sort of magic enhancing the flames, and, that was oil, there was oil on the floor, covering the floor, not just of his cell, but the whole of the dungeons. No wonder the guards were running. They were going to leave him here. He choked again, trying to call for someone, anyone to get that torch, but couldn't manage anything louder than a whisper. 

Extinguish that torch.

He hoped desperately that it wasn't too late, that the shadows had actually heard him, but they did shoot out of the cell, leaving him alone and shot for the torch, choking the flame, blocking its access to air. Slowly, too slowly, the flame sputtered and finally died, mere seconds before the flame would have met the oil.

Azriel lay still, letting the smoke rise above his head, waiting for his lungs to clear out, his head to clear. The guards hadn't returned yet, this was his chance, the only one until the next day, he slowly got to his feet, shaking his head and silently unlocked the door, shadows cloaking his movements as he ghosted down the corridor towards where Nesta had come from. The smoke cleared as he made his way down the corridor, at least Nesta and Cassian had been safe from that particular 'game'. 

When he rounded the corner, Cassian was all he could see, leaning against the back wall of his cell, his eyes were closed, and Azriel sucked in a breath at the sight of his wings. How any Illyrian could bear to hurt another's wings was beyond him, especially as Cassian's had clearly been carefully targeted, almost every joint was dislocated, at least partially, perhaps Nesta had been able to try and reset them, but his right wing was drooping on the floor, the main bone snapped in two. On another step, Azriel saw Nesta huddled against her mate, tucked into his side, her face buried in his chest. One more step and Cassian's eyes flew open as he shoved Nesta behind him, tension releasing from his muscles as he recognized Azriel,

"It's just Az, Nes, it's okay." He muttered, "How?"

"I stole a key. Let's get out of here, can you both walk?" Azriel himself was still slightly limping, but Cassian nodded, 

"Yeah, Nesta, she's okay, they only went for my wings." Nesta pressed against him at that,

"We'll fix them," she promised, and helped him to his feet, waiting for Azriel to unlock the door, "How did you get rid of the guards?"

"They set a fire and ran." Nesta's eyes widened, and she paused, as if unsure what to say, and she just grasped his hand, "It's fine, Nesta." Cassian clapped him on the shoulder, dropping into a familiar position on his right, with Nesta between them as they made their way back towards the dungeons' entrance. He'd just about started to relax when a winged silhouette filled the space atop the stairs.

[unmaskedagain]

Daddy’s Little Villain

So this prompt I think I got months ago. I meant to work on it for quite some time but I never got around to it. I got inspired yesterday so I decided to take a shot. I went completely off memory for this. Its been a while since I watched Young Justice or any of the DC animated shows; apart from the new Harley Quinn one. So sorry about what I got wrong.

A clown with a killer punchline.

A lantern of terror.

The king of Metropolis.

The master of shadows.

A destroyer of worlds.

Different faces, powers, histories but all categorized under one name.

Supervillain.

           Ruthless, intelligent, powerful, charismatic, tempting; villains reflect just how easily and quickly this planet, if not the universe could fall under their might. However, none of them started out evil. None of them were born evil. No one is born to be evil.

           Marinette, however, came very, very close.

           Her biological father was one of the first that came to mind when anyone thought of a Supervillian. He personally had killed thousands, and arranged the deaths of tens of thousands more. He conquered kingdoms, destroyed dynasties, annihilated empires, controlled governments, and used presidents, kings, any old politician as puppets on strings.

           And he was a good dad.

           He made sure Marinette had the best of everything. The best tutors, the best trainers, the best bodyguards (though Marinette had only ever seen them out of the corner of her eye; hiding in the shadows).

He was even okay with Tom Dupain being a father figure to his daughter. Tom had married Sabine when Marinette was four. However, the acceptance of this came after several failed assassination attempts after the first time Marinette called Tom Papa. Sabine hadn’t been happy that to have protect her new husband from assassins sent by her jealous baby daddy.

Marinette spend most of her days pretending to be a normal girl. The rest of the time she was being trained by near unstoppable assassins in every manner of fighting style her body could handle, learning how to speak various different languages ranging from Spanish to whatever the hell Atlantians’ spoke, hacking and computer skills from former spies, and being taught strategy from some of the greatest military minds that could be bought. (And this was one top of her duties as Ladybug because her dad was still a bit of an asshole.)

He just wanted what was best for her. And he made sure Marinette knew she was loved. He sent her presents every week, letters every day, and she woke to fresh roses in her room every morning.

           The presents ranged from diamond tiaras to ancient samurai swords; anything she so much as mildly expressed an interest in was always found at the foot of her bed the next day. The letters were always thoughtful and kind; always wanting to know about her day, and how she was doing. They would appear in her desk sometime during the day. Marinette would leave a reply via email because she was a sane person of the year 2020. She’d wake to red roses every morning to remind her she was special to him. Sometimes she handed them out at school. Other times she gave them away to any pedestrian who looked like they needed a pick me up.

           He was a good dad, even if he was never actually around. They talked on the phone and over video chat as much as they could.

           He was busy. She understood that.

           Trying to take over the world wasn’t easy. It certainly wasn’t the average 9 to 5 job. The Light needed him.

           She forgave him for that; just like she forgave him for all the things he did to… ensure the future he envisioned became a reality. They were distasteful, immoral, and most of the time she didn’t have the stomach to listen to 1/12 of all the things he did or orchestrated.

           Marinette was always fine with staying out of it. Unlike most Supervillian kids, she never had any interest in taking her place in the family business. Or doing the opposite and doing everything she could to take their villainous family down. No, she had better things to do.

           And her father was just fine with that. He could forgive Marinette for wanting a normal life. He just wanted her happy, safe, and well cared for. He kept the Light and Cadmus out of Paris as best as he could.

           He could even forgive his little girl when she adorned a mask and became the Hero Ladybug. Though it did prevent him from recruiting Hawkmoth into the fold; he wouldn’t have been more than cannon fodder but still. As long as Ladybug kept out battle between good and evil that encased the rest of the world, the city of Paris, France could be hers. Hell, he would even give it to his baby girl as a birthday present should her desire for it arise. It would be good preparation should he need someone trustworthy and loyal to rule the rest of Europe.

           Still he was quick to stop any admiration for the heroes of Justice League. Or at least make sure his daughter didn’t put them on a pedestal like the rest of the world did.

“But they’re the good guys,” She remembered her seven-year-old self protesting. At the time Marinette hadn’t really understood that her father was considered one of the ‘Bad Guys.’ “The heroes.”

“I believe the Justice League’s actions leaves humanity weak,” He told her. “However, even if I didn’t find fault in them, they are only people. They make mistakes. There is good and evil in them; few realize just how easily one side could win over the other.”

           Marinette frowned, “You mean go bad. They won’t go bad. They fight for justice and what’s right.”

“What’s right is subjective,” He warned her. “And justice is in the eye of the beholder.”

“But-but they’re superheroes!”

“You know what’s more dangerous that a villain?” He asked her. “Someone who refuses to acknowledge that anyone can become one.”

           He would say more on the subject later until he was sure Marinette understood.

           He loved his daughter with all of his heart. And Marinette returned the favor.

           So when rumors spread, not long after Hawkmoth’s permanent defeat, that the Light’s founder had fallen; was dead, killed in action, murdered by superheroes, Marinette’s heart broke. She always knew the risks of her father’s job, the dangers this world had in it; it was survival of the fittest after all, that was what he taught her.

           Nevertheless, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt; that it didn’t burn. And for the first time, the darkest part of her, the part of her that was all her father’s daughter, wanted to make the world feel her pain. However, Marinette was better than that. She wouldn’t blame the world for her sorrows.  She refuse to set fire to everyone and everything just because she wanted to vengeance.

           No, she was smarter than that. Her father, had he still lived, would expect better from her.

           Marinette blamed the Justice League; wonder woman, superman, the Green Lantern. She blamed. Artemis. She blamed Aqualad. She blamed Miss Martian. She blamed Superboy. She blamed Kid flash. She blamed all of Young Justice who set up the plan to bring down the light. (Apart from Batman and Robin who been in Gotham because Robin had all but on his death bed after a fight with DeathStroke.). And they would burn for taking her father from her.

           …The only problem was that Marinette wasn’t a killer. She didn’t want to be one unless she had no other choice. So she had to think of another way to get her revenge.

           The plan had started out very simple. Slowly the hero Ladybug would start being seen outside Paris; fighting random villains’ here and there; captain cold one day, the cheetah next. Never seen in the same place twice. Rumors spread that she was looking for someone; her partner, Chat Noir. It helped that Chat Noir had been seen in months.

           It was just a rumor, of course. Chat Noir had been officially retired. All kwami were taken back. Marinette wasn’t using Tikki to power herself up. No, she refused to use them like Hawkmoth had done. Instead, they were put away and were very well cared for; like well pampered, spoiled pets.

           Marinette used her money to buy a replica of her Ladybug suit; better armored though. She used her private plane to travel around wherever she needed to go. The more villains she fought, the more the rumor of the heartbroken Ladybug hunting down the Light to find her partner grew.

           The only downside was that Ladybug was rapidly gaining enemies left and right. It wasn’t long before The Light sent people after her. Ladybug was quick to send their minions back to them all but in a body bag.

           She had been approached multiple times be members of the Justice League; even teamed up with them multiple times to save the day. They never even feel the near microscopic camera she puts in them. It degrades three hours after but it’s plenty of time for Marinette to get the information she needs.

           It took two months for Marinette to learn the identities of nearly every member of the Justice League. She’s quick to destroy any secret identity evidence for anyone who didn’t wrong her. The batfamily was spared. The Green Arrow and his family was spared. (One day soon Oliver Queen would thank his lucky stars that Speedy went solo instead of joining Young Justice. And that Cheshire, who had a thing for the redhead, was an old friend of Marinette’s, whether the older girl remember the bluenette or not.)

           The family of Steal would burn though. As would fastest family alive. The king of ocean and his sidekicks. The “human” identities of the worlds’ favorite Martians. Woman Wonder and her sidekick. The Green Lanterns.

           The Justice League never saw her coming. All they saw was a pretty fourteen-year-old girl with tears in her big blue eyes as she swore it was her duty to right this wrong. She would fight the light on her own. A young hero, they thought, who did realize just how over her head she really was. Pity was always clear in their eyes. Every time Marinette refused their offer of help, said she could handle it herself.

           Marinette was just biding her time. She still needed the identities of Young Justice. When she got that, she would strike. Hard.

           It only took three months, and Cadmus capturing little Miss Martian.

           By the time, Young Justice arrived Ladybug had already been on the scene. Marinette had already freed an injured Miss Martian and they were trying to fight their way out. The bluenette was beaten, battered, and bleeding.  The two girls did their best to fight the bad guys that seemed to come in a never ending storm. It wasn’t long before they were surrounded.

“Go,” She whispered to the green girl. Marinette had always placed the cameras. She didn’t need to alien any longer. “You can fly. Go. I’ll hold them off, okay.”

“I won’t leave you,” Miss Martian shook her adamantly.

           Marinette frown, “You have to. You know what Cadmus. You know what these monster will do to you. You have go before it’s too late.”

“I will not!”

“Don’t be a hero!” Ladybug snapped.

“Why?!” A new voice called. Robin landed in front of them. The rest of the Young Justice was “It’s our job.”

           The fight was epic. And Marinette could admit that the members of Young Justice were skilled. But they had to be to take down her father, so it wasn’t surprising. Still, she managed to put a camera on each and every one of them.

           When it was over, and it was clear more of Cadmus’ henchman were arriving, Young Justice made moves to flee…

           Until they realized Ladybug had no intention of coming with them.

“He’s not in there,” Miss Martian told her gently.

“You don’t know that,” Ladybug murmured.

“I do,” Again the pity was clear in redhead’s eyes.

           Ladybug shook her head. “You don’t understand. I can’t give up. I won’t!”

           Robin put a hand on her shoulder, “Chat Noir isn’t in there.”

“Getting yourself killed will not help him,” Aqualad stated.

           Ladybug nodded, gave them a small smile, and then made a break for the Cadmus lab. Then Marinette felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, and everything went black.

           She woke up in the infirmary of what she guess was the Young Justice headquarters. With a huff, she got up and marched out of the room. It didn’t take her long to find the teen heroes lounging in their living room. “You guys are jerks!” She yelled at them.

           Kid Flash snorted, “We saved you from yourself.”

“Oh you self-righteous little-” Marinette groaned. “I can’t believe you! I can take care of myself” She crossed her arms and stomped her foot.

“Oh yeah because that proves it,” Artemis laughed.

“I’m a hero too, you know?”

           Robin nodded. “Everyone knows about Ladybug. But you’re like thirteen.”

“Fourteen! And a half!” Marinette corrected. “Which is basically fifteen.”

           The older heroes just looked at her, and then burst out laughing.

           Marinette forced herself to think of her most embarrassing memory so that her face would heat up and it would look like she turned red from embarrassment. As if she care what they thought.

           The bluenette grabbed a slice of pizza and asked politely for someone to send her back to Paris. She needed to regroup, she claimed.

           They tried to convince her to stay. Or let Young Justice or the Justice League help her but she refused. Marinette was back in Paris ten minutes later.

           She had the identities of every member of Young Justice an hour after that.

           It was time.

           Ladybug “tracking” down the Light had been an experience. Technically, she knew enough to figure out various locations they used. However, she also knew enough to know that Ladybug just showing up there would get her killed. It was a move of an amateur hero. And Marinette was done thinking like a hero.

           So she put down her mask, ditched her Ladybug gear, and got on a plane. Marinette arrived in Metropolis on a windy Tuesday morning.

           It took her until Friday to hack into Lex Luther’s secretary’s calendar to figure where the King of the Metropolis was scheduled to be and another week to decipher the Light’s next meeting. Hacking into pentagon was easier.

           Marinette waited watched from the shadows of the remote island she found herself on. She watched as villain after villain arrived. Until Lex Luther, surrounded by bodyguards and personal assistants, arrived in his private jet.

“Mr. Luther!” Marinette called as she stepped out of the shadows where she was hiding.

           Guns were immediately pulled on her. The secretary, Mercy, hand suddenly became weaponized. The surprise on their faces were clear. Particularly when they saw the small teen girl standing there.

           Marinette smiled.

“And you are?” Lex asked, only mildly intrigued. He wondered just who the child was that managed to be sneak up his men and possible the rest of the Light.

“My name is Marinette,” She answered. “But you and the Light know me as Ladybug. I mean you no harm.”

           Lex narrowed his eyes at her. He could see the resemblance. Ladybug and Marinette had the same stature, the same eye color, and looked to be the same age. Still, it could be a trick.

“Two months ago, I broke into one of your building.” Marinette said. “The break in was the news but LexCorp assured that nothing was taken. That wasn’t true. I took the Cuban cigars out of the safe behind the Rembrandt painting. Please. I merely wish to speak with the Light. Somewhere… not even gods among us can hear.”

           Well, that assured the villain that it wasn’t a trick.  However, for the first time in his life, Lex Luther found himself confused. On one day, Ladybug had been a slowly become a thorn in the Light’s side. On the other hand, the hero had just revealed her identity and now just wanted to talk. About what, Lex yearned to know.

           Lex nodded, “Mercy will check you for weapons. Then you will be escorted inside safely. Whether you leave alive will be up for debate.”

           Marinette sighed in relief and raised her hands. Mercy, who the bluenette tried to figure out whether she was a robot or a cyborg, was very thorough. She even scanned Marinette’s phone for any traces of explosives.

           When it was done Marinette found herself escorted inside, and then found herself a cliché Supervillian lair staring down the greatest supervillains in the world. Ra's al Ghul, Black Manta, Queen Bee, Klarion, Deathstroke, Ocean Master, and their operatives Hugo Strange, Bane, Sports Master, and Cheshire all sat at a large round table. There was four pieces of glass hanging from the ceiling in front of them; monitors, Marinette figured.

And it was clear from the anger on the faces that the bad guys had been informed of exactly who Marinette was.

           It was daunting, to say the least.

“You have our attention, Miss Marinette,” Lex said. “Do not waste it.”

           Marinette nodded, “I have information on the Justice League I thought the Light would be very interested in.”

“Why would a hero do such a thing?”  Ra's al Ghul asked. “Hoping to make a deal? Your information for the return of Chat Noir, perhaps?”

           The leader of the League of Shadows didn’t know why the rumor persevered that the Light kidnapped the Parisian hero. He had confirmed himself that it was highly inaccurate.  

           The bluenette giggled, “Chat Noir no longer exists. He was retired at the same time as Hawkmoth. The Light has never had him. Neither did Cadmus. It was just heavily implied.”

“Yet that didn’t stop you from destroying our labs,” Lex glared. “Ruining missions, capturing my associates. Months of research. Millions of dollars. Gone to hell.”

“You were a tool,” Marinette shrugged. “I used to you get to close to the Justice League. It was never personal.”

           Lex felt eye twitch. He should have Mercy shoot her on principle.

“You’re more annoying than Robin,” Deathstroke shook his head at the moxy of the girl.

“It was just business?” She offered. “I needed a way to make them pay.”

“Just… just business,” Lex pinched his nose. He was going to kill her. “What could you possible offer the Light that would stop us from destroying you and everyone you love?”

           Marinette smirked. She pulled out her phone and hacked into the monitors. Once she was done, and played a video. The villains watched on the screens with old mild interest on their faces. Slowly the interest faded as shock and astonished looks overtook it.

           Lex’s felt his entire body shake. The video had shown undeniable proof that Superman was secretly Clark Kent. It was what he dreams were made of. He could barely stop himself from snatching the phone out of Marinette’s hand and playing it the video over and over again.

           Lex forced himself to calm down. He looked at the bluenette hard. A part of him wanted offer to pay as much money as the girl could want for the video. Another part of him realized if Marinette had been a little older he would’ve proposed.

“Superman’s civilian name is Clark Kent.” Marinette smiled, “I have video proof of nearly every member of the Justice League’s secret identities; along with their sidekicks.”

           The statement was met with silence. Each villain contemplating the ramifications of what such information could mean; not just for them, but for the world.”

“I think that’s worth a little forgiveness,” Marinette slyly added. “What’s few million dollars in damages compared to bringing down the Justice League once and for all.”

           Klarion chuckled, “I suppose some things can be overlooked.”

“Why?” Black Manta asked. “That is what we should be asking. Why betray the heroes?”

“Justice,” Marinette shrugged. “Revenge. I blame them for the death of my father.”

“That’s a good a reason as any,” Cheshire said. Her mask still hid her face.

           Sportsmaster gave his daughter a side look, “You never tried to take down any heroes any of the times you thought I died,” He complained.

“Sorry,” Cheshire shrugged. “I was too busy eating ice cream and getting drunk off my ass; it’s how I usually celebrate.”

“Why come to us?” Ra's al Ghul asked still intrigued.

“Why wouldn’t she?” A new voice rang through the room. Marinette stumbled back in shock. She knew that voice. But that wasn’t possible. Right? “The Light is in her blood.”

           Door opened and in walked bane of nearly every hero in the world, the Founder of the light, Vandal Savage. “You’ve done well, daughter.”

           Her father looked exactly the same as she remember. He was tall, with broad shoulder and square jaw; three pale scars across his face. His hair was longer though, much longer, and was pulled back

           Marinette rushed over to him and threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly.

“I thought you were dead,” Marinette whispered. Tears stung her eyes. “Everyone said you were dead.”

           Vandal smiled gently at her, “And you decided to bring down the world’s heroes in my name. I’m truly touched,” He said. “I wasn’t dead but I was close. I got better.”

           The bluenette backed away from her father; realization slowly hit her.

“It’s been months,” Marinette ran a hand through her hair. “You have any idea what I’ve gone through, what I did! You suck! Ugh, I’m telling Mom!”

Sabine Cheng would show Vandal Savage a thing or two once she found out. She was the one who had to dry her daughter’s tears day after day once the news of Savage’s death broke. The Asian woman was possibly only one infamous Vandal Savage was afraid of.

           The others villains watched, entranced by the argument between father and daughter.

“You gallivanted around as hero,” Vandal reminded. “To get close the Justice League; leaving me to wonder if in my absence I had lost my daughter to the so-called forces of good. It turned out all my worrying was for naught.”

“You could’ve called!” Marinette complained. “Wrote. Something to tell me you were alive. Anything.”

“At the time it was best decision.”

           Marinette glared, “You seriously for even one second I’d team up with the Justice League? Really? Me?” She glared. “I’m NEVER talking to you again!”

“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart,” Vandal assured the bluenette. “We can kill Superman together.”

“Actually,” Lex interrupted. “I have dips.”

           Vandal shot him a quick glare.

The teen girl crossed her arms, “Give me one reason I shouldn’t destroy everything I have on the Justice League?” She asked. “And before any of you threatened to kill me. I only brought the Superman video as insurance. I die; you will never get your hands of the rest of them. So again,” She hissed at her father. “Give me one reason I should hand over my Intel to the Light?”

“…Father’s day’s coming up?” Vandal offered.

“Dammit!”

           Marinette stumped over to an empty seat, next to Cheshire, and glared petulantly at the inhabitants of the room. She didn’t care that it made her look like a little kid.

           An awkward silence filled the room.

           Luther took the opportunity to finally start the meeting as it was the reason they were all there. It was long. It dragged on. Even with Marinette’s intelligence on the Justice League. Everything felt like a stuffy board meeting. Nowhere near as exciting as Marinette once imagined it would be.

           The meeting took a short break. Food was brought out. A small buffet. Marinette made herself a plate; she grabbed a fancy steak sandwich, some fruit and chips, and a rather large chocolate cupcake because she freaking deserved it. She thought she was done until her plate was grabbed by her father. He didn’t hesitate to put baked Brussel sprouts provided on her plate.

“Oh come on! No one likes Brussel sprouts,” Marinette complained. “Not even you’re that evil.”

“They’re good for you,” Vandal told his daughter. “And you will eat them.”

“You’re seeing this too, right?” Deathstroke, otherwise known as Slade, asked Bane. “It’s not just me.”

As they ate, the villains shared stories about what they’d been up to. Most just complained about the problems they were having with the Justice League; who fought who, who should they consider for Light membership, and anyone getting on their nerves.

“Some assholes decided to send the wannabe Villain current status moron after me,” Marinette cast a dark look around the room; making it clear she knew they sent the assassin. She didn’t get as much as a single sheepish look. “He kept trying to light me of fire. And then he was accidently pushed off the top of a building, twice.”

Ra's al Ghul nodded at the young girl, “I would like to mention that I have an heir not much younger than you. You would get along quite well, I believe.”

           Marinette narrowed her eyes at Leader of the League of shadows, “Are you seriously trying to get me to date your grandson right now?”

           Al Ghul didn’t answer her.

Marinette took the opportunity to excuse herself from having to come back, “I’m going to explore the island.” And then see if she could escape before her dad caught her.

“I always blew up your boat,” Vandal raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be taking you home myself.”

“You suck!”

“Love you too, sweetpea.”

           Marinette marched out of the room. She’d swim if she had too.

           It turned out she didn’t have to swim. Just hotwire Deathstroke’s ride.

           She got a video call fifteen minutes after taking off.

“Go for Marinette?” She answered cheerfully.

           Vandal Savage’s face appear on the screen, “You stole Slade’s helicopter.”

“Juuussst like you taught me.” Marinette smirked.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 12 - EYES

tw // guns, swearing

----

"She's a giant threat. She's a liability."

Fury was angry, to say the least. After the fiasco in the interrogation room, they all gathered–once again–in the meeting room.

"Does she know it was me?" Wanda was back to panic mode. This whole thing was a mess. They were making almost zero progress, and it was all just going in circles.

"I don't know. She might." Nick stared straight through her with his one good eye. "She's smart."

"You told her?!" Pietro stood up so fast his chair fell backwards, making a screeching 'clang' noise as it met the ground.

"I did not. I wouldn't. I tried my best to protect you, Wanda. But it seems like I underestimated her intelligence." Fury rubbed a hand over his forehead. "But now she has a penchant for vengeance and if we cut her loose..she'll kill anyone she thinks is a suspect. And that includes everyone of us."

"She's not a bit fan of people knowing her secrets, is she?" Tony snickered.

"No, she's not." He paused for a second before saying, "Either we imprison or eliminate the subject."

Anyone would've missed the slight tremor in Wanda's hands as she tried to keep herself calm. Anyone who wasn't her twin brother, of course. He took one look at her and he knew that she would explode in just a matter of time. He had to get her out of here.

"Natasha." He whispered to the redhead next to him. "I think Wanda and I should leave this meeting. Can we?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow, curious at the sudden question. The twins rarely requested to leave meetings. "What's wrong?"

Pietro leaned in closer. "She doesn't look so good."

Natasha moved her body slightly forward to glance at the young witch, and she immediately understood Pietro's concern. Wanda's eyes we're starting to glow red now. "Yeah, go ahead. I'll manage it."

"Thank you." He flashed her a quick grateful smile before standing up and gesturing for Wanda to follow him.

"This is enough. We can't afford to play cat-and-mouse with her anymore." Steve slammed one hand on the table and pointed his finger at Fury with the other. "We're going in circles!"

"You think I don't know that, Captain?"

Pietro and Wanda hurriedly walked out of the room, the conversation slowly fading to a dull volume as Pietro dragged his sister out. "Why? Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to your room."

"What? No, let's go back, I need to know what she said to Fury-"

"Wanda. Please?" Pietro was beyond worried for his sister. All their lives, she's always been the more emotional one. Even more so after their powers. It wasn't a bad thing, per se, but it was potentially dangerous. Especially for herself. "We don't need to hear any more of their incessant arguing, anyway. It's just the same point being thrown around."

Wanda sighed, internally cursing his overprotectiveness over her. "I know I was a mess before, but I'm fine now."

"Really? I don't need to be a telepath to know that you're lying."

Pietro was worried something would set her off in the meeting. Wanda wanted to stay and find out what Fury had yelled at Y/N about. There was an argument bound to happen between them, but luckily a certain android decided to walk by.

"Wanda, Pietro. Are you both doing well?" Vision's voice distracted the twins' stare down. As soon as he spoke, Wanda turned to him with a soft smile.

"Vis." She looked pleased to see him. "I'm-"

Pietro cut her off, "Why don't the two of you go to the break room? Make some coffee, raid the fridge. Maybe you could make her a couple sandwiches, eh, Vis?"

"Oh, yes that sounds-"

"Yeah, yeah. You go ahead. Make sure she doesn't go to the meeting room." He whispered the last part to Vision, pushing them both in the direction of the break room before turning to leave. He didn't miss the annoyed look Wanda threw his way. But it was probably the least of Wanda's worries now that she was with Vision. Pietro rolled his eyes at that thought.

He wondered what Y/N said that made Fury so mad. It wasn't uncommon for the man to be angry, but it was unusual for him to be that affected by an interrogatee.

If what Fury said was true–that if she ever made her way out, she'd kill everyone–he'd die trying to protect his sister. Wanda was the priority.

Then he heard gunshots.

"CODE RED!"

Pietro whipped around to see a bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D agents running towards him. The alarm had suddenly blasted, and red lit up the hallway like a crime scene.

He grabbed one agent by the shoulder, "What's going on?"

"We've been infiltrated. It's Hydra!" The agent yelled over the alarms, squirming out of his grip to join the others.

"Hydra?" He whispered to himself in disbelief. How could they have even gotten pass security? What happened?

But there was no time for questions. Pietro knew what he had to do.

So he ran.

He sprinted through the hallways, scanning the place for people he didn't recognise, for people wearing the dreaded emblem on their uniforms.

When he did, he didn't waste any time taking them down. He kicked away their weapons and threw them across the room before shooting at them with their own guns. It was quick–well, he was quick.

There had been six of them or so around him, and he'd taken out every last one.

The hallways were getting harder to manoeuvre through, with the red lights and the smoke filling them. "Smoke-bombs." he concluded.

But he ran anyway, worried for his teammates, for the agents. Looking for more enemies to fight.

Until he saw her.

She was moving in slow-motion, her hair whipping around her blood-splattered face. She was a fearsome thing to behold, indeed.

He felt that pull again.

Pietro lost focus as he wondered why he was so drawn to her, and the next thing he knew, she came bumping head-first into his chest. He immediately slowed to a stop, stretching out his arms to hold her in place.

She shoved a gun towards him, aiming it at his face. "I could pull the trigger right now."

She could. He knew that. But something in her eyes told him otherwise. There was none of that calculated glimmer in her eyes, none of the cocky amusement that twitched every now and then, or the spark of frustrated annoyance that made her look like she was always on the verge of an eye-roll.

No, there was only the familiar fire. But this one was fueled purely by fear and panic.

He knocked the gun down from her hands and took it into his own. There was some sort of defeat that he'd never seen from her before, in the short span of time that he knew her.

A sudden thought jumped into his head; why didn't she fight him back? Wasn't she enhanced like he was?

"Find her!" A voice rang out. The same eyes widened, and he could tell she was trying to weigh her options by the way they darted around the hallway area. What the options were, he didn't have a clue. Though he knew she was panicking, and she was either going to kill him or run away.

He braced for the worst as she opened her mouth to say..."I give up."

"What?" Pietro did not see that coming.

Somehow, the telling look in her eyes told him that this was not a lie. This was pure and raw honesty, something that was rare for her, Pietro sensed.

The next thing he knew, she was pledging her loyalty to him and begging him to take her out of there. So, he wrapped his arm around her waist...and ran.

—

We ran so fast my heart stopped beating. My hair whipped behind me like a cape, and the speedster's arm around me had tightened. It was a familiar sensation, the sprinting. I've ran like this before, when he chased after me at that bar. The night I got caught.

We stopped at what looked like a lobby...at least that's what I could make of it. It was thrashed to hell. Piles of debris everywhere and what looked like furniture thrown across the room. The walls had holes in them, and it wouldn't take a genius to know that they were made out of bullets.

A familiar archer stepped into view, aiming his bow and arrow at me as soon as he saw us. I threw a look at the speedster. "You better tell him I'm on your side now. I'm not really fond of having an arrow aimed at my head."

The archer lowered his weapon. "Wait, what? What do you mean 'on our side'? Pietro, you wanna explain what she just said?"

"Yes, she-"

"Are you crazy?!" He was cut off by Natasha. God. Who else if not her, huh? "Why is she here?"

"Let me explain-"

"The hallways are clear. Tony's working on the security system. The man is pissed. " The Captain jogged into the room, once again cutting Pietro–that's his name!–off. Do none of these people have manners? "Hill just told me that they spotted a jet leaving a few minutes ago. They might have aborted-why is she here?"

"I was about to tell you that!" Pietro raised his voice. It was only then I realised that his arm was still snaked around my waist. Cozily.

I wriggled out of it, with little to no effort. But as soon as I did so, all three Avengers minus Pietro, pointed their weapons at me.

"Don't try anything." Natasha warned. I've had enough of the angst. I'm so tired. So, so tired. The bone-deep fatigue was something I've gotten used to a long time ago, but today was something else. He had been here. I hadn't been ready for that.

"I'm not going to." I muttered, looking right into her eyes. Please believe me.

"She's pledged her loyalty." Pietro finally explained. "To us. To S.H.I.E.L.D."

That only made their grips on their weapons tighter. Annoyed, Natasha huffed, "And you believe her? Pietro, get away from her."

What Pietro said next had surprised me, "Yes, I do. Listen to me, Natasha. She's being honest."

"She's never honest. She's manipulating you." The archer, who I just realised was Clint Barton, cocked his head to the side.

I don't blame them for second-guessing me. They weren't complete idiots. The whole time I've been here, I've done nothing but played games.

But I don't have the energy for that right now.

They all stared me down...except for Pietro. He was looking at me. Actually looking at me. I could almost feel the electric blue piercing at my skin through his gaze.

"I trust her."

He what? I turned to look at him, properly this time. He didn't look like a maniac, no. The man looked perfectly sane. His eyes didn't carry the evil glint that I had grown accustomed to all too well, and it seemed like his mouth was moving of his own accord. He didn't look possessed either.

So, unless a demon took over his body, why did the hell did he say that?

He trusted me? Only a wholesale idiot would say that. Because no one's ever did. Not to me and never about me.

"Move. Away. Pietro." Natasha spat the words out, moving closer to me with her gun up. "How do I know you're not lying?"

I stayed silent. What could I even say to make them believe me? Everything that comes out of my mouth would sound like bullshit to them, anyway.

Natasha was now an arm's length from my face, her gun directly pointed to my forehead.

"Did that have anything to do with you?" Steve Rogers pointed in the general direction of the chaos.

"That was Hydra." I stared at him coldly.

"And you expect me to believe you're not Hydra?" He deadpanned.

My god. Did I really get myself into this shit? I can't believe I allowed this to happen.

But this was it. It was the end of my line. I couldn't run anymore. Not with Hydra hot on my heels. That had been too close a call. The only place I might be safe now is here. If I wanted to live, I had to stick with my word.

Maybe I can run later. Months, years from now. However long it will take.

"Because I'm standing right here, willing to compromise. I'm not moving an inch, am I? I could easily slap that gun out of my face but I haven't done that, have I?" I took a deep breath. "It's taking a lot for me to do this. You'd all know. Because just seconds ago, I was ready to kill you all."

And just seconds ago, he was thisclose to finding me and killing me just the same.

Pietro was looking at me again, with those too-blue eyes that made me want to give him a black eye instead. "You're scared."

The way he said it, it wasn't like he was asking a question, but more of making a statement. I was offended nonetheless, so I gave him the angriest stare I could muster, "I am not."

Natasha narrowed her eyes menacingly, "Then why are you 'pledging your loyalty' to us? Why are you running away from them?"

She continued, "You just gave up your whole personality and motives in the span of–what? Two hours? I'd say fear would be an exact factor of why you're willing to compromise and join S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I'm not scared." I shoved myself closer towards her, earning a fierce glare. "I'm just smart enough to know how to survive and this is exactly how. Its not my favourite option, but its my only option. "

Even as I said the words, I felt myself being taken aback. Everyone shared a look that I couldn't exactly decipher. Did I just fuck things up?

"Fine." I heard the click of the Black Widow's gun as she lowered it to her side. The others instantly followed suit. "You want a chance? We'll give you that. But if you so much as scratch anyone of us, I won't hesitate to rip your throat out and skin you alive."

I snorted, "That's creative. And I wouldn't expect any less, Romanov."