#she could quilt it herself with those claws

[theninjazebra]

[wisdomssdaughterr]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER THIRTY → THE RETURN OF THE LOST GIRLS AND BOY

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 4.4k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

All there was left to do was wait, and Steve hated waiting. 

The anticipation left him feeling jittery and he couldn’t sit still. He had no clue what to do while they waited, not when the only person he could have a non-awkward conversation with was fast asleep on the couch. 

Granted, Steve knew that Sunshine needed the rest for a multitude of reasons. She was their best line of defense if Will figured out he was in his backyard and sent the monsters after them. That, and she needed the rest. It was clear that she was exhausted between their ambush at the junkyard and their detour to the Hawkins Lab. 

Steve saw Sunshine scared before. When she stood wide-eyed and bloodied in the middle of his kitchen the night she escaped, he knew that there was pure terror in her eyes. But kneeling in front of her outside the Lab, trying to stop her fingers from clawing the tattoo out of her arm, Steve started to realize how deep her terror ran. He knew very little about what had happened to her over the ten years she was missing, besides her acquirement of superpowers, but that look in her eyes both the night she ran away and when she found herself back at the front gate told Steve enough.

Whatever went on inside that place was nothing short of a nightmare, he was sure. If it could make someone like Sunshine, someone who could face down monsters without flinching, no wonder she was so scared to end up back there. But Steve meant it when he said he and everyone else in their odd little group wouldn’t let that happen. If those people ever came back, they’d have to go through all of them to get to her; Steve was sure the kids' pure determination and sass would be enough to deter any bad guys. 

Bad guys. Monsters. Superpowers. It was insane to think that if Steve had stayed home that November night last year if he had quit his pursuit of Nancy, he’d probably have no idea what was going on in his hometown. Hell, Steve would probably be at home, drinking his father’s beers with Tommy and Carol with no clue to the fact that monsters lurked under their feet. But Steve’s entire life had changed in one week. 

He had taken up residency in the living room, a couple of feet away from where Sunshine slept on the couch, covered with a quilt that Hopper had placed over her before he snapped back into his tough guy mode and stomped his way out of the house and into the backyard with a couple of the kids trailing behind him with a plan. 

Steve swung his bat half-heartedly and was tempted to sink further into his head, but his thoughts were cut off by the sound of the back door slamming shut. Peering into the kitchen, he saw Hopper rejoin the group from the shed. Steve joined the crowd at the table and awaited the latest news about Will. 

“What happened?” Dustin asked. 

“I think he’s talkin’, just not with words,” said Hopper as he wrote down a series of dots and dashes on the sheet of paper. 

Steve furrowed his brows. “What’s that?” 

His question was answered in unison by Dustin and Lucas. “Morse code.” 

“H-E-R-E.” Hopper read his translation of the dashes and dots. “Will’s still in there. He’s talking to us.”

The group sprang into action, ready to decipher Will’s message before whatever possessed him took complete control of the kid. 

Hopper rejoined the group in the shed and relayed Will’s code through the walkie-talkie. Lucas listened closely to the series of clicks and repeated them to Dustin, who copied them down on a sheet of paper. Then, it was Steve and Max’s job to find the corresponding letter to each dash and dot to figure out what letters they stood for. They’d shout out the letter and Nancy wrote down the message on a sheet of paper. 

They all worked quickly, unsure of how long they had. Within a couple of minutes, they managed to gather the two-word message. Nancy held up the paper with furrowed brows as they all gathered around her, eager to see what Will had said. 

C-L-O-S-E-G-A-T-E. 

Close gate. The message was confusing and somewhat underwhelming to Steve, but he assumed the group of scary smart children knew exactly what their friend was talking about. Steve didn’t get a chance to ask any questions, though, because the phone rang with a shrill scream, startling everyone. 

Dustin was the first to feet. He ran to the phone and hung it up quickly. A tense moment of silence passed, and they thought they were in the clear. But the phone rang again. Dustin moved to hang it up again, but Nancy pushed the kid aside and ripped the entire receiver from the wall. It crashed against the ground and stopped ringing.

“Do you think he heard?” Dustin asked. 

Steve shook his head. “It’s just a phone ringing. That could’ve been anywhere, right?” It was a common ringtone, nothing unique, Steve wanted to believe. 

→←

Alarms blared through a smoke-filled corridor. Seven stumbled over her bare feet as she raced down the hall. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand in an attempt to keep herself from inhaling the smoke, but she couldn’t stop it from stinging her eyes. The world before her blurred as unwelcome tears formed. The alarms mixed with booming voices that came from all directions, disorienting her further as she ran deeper into the maze that was Hawkins Laboratory. 

Rounding the corner, she was met with a thick cloud of smoke and flashing emergency lights. The fire and burst lights were no doubt the doing of one little girl. And Seven needed to find her. 

Large, shadowy figures of soldiers came into view, and in between them and she stood Dr. Brenner with his hands clasped in front of him. The familiar, stoic, and remorseless expression on his face she had come to resent with every bone in her body. He nodded, a signal, and the soldiers dropped their weapons before they advanced toward her. 

Seven stood her ground and tried to shield the fear that knotted in her chest. “Where are they?” she screamed. Brenner didn’t answer, but he walked closer as the soldiers grabbed her shoulders with harsh fingers that dug into her skin. “What did you do?” 

Standing in front of her, he towered over her small frame. He looked down at her like she was lesser, a child but hardly one at that. 

The soldiers tugged harshly on her arms, holding them in an awkward position behind her back in an attempt to stop her from using her abilities. Seven struggled under their steely grip, but she didn’t break eye contact with Brenner. His eyes were nearly lifeless and rimmed red from the smoke. He was like a void, dark and cold and unforgiving. His eyes gave himself away; they reminded her that he’d burn the entire world to the ground to get what he wanted, and he didn’t care about the casualties caused.

“I’m afraid there was nothing else we could do,” he said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “Actions have consequences, Seven. They knew what would happen if they tried to escape, and they paid the price for it.” 

Any sadness that lingered in Seven’s body was replaced by a fiery rage that ignited in her chest and pumped through her veins. A scream tore from her throat, and she thrashed against the men holding her like she was some wild animal. Her mind was much too scrambled to get a proper hold of her abilities, so she fought like the animal they treated her like. Seven twisted her body, bared her teeth, and kicked her legs for everything she was worth, but it still wasn’t enough. 

“This is your fault! This is all your fault!” she wailed, lungs burning from the smoke and her own fire. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” 

Oh, there was so much hate. She hated him for everything he was worth. She hated what he had done to her and to every single child who had met the cruel fate of entering the Lab. She hated how she had been conditioned to believe love was something only to be received if she shut up and did what she was told. She hated trying so hard to listen, to be good, to be quiet, to be violent only when asked. She hated that every single death that haunted the building had never been for the greater good, but only for the benefit of a madman. 

A void had been carved out of her chest and it bled senselessly on the tiled floor. The number of children had dwindled to two. Two out of too many to count. Only she and Eleven remained, and what was to come of them?

The ringing of a telephone tore Sunshine from her nightmare. She sat up with a strangled gasp as the image of a smoke-filled hall was replaced by a warmly lit living room. A rush of voices followed, accompanied by a slamming door and loud footsteps. Sunshine slid off the couch but paused as she stood. The world around her swayed and her vision blurred for a moment before it corrected itself. Her head still throbbed, and her bones still ached, but she tried to fight it off. She rubbed her eyes and winced as the fresh bruises settled into her skin. 

Everyone flooded into the living room, looking frantic and moving in a whirlwind that made her even dizzier. “What’s going on?” she asked.

All of the kids, minus Will, jumped onto the couch and looked out the window. Dustin flickered his gaze between the outside and Sunshine, his face drained of blood. “Will figured out where we are and sent the Demo-dogs after us.” 

A chill ran down her spine and her lungs ached as if they were still filled with smoke and screams. 

Hopper entered the living room with two guns in his hands. He yelled at the kids to get away from the window, which they immediately did before he looked pointedly at Jonathan. “Do you know how to use this?” Jonathan sputtered in response. “Can you use this?” His voice rose with authority and panic as he waved the gun around in his hand. 

“I can,” Nancy said. The weapon was tossed to her, and she immediately readied her grip in the center of the living room. Nancy and Hopper had their guns, Steve had his baseball bat, and Sunshine tried to jumpstart her abilities. 

Light sparked in her palms, but it fizzled out like a wet match before she could get a proper hold of it. She cursed under her breath as blood began to flow freely from her nose, quicker than normal due to her body being unable to fight off the side effects of her abilities. 

As she kept trying, she felt Hopper watching her. “Kid, maybe you shouldn’t-” 

Sunshine cut him off with a stubborn huff. “No. I can do this,” she insisted. Hopper looked ready to protest, but something stopped him.

She focused all of her energy on her hands and silently begged her mind and body to work with her one last time that night. She had to save her friends and the group of kids all huddled behind them, scared out of their minds. 

The growls and howls of the monsters grew closer and the tension inside the home was suffocating. They were grossly outnumbered, and Sunshine couldn’t get another spark. There was no telling how far two guns and a baseball bat would get them. She was the one with abilities; she was supposed to protect them.

“Where are they?” Max asked fearfully from behind the shoulder of Lucas. No one had an answer for her. It sounded like the creatures were all around them. 

A loud screech startled everyone, and they all shifted to point their weapons at the window where the noise had come from. The monster made a strangled sort of cry before silence fell. The only noise was a light rustling from outside and the labored breathing of everyone inside. Somehow, the silence seemed worse to Sunshine; she didn’t know what waited on the other side of it. 

Sweat beaded across her forehead and light refused to catch in her hands. 

The silence was broken abruptly by the shattering of glass. Through the living room window flew a monster. A mixture of screams and gasps followed. The monster slid across the floor over the blanket of broken glass until its body was stopped by the bookshelf in the far corner. Sunshine expected the monster to jump up, ready to attack, but it remained motionless. 

Hopper slowly approached it with his gun aimed and finger on the trigger, but when he tapped the monster with his boot, nothing happened. 

“Holy shit,” Mike breathed out from somewhere behind Sunshine. “Is it dead?” 

Before Hopper could answer, a click came from the front door. Everyone’s attention was pulled away from the seemingly dead monster. They watched with bated breath as the latch on the door moved on its own, unlocking without any assistance. The chain fell, as if pulled by the hand of a ghost, and swung down before the doorknob was slowly twisted. 

No one in the room muttered so much as a breath as they waited. None of them were prepared for what stood on the other side of the door. 

No monster awaited them. Three pairs of scuffed tennis shoes stepped across the threshold of the home, and the energy in the room shifted dramatically with the unexpected arrival of three familiar faces. 

Sunshine’s hands dropped to her side as if they suddenly were attached to weights. She was sure her heart stopped for a moment, and her legs threatened to collapse under her from sheer disbelief. 

Three children stood in front of them; two children with bloodied noses and one with his hands carefully tucked in the pockets of his coat. They stood right there, right in front of Sunshine as they had time and time again in her dreams, but they were always out of reach inside her head. Maybe she was still dreaming. 

While she tried to figure out if what she was seeing was real Mike stepped forward toward the group of three. 

“El,” he whispered. He saw her too. Maybe it was real. 

El was there, alive and breathing. Her arms wrapped around Mike and the two kids hid their faces in each other shoulders, covering their sniffles in the fabric of each other’s jackets.

The two kids who flanked El’s sides stepped around the reunion and headed toward Sunshine. Their hair was just as blonde as she remembered, and their eyes were still little pools of bright blue. They looked almost the same; their noses were still pointed and their cheeks full. But they stood a couple of heads taller and with a could faded yet scars across their pale skin. 

Neither the twins nor Sunshine said a word for a long moment; they simply stared at each other until Sunshine broke from her daze. “Are you really here?” she whispered, scared of the answer. After all of the tricks and lies she had endured, it was hard to know. That was until the young girl crossed the short distance between them and curled her lips up in a smile. 

“Yes.” 

Before Sunshine could say anything else, a set of bony arms were wrapped around her torso with so much force and both of them fell to the ground in a fit of happy tears and unreal laughter. Sunshine hugged her back tightly and buried her face in the mess of blonde curls that tickled her chin. 

El pulled away from Mike and wiped her happy tears before she fell to her knees and joined the girls on the ground. The three sisters embraced, each with similar tattoos on their wrists and enough power between them to bring the world to its knees. 

They were back and they were alive; Sunshine couldn’t believe it. She brushed her trembling fingers against the flushed cheeks of Eleven and Ten to ensure that they were indeed really in front of her. 

“How…” Sunshine rasped out with a shake of her head. “How is this possible?” 

“It’s a long story,” Nine said, standing beside the three girls with a small smile of his own. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were okay?” Mike asked El, his glossy eyes not moving away from her until another voice spoke up. 

“Because I wouldn’t let her,” Hopper said. El sighed and stood to her feet before she approached Hopper, earning a series of confused gazes. “What the hell is this? Where have you been?” 

“Where have you been?” El bit back. Hopper pressed his lips into a thin line and pulled El into a hug, much to the shock of the group gathered in the living room. Sunshine kept one hand in Ten’s as they both stood up and watched the interaction with confusion. 

Mike was the one to figure it out first. “You’ve been hiding her.” His words were bitter. Rage flashed across his freckled-covered face as he raised an accusatory finger in Hopper’s direction. “You’ve been hiding her this whole time!” he yelled. 

It felt like someone struck Sunshine in the gut. She nearly doubled over, but Ten squeezed her hand and kept her grounded. 

Hopper knew El was alive the whole time? Why didn’t he tell her? Hiding El from the party was one thing; they were just kids, and she understood the dangers their knowing could have put them in. But Sunshine was El’s sister. El was the only family Sunshine had for years. While Sunshine was mourning the death of her sister, it had been a lie, and Hopper never said a word. 

“Let’s talk. Alone.” Hopper ushered Mike down the hall, sparing Sunshine a quick look of mixed emotions before he disappeared into a bedroom with the raging pre-teen. Sunshine almost followed, but her hand was tugged on, and she was brought back to the fact that two more children from the Lab, who she also thought had been dead for years, were very much alive and standing before her. 

“Who are they?” Dustin asked, pulling away from the group hug between him, Lucas, and El. His gaze was pointed at the twins, who stood close to Sunshine’s side. 

El’s lips quirked upwards in a smile as she said, “Sister and brother.” Family, not Sunshine’s blood but a family bound by something else. 

“No way!” Dustin gasped. “You guys are like El and Sunshine?!”

With a quick nod, Nine replied, “I’m Luke and that’s Leia.” 

“Like from Star Wars?” Steve asked, earning a series of looks, mostly from Dustin and Lucas. 

A million questions raced across Sunshine’s mind. She didn’t understand how the twins and El were all alive and seemingly unscathed. 

For years she believed the twins had died in a Lab escape gone horribly wrong. And El, sweet El, freed from the Demogorgon that they all believed killed her the night at the middle school. 

“How are you here?” 

“Kali,” El said, earning a questioning gaze from Sunshine. “Eight. I found her. They were with her.”

Eight. Eight was another child of the Lab with abilities that Sunshine never understood. From what she remembered, Eight was a lot like Ivy. Both of them were angry, but Eight never showed any softness like Ivy had. Maybe it was because Sunshine hadn’t spent as much time with Eight, but it wasn’t unreasonable for anyone from the Lab to lack softness under the circumstances. 

Sunshine believed Eight had died alongside Nine and Ten that fateful night, but they all had been alive the entire time. 

“Jane said you were alive,” Ten, Leia, said. Her hand was still gripped tightly in Sunshine’s. “We missed you. We missed you so much and we had to see you for ourselves. 

Nine, Luke, sighed and looked down at his shoes. The scared little boy Sunshine knew all those years ago still lingered in his eyes and the way he stood almost folded into himself. But he was taller and there was a matureness carved out in the circles under his eyes and the frown of his chapped lips. Inside his head was a storm Sunshine could only pretend to understand. 

“We tried to come back for you and Jane. We really did. But…” he trailed off. 

Sunshine felt anger bubble up inside her chest. “Brenner lied.” Of course he had. He had told her that the twins and Kali were punished for their escape attempt. He didn’t want her to know they made it out, probably because he was worried that she would try to do the same. But it didn’t matter whether she knew or not, she still broke out with El regardless and made his worst fears come to fruition. 

“This whole time I thought you guys were gone,” said Sunshine. 

Tears gathered in Leia’s big eyes as she whispered, “We’re so sorry.” 

With a careful hand, Sunshine wiped the tears from Leia’s face before she cupped the girl’s cheeks. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault.” They were so small when they left; she couldn’t imagine how scared they must have been. At least they were alone, they had Kali. “And none of that matters anymore. You’re all here. That’s what matters.”

“Family.” El smiled brightly, despite the dark makeup smeared around her eyes. 

Despite the horrors the night had held, Sunshine couldn’t shake the relief that rushed into her chest. Each loss carved a piece out of her heart, but some of those pieces had returned. She felt hopeful for the first time that night. 

From behind the four of them, Dustin cleared his throat and tapped on Sunshine’s shoulder, shooting her and expecting look. “Oh, right. Luke, Leia, this is Dustin and Lucas.” The kids waved as they were introduced, with a newfound excitement lighting their eyes. 

“We know,” Leia quipped. “Jane told us all about you guys on our trip here.” 

Moving from Lucas’s side, Max held out her hand to the closest kid to her, which was El, and introduced herself. El looked between the outstretched hand and Max’s face before she stepped around the redhead and went straight for Joyce. Max’s smile deflated, but before she could drop her hand, it was grasped by Leia, who shook it with enthusiasm. 

“Hi Max.” Both girls giggled. 

Sunshine worked to introduce the rest of the group. “This is Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve.” 

A sudden, sharp gasp startled the group, who was still on edge from their nearly missed, second monster attack of the night. Nancy, who still had a gun gripped tightly in her hands, snapped her head toward Dustin and asked, “What?” 

“We have our own team of X-Men.” The look on Dustin's face was one of pure amazement. To his defense, he wasn’t too far off. There were four Lab kids with their unique share of abilities. To a couple of kids who grew up reading comic books, they found themselves living inside of one. 

Mike and Hopper concluded their conversation and seemed to be at somewhat of an understanding, for the time being. Everyone regrouped around the kitchen table that held Will’s message. 

“You opened this Gate before, right?” Joyce asked, earning a nod from El. “Do you think if we got you back there, you could close it?” 

“It’s not like it was before,” Hopper cut in. “It’s grown. And I mean, that’s considering we can even get in there. That place is crawling with those dogs-” 

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin blurted out. 

Hopper glared in the kid’s direction. “What?” 

“Demo-dogs. You know, like Demogorgon dogs…” Dustin cut himself off with a shake of his head. “Never mind. Not important.” 

El ignored all of them and looked at Joyce with pure determination shining in her eyes. “I can do it.” 

“You’re not hearing me,” stressed Hopper, but El was too stubborn. 

“I am hearing you. I. Can. Do. It.” 

At El’s side, Leia spoke up. “I can clear a path.” Everyone shifted their attention onto her, making her cheeks redden at the attention. “The, um, Demo-dogs. I can fend ‘em off and keep a clear path for El to reach the Gate without having her waste energy.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hopper tried to reason with the determined kids. “No. Listen to me-” They didn’t. Leia fixed her eyes on the light fixture that hung above the table and upturned her palm. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath as the light flickered and sparked before it cut out. It only lasted a second, and when the lights returned, little waves of what could only be described as lightning danced between Leia’s fingers in a flashy display of her powers. 

“I can do it,” Leia said, extinguishing her hands with a shake. “We can do it.” 

“Even if they can, there’s still another problem,” added Mike. “If the brain dies, the body dies.” 

Max asked, “I thought that was the whole point?”

“It is, but if we’re really right about it, if El closes the Gate and kills the Mind Flayer’s army, Will is a part of that army. Closing the Gate will kill him.”

Something shifted in Joyce’s expression. She stood up straighter before she bee-lined to Will’s room. Everyone had no choice but to follow. Will lay motionless on his bed, his skin slick with sweat and deathly pale. The window was open and filled the room with cold November air that brought goosebumps to Sunshine’s arms but didn’t seem to be doing the same to Will. 

“He likes it cold,” Joyce said. She hurried over to the window and slammed it shut with a small grunt. “That’s what Will kept saying to me. He likes it cold. We keep giving it what it wants.” 

“If this is like a virus and Will’s the host, then we need to make the host uninhabitable.” Nancy stood at Will’s bedside, beside Jonathan. “If he likes it cold…” 

Jonathan finished her thought, “Then we need to burn it out of him.”

“We have to do it somewhere he doesn’t know this time,” said Mike. 

There was a beat of silence as they all thought of somewhere they could take Will. After a moment, Hopper grumbled something under his breath before he said, “I know a place.” And the next step of their plan was set in motion.

Tagged (let me know if you'd like to be on the list!): @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @echoing-oursong

[pherelesytsia]

Morning After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female/Reader

Summary: Spencer wakes his girlfriend up after a long night of lovely kisses and delicate touches.

Warning: established relationship, mentions of Smut, Fluff,

Word Count: 1k

a/n: Requests are open.

Spencer Reid Masterlist

A reddish veil settled on the faces. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing his well-defined muscles adorned with reddish claw lines. Gracefully, his fingers slid over her skin. Guilt spread through Spencer, seeing the marks his nails had left over her body, kissed by the rays of the sun streaming through the narrow gap of the long curtains.

Spencer´s gaze slid from the dancing dust particles illuminated by the sun to his girlfriend, who had fallen asleep in his arms and did not appear to wake in the next few moments. Spencer was unable to take his eyes away from his beloved, running his gaze over the shape of her beautiful body. Blissfully, he smiled and again he was wondering what he had done to deserve Y/N. For a long time, the genius was planning to take Y/N as his wife, had bought a ring a few weeks ago but the blue velvet box was well hidden and the question didn’t make it past his lips.

Blue marks adorned her flesh, not covered by the quilt. Spencer did not wake his girlfriend, enjoying the moment of peace, laughing low and closing his eyes in pleasure. Suddenly he realised today was his day off and decided after not a moment's thought to spend the whole day in bed, only getting out of bed if he had to. He didn’t wake her up. Sliding closer to his girlfriend, the grin on his features kissed by the rays of the rising sun grew wider, knew it was Y/N´s day off too.

The young couple had decided a few months ago to have at least four days off a month to spend more quality time together, and Spencer longed for more days filled with love and dates mirroring the first dates at lovely restaurants and bistros. Even if the couple spend whole days together at work, both longed for moments of peace, not for pictures causing nightmares, making it almost impossible to close the eyes. It was Y/N who suffered greatly if the cases turned and twisted like the limbs of a fallen man but on those nights, Spencer was always by her side, listening and helping by his mere presence.

The sun's rays kissed his bare chest as he moved, finding a comfortable position and leaned against the wood so he could be closer to the love of his life. Spencer loved her like the first day, loved her from the deepest depths of his heart, and couldn't think of a better girlfriend than Y/N.

His roughened fingertips slid over her forehead again, brushed the strands of hair away, and whispered words of love and adoration into her ear. Her eyelids twitched and through narrowed eyes, Y/N looked up at Spencer. Her face contorted into a grimace, but then a slight smile spread across her lips, gazing into the eyes surveying her lovingly. Y/N chuckled as his hand cupped her cheek. They lost each other in their gazes, looked at each other enamoured. Y/N raised her right hand and stroked his cheek with her thumb, feeling the slight growth of his beard under her touch, feeling the bumps, and smiled.

            "Good morning, my love." Y/N breathed, losing herself in her lover's eyes as he continued with his loving touches.

            "Good morning. Do you know what day it is today, my darling?" asked Spencer joyfully.

Questioningly, Y/N looked at her long-haired boyfriend. Her brows almost touched, and a question wanted to cross her lips, but before the first syllable, the first word could cross Y/N realised what day it was. The smile softened and turned into a wide grin.

            "What do you say we go to the mountains today? We can hike. I heard the park there is nice, and I heard you talking about it with JJ. She visited it last week. Or we could do some work in the garden." Y/N breathed sleepily.

No answer escaped Spencer who shook his head in response.

            "Why not?", "We can just stay here in bed. We can sit in the garden and lie under the tree and enjoy the day. No cleaning nor working. I'll buy some takeout, ice cream and other sweets at the supermarket," Spencer explained in a joyful tone.

His voice was rough. A sudden shiver ran down her spine, remembering his words of adoration, telling her how much he loves her, how much he is longing for her touch, craving her closeness. Y/N wanted to get up from the bed but a soft whine crossed her lips. Spencer's eyes widened, looked questioningly down at his girlfriend, searching for wounds, wanting to understand what had happened, but couldn't find the answer, didn't see any open wounds adorning her skin and suddenly he saw the answer. The blanket had slipped down her frame and bruises radiated all over her body from her neck to her stomach in one trail.

            "I'm sorry, my dove. I didn't mean to hurt you. Do you need something? Are you in pain?" Spencer whispered.

No traces of mild pain graced her face, had enjoyed the night to the fullest. Amused, Y/N peered up at her lover. Her glance rested on his throat and spotted the scratches she had left on his flesh. Y/N sank her teeth into her lower lip.

"Spencer, you certainly didn't hurt me, you could never hurt me." Y/N immediately interjected. “And you should take a closer look at yourself. Blue suits you well.” Y/N joked amused.

Y/N quickly rose from the bed, pushed herself off of the pillow and let her hands rest on his cheek, brushed away the traces of fear and distress and let Spencer wordlessly know she was fine and feeling no pain. The next gust carried the clouds away. Spencer leaned forward, rested his hands on her hers and breathed a loving kiss on her lips.

[aueua]

oh I love the thought of cloth's little dots being bells... imagine the little ringing plus her cute cicada noises when she sleeps

yeah ! i think it was the promo art that made me think they were bells?

i know i mentioned it in the tags of the other post when this ask was sent (i've already removed it bwuajghah) but. i like to think there's a scenario out there where they're all friends together that travel together (in this case they're checking out greenpath, discover cloth's sleeping tendencies, and proceed to write a song solely based on said tendency where later cloth gently removes a bell to allow myla to shake it in or. something).

and i know you didn't ask but (: have a bonus sudden writing from me because !! hrmm... i don't know really ! i think i wanted a bit of comfort for myself.

length: ~800

⠀

it starts with setting up a tent, all three of them working in tandem to pitch it to the song of their own laughter. one-two, a quilt thrown over the grass, three-one, pegs hammered in. another beat to hoist up the poles fashioned from sculpted stone and braided vine ropes. an interlude—after the leaves are plastered on as a cover—to eye each other, see who will dare throw themselves into the comfort cage first.

⠀

(it's myla, and she does so happily without a care to the recovering world.)

⠀

bretta drops her satchel off to the side. cloth rests her club alongside the worn pick inclined against the corner. it's bright, warm, and there's the distant sound of running acid accompanying a light, cool air. it's not a large tent. but it's theirs. it fits them and then some and it was all their own work.

⠀

the secret crystals embedded into the pegs they'd brought for myla, though she always argues that she didn't need them. not anymore. not when she had found wealth in the other two, a kind of bond she could not have even with her long gone sisters. (it flusters them every time. even the miner herself, albeit she takes it in stride since it's fact. it's as true as the truth that they were here—alive, under her touch.)

⠀

the love woven into every seam of the quilt that bretta tries to insist was not much at all, but they know well enough that such a skill came with its due passion. a very passion that when looking closer (ah, don't look—!), it's all three of them hidden in the fabric. secret messages just for the curious them, and a subtle sheen that seems to reveal their journey together so far. (she couldn't help it, or so she always murmurs into a soft laugh. they were her muses, now. companions that she cherishes dear.)

⠀

the clumsy handiwork of cloth, who's gotten better mind you, at setting everything together with her own strength. being able to lift the others up when they can't quite reach something due to the differences in their stature. it's their own score, their own pride. she herself has admitted it, once. well. perhaps not just once, but how the other two have changed her—for the better.

(how nola would have loved to meet them. how nola would be happy, to see her living at the least, for them if not herself. she always finds sudden arms around her when she's lost in these musings, but those are the times she's especially glad for her larger stature. glad, to be able to hold them both and embrace them at the same time.)

⠀

eventually, they agree to rest for the day. cloth is more than happy to take up the offer and is the first one whose head drops to rest. myla and bretta shuffle close. the beetle unscrews a paintbrush from its container and gets to writing onto a tablet. the other's eyes curve into smiling upturned crescents as she begins to sing gently, her claws rested over her chest. gentle and aimless came the tune. for her, for them, for herself. it's a lilt, there aren't any words—not yet.

⠀

and they hear it. feel it.

the rumbling purr they've learned to recognize as cloth being asleep. myla can't help but giggle in between verses, and bretta has to draw her brush away at times so she doesn't smear the words from how infectious it is.

⠀

because they're so close, they know now that there's a delicate ring that comes from her shawl. bells that she never quite confesses why she has, but she at least tells them it's from her nola and that she could never bring herself to part with them regardless of how disadvantageous it may seem.

and, well. they've always said that rather than disadvantageous, it has its own charm. a reminder that nola is always with her.

cloth supposes they're right.

(not supposes. knows.)

⠀

and that's how it goes. myla'll eventually fall asleep with herself leaning against the cicada, and bretta'll take a pause at some point in her musing to let the tablet dry. she'll look over, and she'll wonder. wonder how a maiden like herself ever managed to befriend them. (she never questions if she deserves them anymore. the two always remind her that she's enough to them and to them and them alone, well, she supposes that's more than fine.)

⠀

so she'll pull aside tablets that she's never shown them (not yet, perhaps later when she feels more confident) and write her appreciation. write these moments. record the entries, this time with assurance that none of it was a dream. it was their moment to share, and eventually, she herself will rest on the opposite shoulder.

⠀

and they're happy.

⠀

[janekfan]

Revenant

My first written contribution to @tmabigbang! It's been a joy! Thank you to the amazing @captaincravatthecapricious and the lovely @vanroesburg for providing beautiful artwork! And thanks to my best beta @gently-used-fairytale! I couldn't have done it without you guys!

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34972735/chapters/87098077

If Jon didn’t acknowledge how much his kidnapping changed him, hurt him, he could keep all of his vulnerability and shame and grief hidden deep down inside him where no one had to look at it. No one would have to think about it; he wouldn’t have to think about it and it would all go away.

Right?

It wasn’t like he’d been beaten, or injured beyond where the ties bit into his skin as he struggled in vain. As far as kidnappings go, Jon rather thought his experience tame when compared to what could have happened.

Nikola could have kept all her many promises, could have taken his hide.

She could be wearing it right now, readying herself to dance the Unknowing.

Micheal could have killed him had Helen not so fortuitously appeared and whisked him away.

So, shouldn’t he be grateful? Focus on the positive; that he was alive and mostly well despite the tectonic shifting of his sense of self?

Wasn’t it ungrateful of him to take this gift and squander it, to feel sorry for himself when so many others never had even a chance? Stories already written once they drew the attention of that which crawled and choked and blinded and fell and twisted and left and hid and wove and burned and hunted and ripped and bled, and died. Like Tim’s little brother, Danny. He hadn’t a hope in the world once the need to know and to understand and to discover grabbed hold of him, leading him right into their claws.

Leading Tim right to the Institute.

Leading right to him.

Jon scrubbed a too-soft palm down his face, digging the tips of his fingers hard into his temples in an attempt to stave off his steadily worsening headache. Lord, he was tired, so tired of it all. Coughing lightly into his elbow, he curled up under the quilt, silently thanking Martin when it soothed the chills wracking him from top to toe. He was just rundown. That was all. Anyone would be after spending a month in those accomodations.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Repeat.

And gradually, Jon began to sink, the exhaustion rooted in his marrow tugging him further and further away from document storage and into something adjacent to sleep. Underwater, rocked back and forth by an undulant current, Jon let it all go.

A veritable mountain of paper carpeted the surface of his desk and Jon wished he could lose himself in the work of untangling the myriad threads connecting each statement to another (to another to another) if only to stop his mind descending into darker thoughts. He drank the tea Martin provided, even ate a biscuit or two when he wasn’t paying close attention, and poured over hundreds of files with the feverish ardor of one living on borrowed time. The answers were here, in the tapes, in the pages yellowed with age. He just wasn’t quite certain of the question. Even now, the statements seemed random, and Jon wasn’t willing to ask anyone else to put themselves in danger poking around alone. The Unknowing was coming. Nikola would find another costume eventually and for that Jon was so, so sorry.

Unfortunately, no amount of Martin’s tea seemed sufficient to clear away the fog that settled over his mind like clotted cream, thick and impenetrable. It was a wonder he could keep a thought in his head at all. The door slammed open, startling him enough he dropped his pen and scattered his notes.

“Here.”

“Uh.” Jon stared at the folder in Tim’s outstretched hand, bewilderment written all over his pallid face. If Tim weren’t so interested in his petty revenge, he might’ve worried.

“You asked for this.” He hadn’t. Hadn’t asked for anything lately. But Tim had been messing with him for days now just to regain some sense of control over this place. Let Jon be paranoid about something real for once.

“I, I did?” Nope.

“Figures.” Tim threw the folder down on the desk and watched Jon scramble to keep the pages together when they spilled across the blotter. “You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“I. No.” Somehow, Jon’s face fell even further. “But I, I’m making progress! At l’least--at least I hope I am.” Watching Jon struggle because of him assuaged the creeping, crawling desire to lash out at anything that moved, and Tim reveled in it.

“And you,” Tim paused, articulation pointed and sharp enough to cleave, “think that’s good enough. That you’re the one we should be trusting to make decisions.”

“I don’t--” Jon cut himself off, a flipbook of emotions passing over his face too quickly to interpret. “I don’t.”

“Spit it out.” That earned him a stern look, some of the old Jon peeking through the veil.

“I don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”

“As if you have any say in that.”

“Maybe I don’t.” Jon drew himself up to his full, diminutive height in his chair, squaring his shoulders and furrowing his brows. He’d always seemed bigger than he was. His nettlesome personality was successful as both a mask and a barrier that kept everyone at arm's length enough to hide the deep well of insecurity growing at his core. Now, he just looked small, like a child playing make-believe against real monsters that would do harm. “It doesn’t mean I get to stop trying.” For all the good it did any of them.

“And what does that mean for us?” The force of Tim’s palms striking the edges of the desk triggered an avalanche of documents, the susurrations of shifting paper interspersed with collisions like thunder. Jon shrank back, all pretense of bravery gone, and Tim smirked. He’d done that. Made him afraid. In the quiet, the creak of wood under Tim’s grip echoed like a gunshot. "You're no hero." His bitter laugh was the last nail in the lid of Jon’s coffin, and he crumpled under the weight of Tim’s stare, turning away, bottom lip quivering. Tim left him gathering horrors with trembling hands.

“Going out. Get your coat.” Jon startled. Tim never spoke to him if he could help it. Not since before he'd been taken, and certainly not after their last conversation.

“Wh’what?”

“Pub. Martin’s coming.”

“Oh. Uh, alright then.” His assistant was already gone, Jon could hear him shouting at Martin from across the archives. It sounded good. Right, like a missing puzzle piece finally found and it lifted the weight sitting heavy in Jon’s stomach enough for him to breathe around the ache. Maybe this was Tim’s way of letting Jon know he was ready to forgive him. He pulled on an old uni jumper, now large on his lanky frame, and joined Martin at the door, offering up a tentative smile when he was greeted in kind.

“Glad you could join us, Jon.”

The walk was pleasant, Tim filling up the space with good-natured chattering while Jon hurried to keep pace. He didn’t want to think about how exposed he was out here, instead pressing as close to Martin as he dared, hoping the bigger man wouldn’t take notice. It felt safe, or something close to it, and Jon swiped his eyes as surreptitiously as he could in the dark when the sodium glare on the pavement began to blur.

It wasn’t a good idea, but Jon downed the shot Tim handed him anyway, losing himself in the burn of cheap vodka long enough to be pushed into a booth, a pint shoved into his hand. Martin took pity on him and slid beside him, his warmth rushing in, blanketing Jon in the faint smell of bergamot. He took a sip of foam.

Hours passed. Jon was pleasantly loose, head fuzzy, the sounds of other patrons a far-away hum. Tim was telling stories about their time in research; pranks he’d pulled at the expense of Jon’s pride, those times they’d taken turns dragging the other home after they’d gotten caught up in one project or another. Jon caught Martin grinning at him more than once, a flush drawn liberally across his face as if with a wide brush. Jon grinned back; shy. Blaming it on the drink to no one but himself. Good lord, he was tired, body heavy, the desire to just allow himself the relief of leaning against Martin, soft and shielded, becoming impossible to ignore. Surely, he wouldn’t mind. Would let him rest. For a moment, nothing more.

“--Sasha loved that.” Like a bucket of ice water, reality flooded in, sharp and sour. “Right, Jon?”

“Eh. R’right.”

“Never could leave well enough alone, could she? Our Sash.”

“Tim?”

“Jon here has some stories, I’m sure! Never been against a bit of rule-bending, ‘ey?” Tim’s inhospitable expression belied his jovial tone.

“Um. N’no.”

“And yet, for all your daring, she’s the one who’s gone.” Martin went stiff beside him, catching on in the time it took for Jon’s head to straighten itself out. “I mean. You’re supposed to Know everything.”

“No. It. I n’never--” Tim cut him off, voice even and razor-keen.

“It should have been easy, Jon. Did you even try to keep us safe?” Pushing himself away from the table, Tim scoffed. “I’m just trying to understand here.”

“Oy, leave off.”

“What? You don’t like it? The truth? Without you and me, Martin, he’d be completely alone.” Tim slugged back his drink, slamming it down with enough force to make Jon flinch, curl into himself in shame. “Who else wants anything to do with you?”

“Tim-!”

“N’no, Martin. He’s. I suppose he’s right, yeah?” Just please don’t leave him alone. He’d made mistakes. He understood. And even if Tim had planned this all along, even if he’d faked all his niceties, Jon preferred that to abandonment. He’d never recover if they left him. Please.

Please.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, laughter limned with cruelty. “I’m right.” He reached over- sneering when Jon couldn’t suppress a tiny yelp of fear- to drain his pint too. “I’m always right and you always wanted this job.” Jon felt his jaw drop at the accusation, throat working uselessly. “You took it from Sasha because you knew, didn’t you?” The way he said it was so matter of fact that Jon almost thought it was true.

“No! That’s-- that’s not what happened!” Even to Jon’s own ears, it sounded as though he were whining despite the hoarseness of his voice.

“Sasha was better qualified than you and you couldn’t just let her have the thing she’d worked for her whole career.” Of course she was. Talented, beautiful Sasha whose face he couldn’t even remember without that thing in the way. “Gertrude saw her potential.” Tim leaned in, breath stinking of beer. Jon was trapped. Which was ridiculous. This was Tim. Tim wouldn’t hurt him. No matter how angry he was. “Just admit it, you’ll feel better.”

“I. I didn’t.” Didn’t he though? Hadn’t he basically asked Elias for the job by accepting that interview?

“Makes a man wonder just what you had to do, Jon. To get here.”

Martin may have made sure he got back to the Institute, but Jon didn’t remember the walk, just the numbness and trembling of his arms, like Jude hadn’t left well enough alone with his hand. Martin was gentle with him, more so than Jon could ever deserve, and he couldn’t even thank him. All the words he wanted to say were stopped up behind the lump in his throat.

Martin didn’t apologize for Tim, didn’t make excuses, and for that, Jon was grateful. It was already taking everything he had left in him not to break down and beg him to style; to admit he was scared of being alone because the fragments of himself were that much harder to keep hold of without the constant reminder of his presence.

Martin left him to the cot, slipping away with a quiet, “good night.”

Jon dreams.

He dreams that he’s still there and wakes with the taste of blood behind his teeth from his screaming. Nikola may not have taken his skin, but she may very well have taken the rest of him. He feels the phantom press of her plastic fingers as she draws imaginary lines across his skin, slick with lotion that overwhelms his senses, that floods the room with a smell he can’t quite describe but would know anywhere. Unscented. Not quite. Not when there was so much of it covering every part of him.

Like clockwork, they came.

He hears her words and trembles under her unwanted touch and heaves when she pours all her wretched knowledge of skinning a being alive into his eyes until he’s so full of dread he thinks he might die from it. Jon can see his own terror, trace where she had traced, an invisible scar no one would ever understand mapping the road of arteries and veins she threatened to nick.

Messy business, she’d said, being flayed.

But she'd had so much practice.

His office is abruptly too small, the walls closing in on him, sliding closer and closer until he’s certain he’ll be crushed. He stood, violently enough that his chair went skidding into a corner, crushing statements in its wake, and nearly collapsed when dizziness washed over him. Out. Out. He had to get out. The door stretched farther away with every step Jon took, reaching, scrabbling for the knob, nearly panicked enough he failed to open it on the first try. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t. All the air was gone, squeezed from his chest with a hacking cough that wouldn’t stop. Black threatened to swallow him up, steal him away.

The cement of the archive floor pressed painfully into every joint, exacerbating their ache, and a warbling noise very gradually transformed itself into his name repeated anxiously.

"Jon?" Martin coalesced above him, out of focus but unmistakable. Strong hands pressed along either side of his face, holding him still. One slid carefully to his brow. "Warm," muttered to himself as though confirming a hypothesis. "Jon?"

"Hafta…" like marbles in his mouth, Jon's words slid over each other, crashed together, more syllable and sound than anything intelligible.

“Shh, take a minute.” Martin’s voice reverberated in his ears, fading in and out like it was coming from underwater, while Jon tried to pull together all his disparate pieces. “Are you with me?”

“Wi...M’with…” He couldn’t bring himself to speak above the whisper catching on a desert-dry tongue flooded with salt. He could barely bring himself to breathe for fear of cracking completely in half and exposing his sawdust insides.

“Okay. Just relax.” Martin stroked his cheek, let him stay there, pillowed in his lap, and cocooned in safety.

He woke later, muzzy and distant, blinking up at a familiar ceiling and hemmed in by file cabinets. The sound of a page turning drew his attention and he let his head loll to the side. Martin looked up from the little book of poetry he was flipping through, smiling with what might have been relief.

“Hey there.”

“‘Ullo.” Jon croaked, letting his eyes drift closed again.

Jon was at a loss, caught between all the wrong choices, and while he wouldn’t admit to outright hiding from Tim, he certainly wasn’t going out of his way to find him. Instead, he tried to keep away from everyone and their judgment, too fragile to sustain the enormous weight of it on his brittle heart. Ever since coming to with Martin and his poetry beside him, Jon had felt wrong, somehow. Like he was lingering a half-step behind his own body and watching himself perform a poor imitation of one Jonathan Sims.

Inhuman.

Disconnected.

Nothing felt genuine or substantial, as though, if he attempted it, he’d be able to pass through walls, straying aimlessly through dark hallways and winding up places with no memory of how he’d come to be there. Mugs, files, pens, tape recorders all seemed the same. Only objects, unfamiliar in his hands until he’d come back from wherever he’d gone away to and startled, badly enough once that he dropped the tea, long cold, convinced it was spiders. He didn’t remember slicing open his burned hand on broken ceramic until Martin tugged him into a chair to bandage it. There wasn’t much feeling in it anymore and while his skin was so sensitive the brush of his oversized clothes was like claws raking across his body, the pressure exerted by Martin’s skillful fingers as he dabbed away old clotted blood and wrapped it neat and tidy with a bright white bandage, was grounding.

“Jon?”

“Mm?” He got the sense that Martin had been trying to get his attention for several minutes. He had to look away from the worry in his face, lest he break down entirely.

“I was saying, you don’t look well.”

“It’s fine, Martin.” Jon pressed the heel of his good hand against a closed eye. The throbbing behind it made it hard to think. “Tired, is all. Please.” He had to take a moment to get himself under control, the ache of being witnessed cloying in his throat. “Don’t.”

“How can you justify whatever you do in here all day while we’re being hunted?”

“Tim.” Jon couldn’t keep the pleading note out of his voice. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to argue.

“What, Jon? What?”

“I’m trying to help!”

"You're bloody well taking your time!”

“I, I don’t know what you want from me!” He didn’t mean it, didn’t mean to yell. He didn’t want to fight, least of all with Tim, but everything was so mixed up, pieces missing, and his coworker spinning riddles like yarn. “Just tell me! Tell me and I’ll do it.” Tell me how to fix it. Tim’s unkind laughter cut through him like an icy winter wind.

“But you're not trying, are you?" Tim got close, so close that Jon’s ears shook with his roar. “You just let things happen to you!” Red washed over everything, blotted out Jon’s vision.

“Oh yes, Tim!” Hurling his name like an expletive, Jon stared up at him, narrow chest heaving, uneven and fast. “I just let the Circus have me. I just let them t’t. T, touch me!” Breath catching in his chest, Jon felt the tears begin to fall, hot and embarrassing. “You know nothing about how hard I'm trying!” The whole of him was shaking now, shuddering as he sucked down noisy gulps of air. “Always sulking! Maybe if you’d been paying better attention you’d have noticed Sasha was gone!”

“Don’t.” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous, the rattling warning of a snake fixing to strike. But Jon couldn’t stop, filled to bursting with recklessness, intoxicated by danger and dizziness.

“You claim to know me so well, Tim, but clearly, you never knew her!” Lunging with a hoarse cry, Tim snatched him up by his collar to yank him close enough he was on his toes.

"Should've been you." And it was Daisy, of all people, that shoved herself between them and stopped it going any further.

“He’s not worth it, Tim.” She jeered as she pulled him bodily away, his fingers separating from Jon’s collar with a reluctance Jon could feel in his bones.

He wasn’t. He wanted to be.

He shouldn’t have said that. Not to Tim.

He had to start doing the right things. Acting the right way. Then Tim would stop looking at him like that. Like he’d been replaced.

Like Sasha.

With legs made of jelly, Jon limped along the hallway in the opposite direction and took refuge in the restroom, begging his innards to calm while he splashed his face with cool water from the tap. He stared grimly into the mirror, setting his shoulders, and examined the gaunt lines of an unfamiliar mask, watched the liquid trace paths he didn’t recognize. The dissonance was overwhelming. This was someone else. This was a stranger. This was unequivocally, irrevocably him. Without looking away, Jon reached for a handful of paper towel and scrubbed his face clean. When the reflection gawking back at him seemed no less alien, he scoured his skin until it was raw and red, until his eyes watered with unshed tears.

Maybe he’d been replaced after all. Maybe Nikola took his skin and left him with this. Or maybe he was still there and this was just his hell.

So, he forced himself to look. To look, and look, and look until moisture stung his cheeks, dripping from a trembling jaw. Until he lost the battle with his stomach and was sick with the sight of himself, his not self, turning just in time to dry heave into a toilet bowl, violent spasms arching his back, drawing straining muscles tight enough Jon could feel his shoulder blades trying to escape his skin as he clutched the porcelain for dear life and was finally, finally allowed to close his lips around a silent sob.

He collapsed, then, against the tile, his chest heaving, hitching, fists curled, convulsing.

No noise. Mustn’t make noise. Noise means violence. Threats. Fear. Touching.

No. No noise. His voice was worth less than nothing anyway.

[raewritez]

Still

based on this request: I’m thirsty for a love triangle. Maybe Sokka and Zuko fighting for the reader’s affection. And she chooses ____!

warnings: one swear word right there ⬇️, aangst, simping

It fucking hurt.

Sure, Sokka knew Zuko was good now, and he knew that the two of you had history. But he couldn't have prepared himself for the ache that took place in his chest whenever you would choose to sit by Zuko around the campfire, when you would tease him in that playful tone of yours, when you would smile at him and it seemed like the sun beamed a bit brighter. It hurt because Sokka didn't get that anymore. Or maybe he did, but he was too blinded by jealousy to process the fact that you cared about both of them. In Sokka's mind, your gaze was always on Zuko, on his stupid fluffy hair and his oh-so-perfect stupid face. Your hand was always somewhere on him; on his arm, around his shoulder, on his face when you healed the cuts that resulted from your latest skirmish. He could only clench his jaw, standing and storming off to where he could be alone with his misery. He'd feel your eyes on him as he walked away, probably widened in confusion and your head probably tilted in that stupid, adorable way that made Sokka's heart melt every time. But he'd continue, not sparing you a glance. It's not like you cared, anyway.

You did care.

What was his problem? Things hadn't been this tense between you and Sokka since you first met, since he labeled you as the enemy and scoured you with his glares. But that was months ago. You weren't used to this standoffishness, not used to the way he'd turn on you and leave you in the dust. No, you were used to Sokka, your Sokka. The one that held you when you cried when the Earth Kingdom fell and Zuko sided with his sister, the one that teased you mercilessly with that lopsided grin of his, the one that raced you to the top of mulberry trees to see who could get the best fruit. The one that came to you when his mind was racing, face nuzzled into your neck as your fingers pulled his hair loose from his wolf-tail. That was your Sokka, not the stranger that walked away from you now.

Your concerned gaze was broken by a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Hey, you ok?"

You forced a smile, turning to Zuko. "I'm fine. Just tired. Your story put me to sleep."

He scoffed, bumping you and turning away to hide his grin. "Well, it's actually my Uncle's story. You can blame him."

"I'm sure I'd be more interested if Iroh was telling it," you grinned. "Maybe you're just a bad storyteller."

"I'm a great storyteller. You're just a bad listener."

"Mhm. Sure."

He let out a breathy chuckle, eyes darting to your face. Spirits, he'd missed you. This is what he'd longed for those three years; this closeness. Memories of his childhood ran through his mind - memories of playtime and friendship, of two best friends who had nothing to fear but curfews and monsters under the bed. Zuko had fought and struggled, had chosen right and chosen wrong, but all those choices had led him here. Back to you. And now, his body lit aflame by your touch and his heart skipping by the song of your laughter, he'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

He was thrilled to have you back, but it was different. Before, in the painted halls of the Firenation palace and under the maroon quilts of his mother's bed, he'd had you all to himself. Now, he had to share. It was strange, seeing you laugh so boisterously with Toph or hug Aang so closely, seeing you walk arm in arm with Katara as you went into town for groceries. He was in much better standing with the group now - he knew he was forgiven for his mistakes and was welcome to share in the friendship they so generously provided. He was overwhelmingly grateful, but he cherished the moments he spent with you. And they'd have been better, if not for the other boy in the group.

Zuko had no problem with Sokka. Quite the contrary, he admired him for his leadership and laughed at his jokes, and the time he spent with him was something he enjoyed. But he envied him. Zuko saw the way the Water Tribe boy looked at you; like you were the sun itself and had put all the stars in the sky just for him. He saw the fondness in the other boy's eyes when you spoke, saw the comfortability in his movements as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He had to remind himself that the two of you were close - that you'd spent months traveling together while he chased you all over the world. He'd guessed you would be close, but it seemed he'd underestimated the power of your love for your friends and this boy. Because you were brighter when he was around, eyes flickering to him as if on instinct whenever he arrived at the campsite. Your eyes grew tender and your voice soft, and Sokka's affection mirrored your own.

Your eyes locked on his, and he felt like he could drown in them forever. Your lips curved into a grin, and his worries and insecurities were washed away as quickly as they came. You stood up, offering him your hand. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."

He took it eagerly, smiling up at you in a way that made your heart warm. You reached up to ruffle his hair, skipping away and laughing at his indignant "Hey!" before he caught up to you and flicked your forehead. You swatted his hand away, glaring up at him. He only smirked before walking ahead of you.

You grabbed your bedroll, laying it out on the dusty ground. Zuko laid his close by. After putting out the fire and bidding goodnight to your friends, casting a sad look to Sokka's figure which sat idly upon the cliffside, you made your way inside and shut your eyes, Zuko not far behind.

///

Yep. Sokka was annoyed. He thought going for a walk would clear his mind, maybe preoccupy his thoughts with something other than you, but he guesses he was wrong. It was impossible when he could hear your laughter all the way from camp, no doubt directed towards the Firebender. He swallowed roughly, picking up his pace. He couldn't stand it; you and him. Sokka had no problem with Zuko. They were friends! Well, pretty much. Zuko had proved himself to be loyal, and there was no reason for him not to be trusted. He was cool - a little awkward albeit, but hey, Sokka can understand where that would come from after spending three years as an isolated, ponytail-wearing, Avatar-obsessed banished prince. He had no problem with Zuko, really. He guessed that he just...missed you.

Katara said he was jealous, something he promptly waved away, dismissing her with a wave. She'd rolled her eyes and called after him, "You can't ignore it forever, Sokka!" Ok, whatever Katara.

He was not jealous. He didn't care about the time you spent with the fire bender, or the way you seemed happier now that he was around. He didn't care that he hadn't talked to you in two days, and he definitely didn't care that your sleeping bag was sidled up cozily next to Zuko's.

"I'm so stupid," he muttered, lowering himself to the ground. He swung his legs over the cliff, feet dangling in the air. He turned his head, catching glimpse of the dying embers in the campfire, Toph's rock tent and Katara and Aang's sleeping figures, and you, asleep with your arms stretched in Zuko's direction. He held his head in his hands, sighing frustratedly. Yeah, maybe he was a little jealous. But really, why wouldn't he be? He used to sleep next to you, he was the one who made you laugh and woke you up in the middle of the night to sneak a ride on Appa. Now what? It'd been days since the two of you had a real conversation, so different from the constant chattering and jokes that had made his time saving the world so much more bearable. He missed you. So, so much. Spirits, what he would give for a day with you, the ones like you used to have. Where you would do whatever you wanted and usually end up scolded by Katara, but those were the days that made him forget the war and the reality of his unfortunate circumstances, when his heart was light and his worries quenched.

Those days meant everything to him, but he was afraid they were expendable. Because now you spent them with Zuko without so much as a glance his way. Sure, it wasn't like he was making much an effort, but still. You'd told him about Zuko; about the friend you'd lost to banishment who'd come out like his father. He'd thought you were crazy when you said with such conviction that he still had some good in him, but had comforted you nonetheless. He sat with you in his arms and told you the story of the time he got beat up by a penguin back home. He felt proud when he made you laugh.

You meant everything to him, but maybe it was different for you. He knew you loved him, although maybe not in the way he was beginning to question his own love as being, but he knew you loved him. You made sure he knew; in your smiles, in your words, in your touch. But he also knew you loved everyone else - the way you talked with his sister and softened her edges, allowing her to rest from the motherly role she put herself in and taking her under your arm instead. The way Toph latched onto you, teasing you with utter fondness and accepting your help without resistance. The absolute adoration that Aang held for you - resting his head on your shoulder and coming to you with his troubles, always searching for your guidance in his trials and relying on your strength and unwavering faith in him.

But it seemed different with Zuko. With him you were unbearably gentle, reassuring him of his value and rekindling the lost friendship of children ripped apart. It was obvious to everyone; the pure affection you held for this boy. It was obvious to Sokka, and, spirits, it stung. Because had you ever looked at him like that? Had he ever made you laugh as loudly as you did for Zuko, who was seemingly not even trying? He didn't know and it ate away at him, clawing at his chest and leaving it burning. Maybe he was in too deep now, too lost in love and bitterness to see the olive branches you offered him and the way your eyes darkened when he turned them away. It was fine. He was perfectly fine and would continue to be fine, even as Zuko's hand reached out for yours. Even as he felt you slipping away, even as he was alone. So terribly, painfully alone.

———-

part two?👀

[systlinsideblog]

Part 3

The Great Crimes are as follows;

There are three Great Crimes, for which the punishment is death.

The first of the Great Crimes when, in cold blood, a person murders another who has offered no offence. The punishment for murder shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the loved ones of the murdered or by one they give the right to in their stead.

The second of the Great Crimes is rape. The punishment for rape of another shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the victim or by one the victim gives the right to in their stead.

The third of the Great Crimes is to enslave another, and hold them in bondage. The punishment for holding another in slavery shall be death…

-The New Laws, or The Change in the Laws of Gor, The Great Ubara Systlin Stellas, on the new laws of the land, speech given in the Throne Room of Turia, 0 AGU. Chiseled on a pillar before the Law Rooms of Ar in its entirety

 Kutaituchik, the Ubar of the Tuchuks, was dead. 

It had been a very brutal and confusing few hours. The strange woman had refused to show courtesy or deference. She had made no apology for killing Tuchuk warriors. She had not relinquished the slave girl clinging tight to her side, the one whose master she had killed when he moved to chastise his slave.

She had stood before the Ubar of the Tuchuks like a queen before her court, and had demanded. 

I pulled at the slave collar around my throat, and found it quite secure. 

I have seen many things in my day. Many horrors, and many wonders. But I have never before in all my days seen a horror like the one that the woman Systlin had brought to the wagons of the Tuchuk. 

I looked to the wagons of the Ubar. There was light within them, bosk-dung fires in braziers. The woman Systlin had claimed it for her own, and gathered all the haruspexes and soothsayers to confer with them. 

My leg throbbed. It had been set and bound skillfully, but the bone would take some weeks to knit. Until then, I could scarce walk, hobbling with the aid of a cane. 

The woman had not even touched me to break it.

Sorceress, I thought. I had not believed in such things, and would have attributed such powers only to the Priest-Kings. But I had seen it now, with my own eyes, the terrible power that woman held, the power to shatter bone and steel with will alone. 

The corpses of some of the Tuchuks who had risen in rage against her after she had slain their Ubar were still lying where they had fallen. I tried not to look at them, but found my eyes drawn. 

Shapeless things they were, only scarce resembling men. The bones, I gathered, were nothing more any longer but needle-like splinters. Those splinters had driven through flesh and vital organs, and once-proud warriors lay where they had fallen, shapeless piles of bloody meat. 

I had been fortunate that it was only my leg that had been broken. 

I shivered. My leg throbbed. And I wondered, what terrible force had set a terror like this woman loose upon Gor.

 The water was cold. 

Systlin hated cold baths. Cold in general, really. But it was, in this situation, useful. 

Her Power screamed and fought inside her, eager to be used again, and she wanted to. Oh, but she wanted to, and that was the danger of it. The cold water was a good distraction. 

She didn't know how many men she'd killed. Some with sword. More, many more, with her power for Breaking. And it had been good, it had been so good, to stand there untouchable and terrible, hearing their screams and seeing their terror, to walk among them like a terrible, unstoppable, untouchable goddess, tearing down everything in her path...

She shivered, and ducked under the surface of the stream. 

It was always...hard, after, and she'd let herself go further than usual this time, in her rage. She always felt brittle after, hollow, the desire to kill and kill until nothing remained clawing to be let out again. She'd be short now with people, she knew, and snappish. Easily irritated, even over trivial matters. Once you started to kill with the Breaking gift, it was so very easy to continue.

Breaking was a terrible gift. The seduction of the sheer power it gave, the delight in using it, were as dangerously addictive as poppy milk. 

To look upon a Breaker is to look upon a madman. She remembered hearing that as a child, reading it in books. 

Under the water, sounds were muffled. But she still heard the sound of footsteps on the stream bank, muted and distorted. She came out of the water in a rush, her hand landing on Ice's hilt, and the sword was half drawn before she realized that the intruder was the girl she'd rescued from being beaten. 

The girl cringed back, falling to her knees and prostrating herself in what was clearly ingrained habit. "Mast...mistress! I am sorry! I did not mean..."

A little of the brittle anger ebbed out of her. Systlin sheathed her sword. "It's all right. I've spent too much of my life with people trying to kill me, is all. You did nothing wrong." She stepped out of the stream, wringing out her hair and shivering in the chilly air. 

The girl looked up at her, eyes wide. It was...unnerving. Systlin was used to people bowing, but bowing and the groveling the girl was doing were two different things entirely. "I have not displeased you, mistress?"

Oh, tits. 

"No. And you needn't call me that." Systlin pulled her trousers back on, and the quilted silk gambeson that went under her scale armor. "My Lady' will work quite well. I'm not your mistress. You're a free woman. I've no interest in owning anyone." 

"My lady?"

"Please stand up." Irritation flared, but Systlin tamped it down hard; it was a bleed-over from the cold joy of destroying, nothing more. It was not her, and she would not acknowledge it. She reached a hand out. After a moment, the girl took it hesitantly, and Systlin pulled her to her feet. "There. That's much better." 

The girl blinked at her, eyes still wide, and Systlin saw a hint of awe there. 

The girl had, she noticed, fashioned herself rough trousers of hide, patterned much like Systlin's own. 

"What's your name?" She asked. 

"I am Sabra." The girl was still staring, eyes moving up and down as she took everything in. "You...you are very strong. I have never seen...I did not know a woman could swing a sword like a man." 

Systlin tugged her armor over her head and hopped a bit until it settled into place. "Swords don't weigh that much. Anyone can swing a sword with practice. The strength to do it well will come with time and training." 

Sabra's head came up a little at that. "Anyone?" There was a thin thread of timid hope in her voice.

Systlin smiled. "Yes. Anyone. You included. Would you like to learn?"

There was a long pause, and then a long, slow, genuine smile from the former slave.

“I….think so, Mi…my lady.”

“Well. Then you shall. You’re a free woman, and free women do as they like.”

“Free.” The woman echoed, as if the word wasn’t real. “Free.”

“Unless of course you wish to go elsewhere.” Systlin shrugged as they walked. “Have you a family anywhere? A home you were taken from?”

“I…a long time ago, I did. If I wished…”

“I would give you gold, supplies, anything you needed, and take you there, and wish you well.”

The look the other woman gave her was naked astonishment, and something like awe. For a moment she looked wistful, but then… “No. If I returned home, I could quickly be made a slave again.” She touched her upper thigh; Systlin had noted that many of the freed slaves bore brands of various types there. “I am branded as a slave; any man could take me and sell me or keep me and be within the law.”

Systlin saw red for an instant. “Then you will stay.” She ground out. “Until we pay a visit to your former home, and teach them the error of such ways.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Sabra breathed. “You would…you would do this? Free other places as you’ve freed us in this camp?”

“If the men of this world insist on being awful,” Systlin growled. “I will do as I must. Slavery is among the greatest crimes, and rape another. I will not abide either.”

“You were sent.” Sabra breathed. “I begged the Mother for aid, though I was beaten for worshiping false gods. Other women also begged the old gods for aid, I know it. We begged for mercy and help and here you are.”

For mercy.

Systlin tilted her head back and stared at the sky. There were three moons here, which seemed to fly across the sky quite rapidly. She picked out the largest nearly by instinct, and glared.

Mercy. Lady’s mercy. Fucking pits. Now it made sense.

Gods. Gods and their machinations. She scowled.

Well. At least she knew how she’d ended up in this shithole.

  Morning brought no greater comfort. 

The slave collar around my neck had been forged for a woman, and though it was the Turian style on me it was too tight, and bit into my flesh. I could breathe, but it was uncomfortable

Between the throbbing of my leg, the pinch of the collar, and the chill of the night, I got but little sleep. Inside the wagon, under warm furs, slept slave girls. Their collars had been removed, and many of the surviving Tuchuk men wore them as did I, bound wrist and ankle and neck. 

I wondered what had become of Kamchak. I had not seen him since the furor had begun outside the Ubar's wagon. 

My wrists were securely chained behind me. Bells jangled with my every move. The ground was hard, and cold. I wondered, for the first time, how slave girls could sleep this way. 

The night passed in interminable slowness and misery. There was movement, among the wagons, and the sound of men's angry voices and chiming bells from other poor souls so humiliatingly bound as myself. There were the voices of women, hushed, and often with a tone of disbelief. 

I heard women laughing. There was rather more of it than I was accustomed to. 

Twice slave girls had come to see me. They seemed to find the sight of a warrior in slave chains novel. 

"You must let me free," I had said, my voice stern and commanding. "You are slaves; you must obey." 

They had giggled, ignoring my words, and left. They were, I noted, no longer attired properly; their hair was bound back in plaits, and they wore leather blouses and had fashioned trousers, hastily made but quite obviously patterned after those of the vicious she-sleen that had brought this ruin and humiliation down upon us. 

At dawn food was brought, dried bosk-meat. I was fed, given water, and then left alone again. 

The chain that connected the rings on my wrists and ankles and neck was quite securely linked to the axle of the wagon. I had tried to loosen it with some vigor the day before, without luck. 

Some time passed. I pulled at my chains, for all the good it would do me; my leg was quite broken, and I could not flee even should I get loose. 

As dawn broke, the scent of charring meat reached me, and south of the camp I saw great plumes of smoke begin to rise. 

I had smelled enough corpses burn to know that the dead of the slaughter the night before were being burnt. 

As the sun rose towards mid-morning, I was approached. 

The she-sleen had chosen herself a fine black kaiila. She rode well; I could see that she was not quite used to the sleen, as she rode as one would an ordinary horse. But she sat well, and when she dismounted it was gracefully and with ease. 

She had shed her leather tunic. Instead, glittering in the sun, was armor formed from what looked like scales, each perhaps two inches long and half as wide. They were of many different colors, each iridescent and gleaming brilliantly in the sun. 

She looked me over. I met her eyes steadily; I was a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba, and I would not be cowed before a woman. 

"Hm." She made a noncommittal noise at last. "You are not of these people."

I said nothing.

"No matter." She shrugged, and turned. A group of slave-girls were following her. All were collarless and had plaited their hair, and wore clothing of various types; some skirts, some trousers. All wore blouses or vests of leather or cloth that sadly covered their charms. "Take him." 

"Am I to be a slave, then?" I glowered at her. 

She turned her head to look at me again. It occurred to me again that had she been less mannish and muscular, she could have been a beauty. 

"I've no interest in keeping anyone as property." She said. "You are to be judged." 

"By what authority?" A girl wearing the long skirt and leather vest of a Tuchuk woman moved to loose me from the wagon. Her hair was plaited. I remembered, not two days ago, seeing her dancing in pleasure silks and bells for her master around his fire. 

I thought of breaking loose and overpowering the girl. But the woman Systlin was still watching me, and I saw her, as the girl chose a key and unlocked my chain from the wagon, curl her hand around the hilt of the long dagger on her belt. 

I am ashamed to admit, but it stayed me. I had seen flashes of the woman fighting, and though it pain me I would be forced to compare her favorably with the greatest warriors of Ko-Ro-Ba. In my current state, I had no chance. My hope for flight lay in my recovering and stealing a fleet kaiila, I knew. So, as the chain was loosed, I gave no resistance. 

"Mine." The she-sleen's voice was crisp. "Can you walk?"

Pride demanded no less of me. I am a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba. By leaning on the cart, I managed to get to my feet. 

"Help him." She told the girl who held my chain. The girl nodded.

She did not say what would happen to me if I resisted. She did not need to. 

I was taken to the tent of the Ubar. Before it was piled many fine carpets, and cushions of silk and leather. On top of it all was spread a worn gray robe; it was this, I supposed, this simple garment that was the grey robe of the Ubar. 

There were other men, chained as I was, chained to the palatal wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks. I tried to estimate their number; a hundred and a half, perhaps two. 

This was all that remained of the proud warrior men of the Tuchuk. 

I am no stranger to death. But upon seeing this, and realizing the full scale of the disaster which had befallen the Tuchuk, I must admit that I felt a flicker of fear. 

What terrible creature was this woman, to slay three thousand strong men in a night? 

The she-sleen walked past the men chained to the wagon. Her back was straight, and her stride purposeful. 

I could not help but notice that, despite her too-strong build, she had what appeared to be marvelously shapely hindquarters. 

She did not hesitate for even a moment; she went directly to the gray robe, the throne of the Ubar, and seated herself upon it with all the air of one born to it. 

I heard a groan rise from the captive men, myself included. She sat cross-legged, a man’s stance, not a woman’s proper kneeling stance. Women who sit so are often ridiculed as wishing to be men, but everything about this woman was unnatural and wrong.

One man started up, and my heart leapt; it was Kamchak! 

His arm was splinted, as was a leg, much like mine, and his eye was black and swollen. He spit in the direction of the she-sleen on the throne of the Ubar, and cursed her. 

"You! Sleen! You say you wish to judge us? What right have you?"

Her head turned, very slowly, to regard him. Then she smiled, and turned back to look out at the gathered crowd. 

Around the throne of the Ubar of the Tuchuks, women thronged. Tuchuk women, some grim-faced and some smiling. Slave girls, by the hundreds. Many wore trousers. Most had braided their hair. 

Mothers were holding their children. Babies fussed, and were soothed. Some of the older boys looked angry. Some of the girl-children cried too. The elder of the girls, however, were smiling. 

There were many more smiling women than scowling women in the gathered crowd. 

"Tuchuk," said the she-sleen, voice unconcerned and even. "Who is Ubara here?"

The roar of voices was near-deafening. "SYS-TAL-IN!" The women, freewomen and slave girls alike, screamed it. Only a few of the dour Tuchuk free women refrained. "SYS-TAL-IN! SYS-TAL-IN!" 

Systlin looked back at Kamchak, and her smile was an unpleasant thing. 

"There you have it." Her voice, again, was mild, deceptively so.

"You cannot..."

"I did." Her voice rose above Kamchaks'. "By your own laws, it seems, might makes right. The strong triumph, am I wrong?" Her eyes glittered. "It appears, warrior, that I am stronger than you, for I sit here on comfortable rugs and you are defeated and chained to a wagon."

"You used sorcery!"

"Yes." She agreed easily. "Though your warriors were easy enough to defeat without it." A horrible grin. "But yes. I used sorcery, and however I did it one woman, alone, brought every one of your great warriors to their knees. The pyres for those I killed burn still. And now, you will be silent, until it is your turn to be judged." 

"WE HAVE COMMITTED NO CRIMES!" Kamchack's outraged roar drew cries of approval from the other shamefully chained warriors. 

Systlin's mouth...it was a full mouth, and could have been pretty, were it smiling...compressed into a thin line. She nodded to one of the girls standing near the throne of the Ubar, in a grotesque imitation of the honor guard of an Ubar. 

"Gag him," she said simply. 

To my astonishment and horror, the girl moved promptly to do so, with a cheerful and almost gleeful demeanor. 

Kamchak surged to his feet as best he could as the girl approached with a strip of leather; several of the bound warriors gave cries of encouragement. Systlin's head snapped around, fast as a striking sleen, and she was on her feet in a moment and at the girl's side in a moment more, that vicious sword of hers drawn. 

The tip of that blade was pressed close against Kamchak's groin, and the she-sleen kept smiling, even as he drew a breath, naturally alarmed by the sharp steel near his male parts. 

"Sleen." Kamchak hissed this, proud even in chains. "You cannot always be there, woman. Your unnatural sorcery cannot protect you forever."

Systlin laughed. A little huff of a chuckle, even as the slave girl bound the gag around Kamchak's mouth and head with every sign of enjoyment, which disturbed me. 

"I have had," Systlin said, "Far better men than you try to kill me." A wide grin, with all of her teeth bared. "Now be quiet, and wait your turn." 

She returned to the seat of the Ubar. 

"Bring forth the first prisoner," she commanded. 

It was done. A warrior was dragged, bound hands and feet so that he could not even stand, before the grotesque display, and forced up on his knees. He spit at the she-sleen on the Ubar's seat; she did not turn a hair at this. 

"Your name." She asked. 

"Sleen!"

"Your name." The same patient tone. 

Silence. 

She sighed, lifted her eyes. "Can anyone tell me the name of this man?"

"Braltak." A woman's voice. I did not see who spoke. 

"Braltak. Have you, Braltak, in your life, held women or men as property?"

Silence. Braltak looked down his nose at her, and spit again. 

"He has." The same voice. Female. There was a quaver to it now. 

Braltak spun, as best he could. "Kala!" His voice was furious. "Kala, be silent!"

"Come forward, if you would." The she-sleen's voice speaking to me and the warrior had been curt, cold, commanding. But to the girl Kala, it was softer, and gentler.

Timidly, looking always at Braltek, a girl stepped through to stand before the self-proclaimed Ubara. 

She was a lovely girl. Turian, I was certain, with golden hair and eyes as green as summer grass. Her figure was delicate and trim, though it was difficult to tell through the long leather skirt and baggy blouse she wore. 

"Your name is Kala?" Again, the softer, gentler voice, encouraging. 

"Yes, Ubara." The girl was still glancing nervously at Braltek. "And...before you freed us...I was his slave." 

The idea was hard to swallow, at first; every slave in the Tuchuk camp, free!

But she had, I had to admit, the right. She sleen she may be, but she had defeated the warriors, by sorcery or not. She had taken their slaves for her own, and had done with them as she liked. 

I did not like it, but it was fact. 

"He kept you as property." Systlin's voice was hard; her eyes were back on Braltek. "Did he, Kala, ever place hands on you against your will? Did he ever force you to pleasure him?"

"She is a slave! That is her purpose!" Braltek roared. 

"Ah. I have my answer." Systlin nodded her head, once. "By the law of my lands, such a crime carries the penalty of death. As the victim, you have the right to seek mercy. Do you desire mercy for this man?"

Kala's lovely green eyes fixed on Braltek. 

"You are mine, Kala." Braltek's voice went lower. "You are mine. I am your master, you know it."

The lovely girl turned back to the she-sleen on the robe of the Ubar. 

"I do not." Her voice was almost inaudible, but then she spoke again, more strongly. "I do not! I do not seek mercy for him!"

My mouth hung open. 

Kala was slave. A slave loves her master. It is what they are trained for. 

"I do not seek mercy for him!" Kala's voice rose, almost a scream. 

"Then I, Systlin Stellas, Queen of the Northern Lands and Ubara of the Tuchuk, proclaim this man Braltek guilty of the crimes of rape and slaving, and sentence him to die." The she-sleen stood, graceful, and picked up a quiva from among the rugs she had sat upon. She flipped the blade, catching it easily by the tip without looking, the motion smooth, automatic, and practiced. She offered the hilt over to the girl. "It is your right, as offended party, to carry out the sentence yourself, if you so wish." 

To my incredible shock, the girl Kala reached out a hand, almost tentatively, and took the hilt of the quiva. 

She could not do it, of course. She was a slave, and a slave belongs to her master, utterly. 

The slender fingers tightened on the hilt. She did not seem to know how to hold the quiva properly, holding it as if she were about to slice bosk meat for the spit. 

Her eyes turned to Braltek, and in them burned something like hate. 

No. She was slave! A slave serves her master!

"Kala." Braltek's voice sounded suddenly uncertain. "Kala, I have treated you well, better than most would..."

Kala screamed then, high and furious and long,  and flew at him. The quiva rose and fell. 

She was inexpert with the weapon. The blade hit Braltek's shoulder, and slid down, slicing a long cut into his arm. Blood flowed, and Braltek yelled in shock. 

The quiva rose and fell again. Again, again, again the girl struck, inexpert, but the wounds adding up one by one until Braltek lay in a pool of red-stained grass. 

Kala dropped the quiva, and fell to her knees. She was sobbing, great wracking sobs that shook her small frame. 

The she-sleen came down from her throne, went down to her knees beside the girl, and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

"It is all right." Her voice was soft, and Kala leaned into her blindly, as a child might seek comfort from its mother. "He cannot hurt you again." 

Some other girls came forward then; Kala was taken away with much patting of hair and comforting. 

The she-sleen returned to her throne of rugs, sitting down once more. She smiled then, as if nothing had happened. 

I, and the men chained as I, were silent. The shock had not yet sunk in. 

"Had he a wife, or any children?" Systlin asked. 

No one responded. 

"Then it is my order that all the worldly possessions of Braltek now go to Kala. They are hers, to do with as she will. Bring forward the next prisoner." The she-sleen commanded. 

[cantuscorvi]

(Dream Anon) You're flying through the air. It's been a long time since you've flown, hasn't it? It's such a liberating feeling to have the wind lifting you up, and the sun warming your broad black wings. The world becomes a patchwork quilt for you up here. You're reminded of your superiority over it all.

Your eyes catch a glint of yellow down below. You circle above, focusing on it. You know that head of hair. A surge of joy courses through you as you descend down to it. She sees you. She smiles and raises her arm up for you to land on. You notice she's wearing a lovely dress. Strange, for being in a field of flowers, but you think it makes a perfect scene.

You perch on her hand and croak at her. She strokes your head with her other hand. "Hello, you Old Crow. I wondered when you'd come. I was starting to miss you." Your sense of pride swells with your chest as you walk up to her shoulder. You nip her ear teasingly. She giggles and pokes your belly. "Knock it off, you meanie. I don't want to regrow that." You make a sound that comes across as laughter as you nuzzle her cheek.

Something red catches your eye. You recognize the smell of blood. You look down at the shoulder you're not on. There's a circle carved into her flesh. It's bleeding. It reminds you of a sigil, but it isn't complete or recognizable. Your claws dig into her flesh as anger builds. She gasps, but when you hear growls below, you know it wasn't meant for you.

You whip your head around to see them as they suddenly appear. Big, black wolves, as high as a man's chest, prowl out of the grass. Their eyes glow red. They lick their lips as they look at her. She grabs you off of her shoulder. She's looking into your eyes with her own pleading ones. "You have to leave. They won't stop until they have me. I don't want you to be hurt. I love you." You start to shake your head but she throws you into the air as one lunges at her, bring her down to the ground.

You naturally catch yourself and hover, and see with horror that her efforts to throw the beasts off to protect herself are fruitless with so many. Fury grows in you, and it also causes you to grow. It's sharp, like the deepest, most lethal cold imaginable. Where there was once an averaged sized raven in the air, now there is a giant bird beast.

With a roar, you grab the wolves off of her and rip them apart. You throw their still howling remains to the side, scattering them like bloody seeds. You aren't sure how many there are. They seem to keep coming out of the grass, no matter how many you throw around. There are always more coming. When you realize that they will simply keep coming, you do the only thing you can and lift her into your arms and fly away.

You fly faster than the winds can go, going far, far away, taking her to a quiet little grove. It's peaceful. The moonlight is soft in it. Only the trickling of a nearby creek and the chirping of crickets breaks the silence. You lay her down gently on the soft grass and look over her. Her breathing is ragged. Her face is bloodied. She's holding your claw for comfort. "Raum," she whispers.

You hear a howl. Your head shoots up. They couldn't have...but they did. They will be here again soon. They will come for her again. You look down at her. Her green eyes gaze up into your blue ones. You want those eyes to stay with you. You want everything about her to stay with you. But she'll never be safe from the wolves. There's only one place she could be that they could never reach.

You raise your head up slowly. You never lose eye contact with her. You see hers widening in fear. But she makes no effort to flee. Not that she could run very far from you if she did, but it would make this even more painful.

"I love you," she whispers. It makes you pause. You blink slowly.

Your beak comes down with such tremendous force that it pierces through her chest and ribs in an instant. She screams in pain. Your beak slowly rises, her blood dripping from it. You feel a pulse at the tip, where you have her heart now. She is still looking up at you with wide eyes. You swallow it whole. Her eyes instantly glaze over. Her pulse lives inside of you now, never to leave again.

The howling has stopped. In fact, all the noise has stopped. Even the light breeze has gone still. It's as though all the life died with her. Your talons reach down slowly, and, as gently as you can, you close her eyelids. The tip of your beak brushes her forehead as a kiss. You whisper into her ear. "I love you too."

Raum’s eyes snapped open as air caught in his throat, choking him on a silent scream. Staring into the empty darkness, the events of the dream washed over him all at once, images and sensations smearing together in a kaleidoscope. He was carried away with the tidal wave of resulting feelings, what began as freedom, pride and warmth had twisted so sharply into panic and rage, horror and guilt. Eventually,everything was gripped by the dark tendrils of resignation, emptiness and despair. The last vestiges caught and held him now, a vice around his throat that made it so he could barely breathe. The eerie howling of wolves rang in his ears.

He squeezed his eyes shut again if only to try and control his quick, laboured breaths. Raum shakily took in air through his nose, his own heart hammering behind his ribs in a way it usually never would. A cold sweat had broken out on his body during the night, rising goosebumps over his skin anywhere it was exposed. Scattered afterimages of the dream flashed behind his eyelids. He willed himself to ignore them. It was a dream. It was only a dream. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped.

There was a soft rustling next to him and Raum turned his head in that direction. His eyes opened once more, slowly this time, to see the subject of the dream so close to him. Her breathing was slow and even, features soft and undisturbed by sleep. And crucially, undisturbed by Raum’s nightmare. He hadn’t thrashed, tossed or turned in his sleep. Rather, his body was frozen and tense, as though he’d been prepared for physical pain. Raum felt like it didn’t belong to him. As if it were a mannequin. Technically, it was - but he hadn’t been so acutely aware of it in a long time.

Especially now, silently gazing at Lily’s face in the darkness, envisioning it stained by blood and twisted in yielding agony, as if it were true, as if it were real… Raum felt every bit the outsider of this world that he really was. A single hand raised towards her, an aborted attempt to see if she was still there with him. That he hadn’t truly killed her in the night and buried his face in her body like a starving animal. The thought was enough to make his head swirl, make him feel hot and cold and sick and hungry, and he pulled his hand away. He couldn’t look at her anymore. He didn’t know what he would do.

Raum sat up slowly, so as not to wake her. He didn’t want Lily to see him now - didn’t want to see the fear in her eyes if he told her what he’d dreamt of. It would be too similar to the face she had made in the dream, a terrified but willing prey. Most of all, she would be full of questions. Too many questions that Raum couldn’t answer, and if he was honest, didn’t really want to. Now that he was moving his body, the demon felt slightly more tethered to reality. He pushed off the covers and stood up out of the bed, breathing more even. Cold air hit him, enhanced by the beads of moisture clinging to his skin, but he didn’t really feel it. The sinister warmth of his nightmare had draped over his shoulders like a heavy cloak, leaving everything outside faintly numb. Inside, half-formed thoughts and feelings were cracked and splintered shards of glass just waiting to cut him open and see what kind of malformed things would spill out.

Just once, Raum trembled. He hated it. He was overtaken with the urge to escape. He shoved on some clothes as quietly as he could, didn’t even glance back in Lily’s direction before he was scrambling out of the room and down the stairs. Solomon’s head lifted questioningly as he passed him and Raum ignored the dog, but it followed nonetheless. Followed him down the stairs and through the hallway, out into the night without a coat. Out further and further until they came upon the edge of the forest and Raum crossed the boundary of trees like he was stepping into a different reality.

Spring was around the corner, but it was still freezing outside. Snow covered the ground in a thick blanket, likely the last fall of the year. The cold seeped through Raum’s shoes and he embraced it, dropped to his knees in front of a tree and breathed. The demon buried his hands into the snow, watching it envelop them and thinking wildly, maybe it could drag him under, out of this body and back to the tundra where he belonged.

Raum knelt there quietly for a moment and ached to go home.

He wasn’t meant for this – what Lily was giving him with her companionship. Raum knew she was long past innocence, that she wasn’t exactly moral or stainless or even human. But she still felt like one, thought like one, smiled and cried and loved like one. She was alarmingly vulnerable to him these days, showing him the tender parts of herself. And Raum… He couldn’t help himself, confusing instinct with desire at every turn. He saw a prey rolling over and revealing its soft underside. He devoured everything she gave him and turned it into blood and greed and ashes.

The dream was merely a part of that, wasn’t it? It was eerily similar to the one she’d described in Monaco, after Raum had shown her a glimpse of his true face. He wondered if it was even a dream at all, or some precursor of things to come. At times, the demon’s clairvoyance plucked the strings of his consciousness in mysterious ways. He’d certainly thought about it often enough for it to come true in the future. He’d told himself so many times that he felt no shame about what he was. But Lily’s terrified face repeated in his mind and the unfamiliar sensation of guilt wracked his insides. She was changing him. He hated that, too.

I’d like to never think of her again, he thought, and then immediately regretted it. He smashed his fist against the cold earth. It was frozen, and it hurt, so he did it again. He did it over and over, until his hands were numb and bloody and his mind was blissfully blank. Only then did Raum collapse into the snow on his back. He felt some small comfort as the white powder surrounded him. He stared at the dark but cloudless sky through the canopy of trees, not really seeing.

I love her, he realised quietly, thoughts a mere whisper in the back of his head. Love is so different when you were created to be hungry.

Time stood still like that until the demon heard the telltale snuffling of Solomon coming closer. The pug nudged its head into Raum’s side, grunting at him. Raum held out his hand and the dog clambered onto him, settling on his chest, small and warm. Raum sighed but didn’t move. He closed his eyes.

He didn’t return to the house until the first rays of light in the morning. | @mauerfrau

[echo-of-sounds]

adhd pt.2

How Fatgum, Gang Orca, and Midnight would help and support their s/o who has ADHD. Midnight’s are a little shorter than the others. I had a hard time thinking of more headcanons for her.

Warnings: nothing incredibly explicit, but a couple of these talk about sex

Toyomitsu Taishiro

Tai is a friendly guy. He talks to everyone when you're out and about. Sometimes it's fine. Sometimes it's a lot to handle. He wants you to immediately tell him when you’re starting to feel overstimulated or anxious. Before it gets too bad, he’ll carry you to a safe space. And it doesn’t matter where you are, his sweatshirts are yours. Weight can be very grounding and with his size, they’re very heavy. He’ll hold you close and talk you through the emotions.

Any time you lash out, he might try to ease the tension by making a joke. If you’ve ever been angry, you know jokes just make it worse. He’ll give you time to gather yourself when he realizes you’re actually angry. He won’t snap back. Fighting isn’t what he wants to do. Take some time to cool down. You’ll find him waiting for you with a smile. It’s hard to get him angry and it doesn't hurt his feelings when you lash out, but you should still apologize. He would appreciate it.

Feelings overwhelmed can erupt suddenly. When you sit down at your desk and there are five notebooks, scattered pens and pencils, loose papers, and just useless junk everywhere, you feel completely engulfed under them. It’s almost like you can’t breathe. You don’t know where to start or what to do. Tai will set some time aside to help you sort through your stuff. He may not know exactly where everything goes, but he really wants to help. He hates the look on your face when you’re overwhelmed and he’ll do anything to make it go away.

Lack of restraint and risk-taking behaviors are the most concerning to him. Sure, impulsively buying a dumb stuffed animal is one thing. But buying a new gaming system and four video games is another. The costs add up quickly. Or maybe you take another shot at the bar because screw it, you only live once. Then you do that over and over. ‘Just another shot’ turns into ten more. Your safety is always his number one priority and he worries himself sick thinking you’re going to damage your finances, career, or worse, yourself.

If you didn’t catch what he said, he has no problem repeating himself. Though he worries you aren’t paying attention while you’re in public or when something important is happening. He doesn’t want you mindlessly agreeing to something that you don’t actually want to do or potentially getting hurt. Like how you fling your arms out when you’re talking and hit someone or a wall. To ease his anxiety about you, he’ll hold your hand a lot and offer to give you piggyback rides.

He has a little trouble focusing on smaller tasks as well. He would much rather be doing fun activities out in the world. So he understands your trouble. He also understands how you forget to vacuum even though you promised you would. He isn’t annoyed. He’ll remind you when you’re home to do it. 

Since Tai is such a big guy he taught himself to be gentle early on in his life, particularly when it comes to sex, therefore he isn’t worried if you have sexual hypersensitivities. He's also great at communication and loves talking. He’ll ask what positions you can’t do and where you don’t like to be touched to ensure your comfort is at its max. During sex, if your attention starts drifting, he’ll let you take over to help keep you focused.

Gang Orca

Kugo’s a clean, organized man. To him, it’s helpful knowing that everything has its place. If you leave bowls and books around or are an overall cluttered person, he’ll pick up after you. Eventually, when your clutter gets to be too much, he’ll create a routine and a to-do list. Before bed, look at the list and look around the room if there are any pillows to put back on the couch or papers to straighten out.

Having physical sensitives is something Kugo can understand. While it’s not to the point he’s overstimulated like people with ADHD have, his skin is still quite sensitive- more than your ‘average’ human skin because of his mutant-type quirk. Whatever you need for self-soothing, he can bring to you when you’re starting to feel overstimulated. Your favorite heavy quilt will be wrapped around your shoulders and he’ll light some vanilla candles.

He’s utterly unbothered by tapping, fidgeting, or restlessness. However, he’s deeply concerned when he notices blood on your lip or fingers. It’s mindless. You don’t hurt yourself on purpose. No matter how many times you explain, it won’t quell his worries. He just really hates seeing you bleed. Out in public, he’ll hold your hand to stop your picking. At home, he keeps a close eye on you and points out your unhealthy habit so you can find a fidget toy or a pen to click. He hopes if he does it enough times it’ll become a subconscious reaction for you to grab a toy to play with instead of your body.

High mood swings and anger are easy for him to take. Your quick snaps go in one ear and out the other- mainly because he knows it's not about him. While he understands the frustration comes at the flip of a switch, he strongly urges you to find ways to deal with your emotions in a healthy way. He’s willing to listen if you want to talk it out. He’s willing to go to the gym if you need to exercise it out. And (if you’re at that point in the relationship), he’s willing to have sex if you need to fuck it out. 

Kugo loves listening to your interests. He supports any and all of your studies. Are you currently into a new TV series? He’ll buy you posters and action figures for surprises on your bad days. Or is the Viking culture suddenly fascinating and you need to learn everything about it? He scoops up some obscure book from that bookstore he passes every day. Even though his presents might not be exactly what you’re looking for, his excitement and passion to support you is really cute.

Focusing on smaller tasks is incredibly difficult. You strain yourself then get frustrated then give up. Seriously, that one piece of paperwork should take ten minutes tops to complete. But it ends up taking over two hours because you just can’t sit and do it. Whenever he notices you fussing at the table, he’ll sit down with you so you can go through the paperwork together. Having someone next to you is helpful. They keep you on track and guide the way through the long passages of words and seemingly confusing questions.

He's uneasy when it comes to any sexual sensitivities. It takes him a while to be ready for sex in general, but if you’re hypersensitive, it’ll take him a hell of a lot longer. He’s so scared of hurting you, especially since his fingers are more like claws and his teeth are sharp. He tries his damnedest to be gentle because he’s always scared that he’ll overstimulate you to the point you’re crying. Your sexual relationship will start with oral and fingering, plateauing at that for a while until he convinces himself he won’t hurt you.

Kayama Nemuri

Thoughts that bubble up and instantly spout from your mouth are common. Half the time you don’t even realize you spoke. Nemuri will be a little miffed if you keep interrupting her. She doesn’t want to forget her train of thought. She knows you have difficulty controlling it but she would appreciate it if you let her finish her sentence so she can fully listen to and understand yours.

Fidgeting and squirming don’t annoy her. She’s a Hero and a teacher. She’s become desensitized to all sorts of restlessness. Though she is in the same boat as Aizawa in that, if you’re a clicker or tapper, she’ll ask if you could find something else to fidget with. But she won’t snap at you as he may. She has a serious soft spot for her partner and rarely raises her voice.

However, those times when your anger gets sparked because your lotion bottle broke or you thought you had more of your favorite chips and you lash out when she asks what’s wrong, she’ll get defensive from time to time and might snap back. It depends on how long her day was and how tired/stressed she is. Most of the time she can reel herself back, realizing you’re not angry at her. But if she had a hard day, her retort comes quickly and sharply. It’s enough to make you pause, recognizing how you reacted to her simple question. When you apologize, she will too, wanting to make up as soon as possible.

Her quirk is quite convenient for overstimulation. If you give your consent, she can emit a tiny amount of her aroma to relax you. If you need serious instant relief, she can put you to sleep. But she won’t rely on her quirk every single time. She doesn’t like completely knocking you out. Any self-soothing techniques you use, she’ll read about and work out ways she can provide you with what you need.

Nemuri will have to change her outlook on sex a little bit. She’s very dominant, loves being the active partner, and dips (more than a little) into sadism. But she’s experienced. She’s aware her kinks aren’t always liked. Before you’re ever intimate, she’ll sit down with you to set clear and defined boundaries about what you can take. If pain is something you can’t handle or just don’t want, she’s fine without it. Her love for you is more important than her kinks. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay - Chapter 8

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

Guys, I’m so sorry its taken me so long to get this chapter out. My muse abandoned me and my laptop was being weird. But here we are! Let me know what you think!

Tag List: @happyveday​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes​ @saritanotserena​

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

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The sunrise lit up the morning sky with an array of beautiful, pastel colors. Anna could only hope it was a good sign for the day. She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes as she carefully walked over the rubble on the city's streets, dodging icy puddles and mud. Gene was going to be quite upset with her later, but she tried not to think about that now. 

 Quickly, she hurried up the creaky steps of the old two-story home. It looked similar to most of the other buildings but its door was dirty and faded red with a rickety looking porch only half standing. She made a mental note to thank Boyd for his surprisingly clear directions, otherwise she knew she would have been wandering for a while and on these streets, that was far from safe. As quietly as possible, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. She had been invited here, actually forced to come here if Boyd's look yesterday said anything, but she still felt like an invader. The idea of setting foot inside the men's barracks was something her mind fervently refused to acknowledge; it just was not even a possibility in her mind. Though this building was not technically an army barrack in the literal sense, she still felt like an intruder because it was sleeping/housing quarters for the men. 

 Her grandmother would be furious if she ever found out Anna entered the men's quarters…. especially letting herself in. The thought tampered down Anna's nerves slightly as she thought of the horrified look on the elderly woman's face, if she ever discovered this. It lightened her mood for a brief moment. 

 In the room to her left, a soldier sprawled on a mangy looking couch with an arm thrown over his eyes. If she had not been able to see his chest rising and falling, she would have gone to check his pulse for how still he was otherwise. In that same room another soldier sat in a high-backed chair with his head tipped back, eyes closed and snoring like a chainsaw. Not recognizing either man, she guessed they were from one of the other tank crews. The sounds of movement and soft talking to her right had her quietly turning in that direction, hoping to allow the soldiers their well-deserved sleep. 

 She startled when a head popped around the corner, covering her mouth quickly before a scream could escape. The man had a face that reminded her vaguely of a bulldog, thick jaw and deep-set eyes. He scanned her for a moment in a way that felt more like an assessment than any kind of leering. 

 He grunted then jerked his head back the way he had come. "This way." He muttered only to disappear just as quickly as he appeared. 

 Through her heart still hammered in her chest from the unexpected startle, she took a deep breath in an attempt to steel her nerves. Sudden, frightened screaming would most likely get her or someone else shot. It was too early to be shot in her opinion. Best she try to suppress any girly screams for now. Or at least until after she got some sleep. 

 She followed the man around the corner only to encounter what most likely used to be a kitchen but was missing some key utilities. The faded, peeling wallpaper only added to the desolate feel. Just off center and close to a window facing the river was a table with three men sitting around it. Two others leaned against a countertop, mugs in hand. What quiet conversation had been going before her arrival ceased as she came into view. 

 "Anna?"

 "Good morning." She attempted to smile but worried it came out more as a grimace. The need for sleep was beginning to claw at her mind. 

 "Sit down," Boyd immediately stood up, gesturing to his chair at the table. "You want some coffee? I reckon we got some left."

 "That would be lovely, thank you." Knowing she probably would lose the fight, she went ahead and took his seat. Something she had learned about Boyd Swan over the past almost two weeks she had known him, he was a gentleman but beyond that…. he was stubborn. 

 Don leaned back in the chair next to her, cigarette between his lips. "Morning." He stated in a gravelly voice, lingering traces of sleep apparent in the sound. He must not have been awake long. 

 "Good morning." She flashed him a quick smile, willing the warmth to dissipate from her cheeks, or at least hoping no one noticed the blush. This schoolgirl crush on him was ridiculous, and she knew it. A peek of those blue eyes and her heart beat a drumroll in her chest that rivaled any band. 

 Boyd set a tin cup in front of her, steam tantalizingly drifting out of it. "Didn't think you'd be here this early. Why ain't you sleepin'?" Boyd asked. 

 She took a sip, the warmth delightful even if the taste was less than desirable. "Um, well, I'm supposed to be but I wanted to see y’all before, or you might come busting down the door again." She directed the last part to Boyd with a mock glare. He was lucky none of the medics carried guns with how he burst into the aid station demanding to see her. 

 He shrugged unapologetically. "Just wanted to make sure you was alright. We didn't know where you disappeared to. I see you got some new clothes."

 "Yeah," she glanced down at the ODs she now wore. They were ill-fitting, clearly meant for a man, not a short nurse. She had to roll up the hems of the trousers and the sleeves multiple times and she swore she still looked like a child playing dress-up in their parent's clothes. On the other hand, they were far warmer than her nurse’s torn uniform and right now, that was more important. "Gene let me have one of their spare medic uniforms."

 "Mmm… explains the patch here." Don touched the screaming eagle patch over her upper arm. 

 It was an innocent, teasing gesture but it still shot sparks through her system. Her eyes jumped up to meet his lingering gaze. He gave her a quick wink before leaning his chair back. The warmth of a blush reappeared on her cheeks. Quickly, she took a sip of her watery coffee, well aware of the others sitting or standing around quietly in the room. 

 "Gene? That medic with the southern accent?" Boyd asked, leaning against the wall nearby. His question was innocent enough but the scrutinizing look on his face said otherwise. 

 "Boyd…"

 "He just seemed real protective of you, that's all."

 She groaned, setting her cup down on the table and dropping her face into her hands. A few chuckles drifted from around the room but she ignored them. Actually, now that she was sitting still with her eyes closed, she could feel a wave of sleep threatening to crash over her and pull her under, with or without her consent. The coffee should have been helping to keep her awake but at this point, the warmth in her belly only made her want to curl up like a cat and doze off.

 A conversation picked up around her, two of the men in the room speaking in a low drone. She recognized the sound of the man with the bulldog face, he made some kind of remark that had Don chuckle next to her before replying. Her mind refused to process the words though. The conversation became a background noise as she teetered on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. She should get back to the aid station. She needed to get back to the aid station to help Roe. Yet her body refused to comply. 

 "Anna."

 The soft whisper of her name caught her attention from the sleep-induced haze. She turned her head slightly to meet Don's concerned gaze. 

 "When did you last sleep?"

 "Mmm?"

 He huffed at her noncommittal answer. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

 "No…. I stayed up to cover so some of the other medics could sleep. I'm fine. I should probably head back."

 "Doll, I just watched you fall asleep sitting right there."

 "No… I was just… resting my eyes. I should get back."

 "Like hell you are." He raised his gaze to look over her head, his volume rising from the whisper they had been speaking in. "Boyd, take Anna upstairs and let her have one of the cots or bed. We'll take her back once she gets some sleep."

 "No, it's fine…." She weakly tried to argue but snapped her mouth shut when he turned his gaze back to her.

 "If you don't walk up those stairs right now, I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you up them." Don stated, then took a hit of his cigarette. The statement should have sounded like a joke but with his matter-of-fact tone and the way he watched her, Anna knew he was serious. 

 "Come on," Boyd put a hand on her shoulder. "We was gonna ask you to check Norman anyway."

 That caught her attention. She whipped around to look up at Boyd. "Is he alright? What happened?"

 "He's fine. Think he's got a cold.... maybe a fever too."

 With that information, she more readily followed the gunner up towards the nearby stairs and up to the second floor. There were four doors in the hallway but he led her to the furthest one on the right. Inside was a bed big enough for two people, a large dresser, nightstand and a short couch off in the corner. What immediately caught her attention though was the figure lying in bed, curled up like a child and coughing with a dry and scratchy sound. Her own exhaustion was forgotten as she darted past Boyd to drop next to the figure under the thick quilt. 

 "Hey, Norman." 

 "Anna?" He blearily opened his red-rimmed, glassy eyes. He sniffled, wiping his nose on the edge of his sleeve. 

 "How are you feeling?"

 "Ok…"

 "Liar." She teased, running a hand through his hair gently after feeling his forehead. He felt mildly warm but nothing she was too concerned with yet. That cough had her more worried. "What all hurts, Norm?"

 "Boyd thinks it's just a cold."

 "I know. Running nose, scratchy throat, slight fever… anything else? Headache? Fatigue?"

 "Uh huh." He mumbled, eyes closing as he relaxed under her touch, sleep guiding him away from awareness. 

 He looked so painfully young, lying in the bed. It broke her heart to know this was someone who was forced to kill people on a regular basis. He should be back home and going to school or flirting with his crush or playing baseball with friends. He should not be here. None of them should be here. 

 Yet here they were. 

 She looked around her and found his canteen laying just underneath the bed. Picking it up she was pleased it was at least half full. 

 "Norm, I want you to drink some of this before you fall back asleep. Can you do that for me, please?"

 With a painful groan, he shifted enough to drink a couple of mouthfuls of the water before handing it back to her and slinking back down onto the bed. She stood up but was surprised when his hand darted out to grab hers. 

 "Don't go yet." He said just barely above a whisper. It was the pleading look in his eyes that convinced her. 

 "Ok, sweetie," she cooed, running her hand over his sweaty forehead again, "I'll stay a little longer."

 She looked back over at Boyd, hovering near the door with an expression on his face she could not distinguish. 

 "Can you fill this back up and get him some of those crackers from your rations?"

 Boyd nodded, moving to take the canteen from her hand. "Sure thing. Anythin' else you need?"

 "No, I'll stay just for a little bit. Can you come get me in an hour or two? I really need to head back to the aid station."

 "You also need to rest. Those bags under your eyes look like permanent bruises now."

 "I will." She snapped then immediately felt bad and sighed. "I'm sorry, I will. I promise."

 "S'alright. I'll come back in an hour."

 "Thank you." She smiled, even if it was only a twitch of her lips. As Boyd walked out, she knelt back down next to the young soldier. His eyes were already closed, breathing slowing as slumber took hold once again. She rested her head on the side of the bed, carding her fingers through his hair. A hacking cough overtook him, startling them both. Once he settled, she continued her ministrations, humming softly. She hoped it was just a cold. That it was nothing more severe. 

 She made a mental note that when Boyd came her in an hour, she would make sure to ask Gene if anyone had found tea or honey laying around. 

 *****

 Don watched Boyd and Anna go up the stairs. When he turned back, he saw a couple of the men's gaze lingering on the stairs. 

 "The nurse is off limits." He stated with such finality that had at least one of the men's heads snap towards him. As if his statement sealed an invisible decree, the men in the kitchen turned back to whatever they were doing prior. 

 Davis looked at him from his spot across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter. "She yours?"

 "I thought you don't participate in gossip?"

 The other tank commander shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. 

 Don ignored the question, even if he could feel Davis' gaze frequently drifting to him. He focused on the map on the table before him. It was not necessary for him to study it but the action had become a habit of his whenever his crew moved to a new location. Knowing what other towns were nearby, rivers, roads, anything that could be of use later, he tried to memorize it. At this point, he figured by the time the war was over he would have most of Europe and North Africa geography permanently seared into his brain. 

 A couple minutes later, Boyd came back down and returned to his seat next to Don. He scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed deeply. "She's workin' herself too hard. Looks like she ain't slept in a week."

 Don kept his thoughts to himself but he was loathed to agree. Exhaustion hung off her like a heavy cape making her feet drag as she walked. Witnessing how easily she fell asleep just sitting at the table did not help her case. 

 "Told her I'd be back up in an hour to get 'er."

 Don raised an eyebrow, looking at his friend. "Are you going to?" 

 Boyd smirked. "I'll check on her but if she's sleepin', I'm gonna leave her be. Lord knows she needs it." He paused, glancing towards the stairs. "I'd bet my own Bible she's asleep right now."

 "Mmm… Norman alright?"

 "He's sleepin'. She's takin' care of him."

 He was not all surprised. Since they had arrived in Haguenau, Norman's health had plummeted. Don worried for his newest crew member. The poor kid looked miserable and these were certainly less than ideal conditions for someone sick. The kid had a bed and a roof over his bed…. he would pull through. He had too. Don would not even consider the alternative. Especially with Anna now looking after him. The small nurse would mother the hell out of whatever is wrong with the kid. With a smirk at the thought, Don went back to studying the map. 

 Several hours later, he headed up the stairs to the room he shared with Boyd and Norman. 

 A runner had come from Captain Winters requesting his presence at noon at HQ. Don agreed, sending the runner back on his way. Boyd met his annoyed gaze and they shared a mutual sigh. So much for them having a reprieve before being sent back out. 

 Up the stairs he went and down the short hallway. The floorboards creaked under his boots; a sudden memory of his childhood home crossed his mind. Whenever he tried to sneak out of this bedroom as a child, he never could get far because of the damn loud floorboards.  

 He opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle the room's occupants. As he registered what he saw, it brought a small smile to his lips and he paused at the sight. Norman was still curled up asleep on the bed, mouth open and breathing loud. On the other side of the bed, Anna lay on her side, hands tucked under her face, hair a wild mess around her. Boyd had mentioned when he came up to check on them, he had helped move Anna to the bed with her barely rousing. Clearly more tired than any of them assumed.  

 Instead of waking her up like he intended to, he found himself closing the door quietly and just watching the two sleep. Yes, he knew it was creepy and if Boyd knew, the gunner would rightly smack him in the back of the head. Would not be the first time after Don did something stupid. 

 War brings people together in the strangest of way. After the…. accident...he thought he would never have family again. That because of his stupid mistakes, he was destined to be alone forever. Which he rightly deserved. But then he went to war. He was thrown into a tank with four other men who quickly became brothers. 

 If he needed to be distracted from commands and his own inner demons, he knew sitting down with Gordo would distract him for a while with his crazy stories of home and the shenanigans he did as a teenager. Gordo always had a joke or story to share to lighten the mood. 

 Grady respected Don as a leader but never let him run him over; he could just as easily return Don's anger-fueled fire as follow his commands. It had taken some time for them to trust and respect one another, their tempers too similar. Now there was an underlying understanding between the two of them, that they took the worst of the jobs, that they would carry the most blood on their hands to spare the others. If Don had to get into a fist fight, there was no one else he would want more by his side. 

 Then there was the man who had become more than a blood brother, a confidante, a best friend, a moral compass. Even in the first week of tank school, Boyd had looked over at Don one day, said he was proud to be by his side and thought Don was a good man. Don had laughed in Boyd's face but somehow it sealed a pact between them. Boyd's calm demeanor helped keep Don's temper down and even when it did flare up like a roman candle firework, Boyd was always there to rein it in. Neither of them drank so while the others went off to drink away the night, Don and Boyd found themselves sitting together silently and both were more than alright with that. 

 Norman reminded Don of his little brother so much it physically hurt sometimes. He despised himself that it was HIS fault the boy was forced to lose that innocence he carried. It was HIM that made Norman kill. But this was war, and if they wanted to survive, they needed to be merciless. Don knew he overcompensated by making sure Norman ate and rested when they could. He showed the young soldier how to disassemble and reassemble his rifle, how to stab and slash, how to survive. He refused to let the boy die even through his own stupid mistakes. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the idea had been planted that making sure Norman survived this goddamn war would be his penance for his own failures.  

 Before two weeks ago, these were the four people that mattered most to him. Even more than what was left of his blood relations. Losing Red, Norman's predecessor, had felt like a knife to the heart, even if he masked it for all to see. He refused to let the others see him grieve, he had to be strong for them. 

 Now though, Anna had slipped past his heart's barriers and settled there in a place that he had not realized was empty until her presence filled the prior void spot. She remained in his thoughts more than he cared to admit. Her soft touch, her gentle spirit, those gemstone eyes, that faint scent… it all lingered with him like a summer's heat that no matter what you tried to do, day or night, you could not escape. He swore she was a siren, come to torment him. His life was proof enough he did not deserve someone like her, he never would deserve someone like her. She was gentleness and kindness wrapped up in a person. He was wrath and mistakes that cost people their lives. 

 Yet still her presence persisted. 

 Shaking his head, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and moved to her side. He hated to wake her. She looked so peaceful. 

 "Anna." He whispered. "Anna, wake up." 

 Overly aware of his actions, he squatted down to be eye level with her. He reached a hand over and brushed some loose strands of hair off her cheek. The sunlight coming through the dirty window made her red hair shine. "Come on, darling. Time to wake up."

 He was unsure where the pet name came from but once it left his lips, it felt right. Before he could think too long about it, she began to stir. 

 She sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyelids fluttered open but once the sunlight hit, they slammed closed once again. "No…" she whimpered, scrunching her nose up in dislike of either the sun or waking up. Either way, he was positive he had never seen anything as adorable before… and he never used the word adorable.  

 Oh, he was so fucked now. 

 He chuckled. "Come on, Anna."

 "What time is it?"

 "Almost noon."

 She peeked an eye open at him. "I told Boyd to wake me in an hour."

 "Yeah, well we thought you needed some sleep."

 Grumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "overprotective mother hen", she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up. 

 Movement drew Don's gaze over to Norman who was shifting around. His eyes blearily opened; it took a few seconds to come out of sleep. Once his mind seemed to realize Anna was still half laying in the bed less than a foot away from him, he sat up like he had been shocked with electricity. 

 "Don, I swear nothing happened. We just sleeping, I mean… I don't think…" a bout of coughing interrupted his frantic and hasty explanation. 

 At that, the tank commander laughed loudly. "I know, Norman." He shifted back towards the door, watching the two amused. Anna's cheeks were pink now but she gave no other indication of hearing Norman's sleepy mumbling. 

 "How are you feeling, Norm?" She asked, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. 

 "Alright, I guess."

 "Think you can come down and eat?"

 He nodded sluggishly. They both rolled out the bed, him moving a bit slower. The whole way out of the door and down the stairs, Anna walked next to him, occasionally putting a hand on his shoulder or giving a word of encouragement.  

 Don led the way back down, still smirking about Norman's hasty and confused comment. He would have to remember it to rib the kid later on when he was feeling better. Finally making it to the kitchen area, they deposited Norman at the table next to Gordo, who was nursing a cup of coffee. Boyd meandered over from reading on one of the couches in the common room, glasses still perched on his nose. 

 As soon as Anna saw him, she stomped over and punched him in the arm. "You were supposed to wake me up in an hour."

 Boyd winced and tried to shuffle out of range of another strike. "Well, you looked tired."

 "What every girl wants to hear, Boyd, thank you."

 Don was not the only one laughing at the interaction. 

 Anna blushed as she seemed to notice the others about the area but ignored them, walking back over to Norman. "You just rest. I'll come back and check on you tonight. I'll see if they have anything to help at the aid station."

 The kid nodded then started coughing again. 

 "Don't worry, we'll take care of him." Gordo said, wrapping an arm around him and giving her a quick wink. 

 She smiled back, cheeks still pink from her prior blush.  "Thanks, Gordo."

 Don figured it was time to speak up now. "Let's go, Anna. I'll walk you back." He was surprised when she followed him without hesitation after a quick goodbye to those from his crew.  

 Don and Davis were lucky to have found an unoccupied house on the western side of Haguenau for their crews, further away from the river and the Germans across it. Binkowski and Peterson and their crews occupied the building just behind them. Here they did not have to worry so much about the frequent mortars and snipers. Though some of the holes in the floorboards were concerning, but it was a roof over their heads. 

 The tank commander and nurse walked in silence past the other houses and buildings towards the aid station. The frost, hidden in the shadows, crunched under their boots. An unusual silence permeated the air, no shouting or sound of gunfire coming from the river. It made Don wary and he slowed down his typical purposeful stride to match hers, making sure to keep his body between hers and the direction of the river. He knew the action would be useless against a mortar but it helped alleviate some of his worry. 

 They stopped at the back door to the aid station, the couple brick steps still intact, leading up to a small stoop and the back, wooden door. Don remained on the muddy ground while Anna stepped up onto the first step then turned around to face him. 

 "Thank you for walking me back." 

 He hummed, glancing further down the road. "You make sure to eat something now. Can't have you wasting away."

 "Isn't that my job to take care of others?" She said cheekily. 

 "Yeah, doesn't hurt to have someone looking out for you too."

 It was a simple, truthful statement. If war taught anything, it was the need for others to watch your back both in dodging bullets and to share meals. War and death were malicious bastards, dragging down anyone into a black hole of melancholy before they could even realize they slipped in the first place. Yet as soon as the words left his mouth, the weight of them hit him firmly in the chest. Instead of meaning it as a comrade or friend, he realized he meant something more. Someone to look out for her in more than just the little things, but in everything. Shit. 

 Her head snapped up, her gaze meeting his in a way that sent a tingle down his spine. Neither one moved as they stared at one another. The world threatened to fade away around them. She was beautiful, it was a fact. Even in ODs that threatened to swallow her, she still managed to radiate warmth and kindness. He had caught more than one soldier eyeing her up. It burned him up on the inside but he had no right to fight them over their actions. She was not his…. even if he was beginning to wish she was. She was too good for him. Too pure. Too beautiful. His presence would only taint her. 

 He needed a distraction, something to break the hold they both seemed stuck in. He blurted the first thing that came to mind. "You still have the knife on you?" 

 She blinked rapidly as if awakening from a dream. "Yes." She stuttered then leaned over slightly to lift her right pants leg up. 

 He looked down and noticed it strapped to her lower leg, just above her boot. "Good."

 Even though the conversation halted, it seemed neither one wanted to move away. Her eyes held his once again as if waiting for something. A sign? A word? A fucking billboard with neon lights? Hell if he knew. The problem was, he could feel it too. There was something shifting between them and it both terrified and elated him. 

 Before he could stop himself, he reached out and slipped an erratic strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb trailing down her jawline after, her soft skin like velvet against his own roughness. Fuck he had been dying to touch her again. Instead of alleviating the need, now it seemed to burn stronger in him. 

 "Don…" she whispered as his thumb hinted at touching her lower lip. 

 The way she said it in that breathy tone, the light in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks, all of it combined sent a bolt of lightning through him that threatened any self-control he had. He wanted to pull her small frame against him, to taste her and see if her lips were as soft as they looked, if that heavenly scent that surrounded her came from her skin or hair. He wanted her. Fucking hell, he wanted her. And if the way her eyes were dilated and her breathing uneven, perhaps she wanted him too. 

 The door beside them suddenly opened, jolting them both back to reality. Whatever moment they had, dashed away as a paratrooper glared at them then pushed past them. 

 "I should…."

 "Yeah," he said, pulling out a cigarette.  He needed to keep his hands busy otherwise he would be tempted to pull her against him. "I'll send someone to come get you later."

 "That's not necessary."

 "Maybe, but I sure as hell don't like you walking around by yourself."

 "Fine." She stood up on her toes and brushed a quick kiss to his jawline, an innocent ode to the last time she kissed him. "Be safe, Sergeant." She whispered against his skin then quickly turned and ducked inside the aid station. 

 "Damn it." He muttered after his brain finally decided to restart. Such a simple touch should not make him lose all sense. He kicked a loose rock, sticking the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. The smoke curled in his lungs, helping solidify him into reality. He glanced back at the door, briefly wondering what it would be like to storm into the building and kiss her like he wanted too. But before he could do something stupid, he headed towards the regiment HQ, the lingering hint of lilacs danced in the corners of his mind. 

[hazbincalifornia]

Posting late just because but finally sharing the short writing that inspired this Stellastor pic. (Linking to the tumblr version so you get the choice to follow the link there to see The Dick.) Explicit content, but it’s mostly focused on how Al’s thinking/feeling. Also mommy kink if that bugs anybody.

"There there..." He can feel the thick feathers on her forearm brushing his stomach, even through his shirt- his red suit jacket lay folded beside them, only his undershirt left. His pants had been left on as well, but unbuttoned with the undergarments pushed down. Stella was humming gently, a sort of cross between an imp's purr and an owl's gentle coos, and her fingers tightened around his length. "I'll be gentle."

"Don't rip the thing off," he murmured, but sucked in a breath as she stroked her thumb up the side. She gave a little laugh.

"Relax. I want you to enjoy this, and I've had practice." Her breasts pressed against the side of his face, and there was a muffled half-second of a milk commercial before he choked it off. She laughed again before biting below her beak to quiet herself.

"Mmm, right. Mommy's going to take care of you." Her other hand traced his cheek, palm cupping it for a moment before tilting his face up towards her. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm here for you. Listen to my voice this time. You're a good boy, aren't you?"

Most times, he would have bucked away, considered that demeaning, but now wasn't most times, was it? He gave a nod, not trusting himself, for once, to speak, and she kissed his forehead before starting to move her soft, warm hand up and down his burning cock.

"That's alright, baby, let me handle this. You're doing so good for momma, yes you are." She surrounded him, all warmth and feather-softness, making more of those hybrid rumbles so deep it was like it was vibrating from inside his speaker, inside his very skin, under the muscles and blood and bones and down to the core of his very soul. He gripped at her arms like a lifeline as the end of her tail brushed away some sweat from his cheek. "Getting hot? That's good, that's good." Her voice- had it always been that gentle? Normally it was boisterous and somewhat sarcastic, whip-fast with a comeback that made her a great partner while on the air, but now it was meant just for him, and his ears twitched to catch everything as she stroked him like an expert with just the right amount of pressure. "Perfect, Ally, perfect, listen to my voice, you're doing so good for me..."

"Nggh..." His claws dug through her feathers to her skin and she took it with barely a flinch, although he could hear her heartbeat speeding up to match his. Everything was fire, a different kind of fire, and his blood boiled, ready to spill out of his skin.

She leaned down to whisper right in his ear. "Come for me."

He did with a gasp, and she smiled, shifting him on her lap. "There. Made a bit of a mess, but I can clean that up easily. Did mommy make you feel good?"

He looked down. (He didn't really want to look up, not yet, even though her voice was still sticky-sweet molasses and made him feel all loose and cozy, like waking up after a good dream under a warm quilt on a chilly morning.)

"It... did, yes."

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Heartbreaker

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 3057

Warnings: Language mostly, implied sexual relations and angst.

Beautiful moodboard made by the amazing @peterquillzsblog Thank you again 💙

This was written for the lovely @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I'm super late, but thank you so much for letting me participate 💙 I had fun writing this and I hope you like it.

I used prompts #12 and #28. They are highlighted in bold.

I tagged those who might be interested.

...

“I told you not to fall in love with me.”

The words hit her like a fucking truck. They tumbled so easily from his lips with that dreaded nonchalant tone she'd only ever heard him use on others whenever he spoke over the phone. It was never aimed at her.

He had his arms crossed over his naked chest with brows raised, sitting comfortably up against the large fancy black headboard of his equally large and fancy bed, the very bed he had her in only nights before. His long hair was messy, shooting out in all directions from being tugged at mercilessly. A pretty blonde had snaked her way from under his black satin sheets, her naked body in full view. She makes a show for him, pulling her denim jeans over her sad excuse of a behind slowly, obviously interested in hearing the rest of their exchange.

Ivar licks his lips, his blue eyes following the soft lines of that broads basic body before shifting them back to her. “You’d only get hurt in the end.” He finally says.

What a low blow.

She swallows the lump forming in her throat, knowing the tears would be forcing their way out of her glossy eyes soon. How fucking stupid was she? She stood there, hands balled into fists as her eyes flipped between him and the smirking blonde. Her lower lip trembled like a goddamn child, standing awkwardly in front of the pair. From the looks of it, this dalliance with the blonde had been going on for a while. The girl seemed far too comfortable.

Ivar was right. He did warn her not to fall in love with him. It was just supposed to be a fling, nothing more. They had met at a mutuals party, Ubbe’s friends cousin or some shit. They couldn’t remember the details now if you asked them, but they both knew the guy, and when they met, it was instant physical attraction. And that was when their “friends with benefits” relationship began. She had been a phenomenal plaything for him, and she seemed to know exactly what Ivar needed. She was pretty, had an amazing body, shiny hair, long fluttering lashes. She looked perfect on his arm and he liked her enough to keep her around, but he didn’t love her. How could he? He wasn’t meant for that shit. He was Ivar the heartbreaker, a hot young bachelor born into the old money of the Ragnarsson family. He could have any woman he wanted. And he did.

She was so fucking stupid, but Ivar was fucking stupid too. He’d given her a key to his flat, allowing her freedom to come and go as she pleased as if they were a fucking couple. And she was stupid enough to believe that was the relationship they were forming, that somehow they had silently crossed this bridge of uncertainty that went from nothing to something. They had been “together” for months, almost an entire year. Ivar wasn’t a bad person, he was just bad at relationships. He couldn’t settle with one girl, so he played with many. She wondered how many others he played with when she wasn’t around.

Not much regret could be detected in his eyes, his blue orbs shimmering with the words she could read so clearly: Get out. So that's exactly what she did. Turning swiftly on her booted heels, she walks back into his fancy kitchen, slamming his key with this cute pastel blue pom pom keychain she bought onto the marble island counter. Digging into one of the totes full of groceries that she intended to use to cook the fucker dinner, she pulls out a small tub of Häagen-Daz strawberry ice cream, shoving it in her bag. She'd need it later. With a shaky breath she looks around the modern sleek flat one last time before slamming the door behind her.

She could hear that bitch giggling as she left.

…

“Did you see the look on her face?” Freydis giggles, slipping on her low cut cropped top before pouncing onto the bed beside Ivar, “Poor thing. You really had her hung up.” Ivar did see the look on her face, and although he’d seen it many times before on countless other women, it hit him a little differently this time. Dammit.

She looked heartbroken, eyes wet like that day her cat had gotten sick and she begged Ivar to rush them over to the vet that was an hour away. He didn’t really care much for the cat, it had sharp claws and was always hissing at him, but he did it for her. Her cat was saved from whatever the fuck was wrong with him, and she was happy. She’d given him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

That night had been a great fuck.

Ivar releases a breath from his nostrils, ignoring Freydis babbling on and on about god knows what. The blonde was a fool if she thought she would be next to take her place. Fucking bimbo. Was only good for a measly fuck. And she was terrible at it. He pushes away the satin sheets, completely nude, before turning to peer at her from over his sculpted shoulder with a look of indifference.

“Get out.”

“Ivar?” She looks up at him through her lashes, her lips forming into a frown at his sudden disdain.

“I didn’t stutter,” He states calmly, but a stern tone laced his words that had her sitting up at attention,” I said get the fuck out.” Freydis rolls her eyes, pushing herself off the bed and grabbing her purse she meticulously hung in his closet.

“Douchebag,” She mutters, but she offers him a sickly sweet smile, pushing a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, “You know I’m always available. I’ll be waiting for your call.” She winks at him, blowing him a kiss before slinking out of his room. Once Ivar heard his front door slam close he sighs, shuffling over to his bathroom for a much needed bath.

For some reason, he felt dirty.

…

It had started raining as soon as she left Ivar’s flat. She had forgotten her umbrella at home and she was soaked to the bone from the heavy droplets by the time she stepped foot into her own flat.

It was cute and cozy, with fairy lights and tapestries that were the complete opposite of Ivar’s stupid modern sleek bachelor pad. Ivar preferred simplistic Scandinavian living, while she gravitated towards that boho atmospheric vibe with scented candles that she had in practically every room. He joked about it whenever he slept over, which wasn’t very often. It looked childish to him. The scented candles made him sneeze and the cat was a bitch, but he’d settle under her warm quilted covers just fine, gazing up at her ceiling that reflected a projection of a star lit sky. That was actually kinda cute. She was always a romantic, but that was the problem.

She kicks off her tall boots, tossing her keys atop the little ceramic dish by the door. Moving over to her tiny kitchen, she puts away the ice cream in the freezer and makes a b-line towards her bedroom. She hangs up her bag on the very corner of the door to her closet, shedding her jacket and the rest of her clothes on the floor without a care before heading to her bathroom. She immediately lights all her candles, setting up a relaxing bubble bath with a lavender scented bath bomb. Lastly, she grabs her phone, searching for the right playlist before sinking into the warmth of the bubbly water.

As soon as her eyes fall shut, her mind goes back to Ivar.

Fuck him. And the blonde.

She didn’t want to berate herself anymore than she already did while taking that miserable walk home, but she couldn’t help feel like her heart was burning a hole right through her chest. It beat faster the more she thought of him, and her eyes pricked with the sensation of tears, until finally, she let them fall. The fat drops roll down her cheeks as she cries into her hands to muffle her sobbing.

This would be the only night she’d shed tears for him, she promised herself. Tomorrow was a new day.

Benji, her fat calico cat, slinks his way into the bathroom, curling up in a corner to enjoy the warmth of the bath for himself. She brings her teary eyes to him, the calm state of the feline having her wish she could feel such peace. Sometimes she wished she were a cat herself, only having to worry about sleeping, eating, shitting, and doing it all over again day after day.

Sinking deeper into the water she forces herself to relax, listening to the soothing sounds of Moonlight Sonata, a dreary tune for a dreary day off. When her eyes fluttered with sleep, the classical playlist was interrupted by the obnoxious sound of her phone's vibration over the plastic toilet seat. With a scowl she reaches over to snatch her phone, biting her lip as Ivar’s name flashed on the bright screen. Without hesitation, she taps her finger to end the call, sending him straight to voicemail. She had nothing to say to him.

Fuck him.

After 30 seconds, her phone vibrated again. Ivar was fucking persistent.

Again, she ignored the call, and after the 4th call, she angrily slams her finger on the green button, bringing the phone to her ear.

“What do you want?” She spits, shivering now that the water had significantly dropped in temperature. She runs a hand down her gooseflesh covered leg as she awaits his answer, but so far he was silent, only a frustrated breath could be heard on his end, “I detect guilt.” Her words were dripping in pure venom, something he honestly found rather attractive. But now was not the time for that.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, so unlike him, and somehow, so fucking irritating.

“Peachy,” She replies sarcastically, sinking into the water once again. The bubbles had long disappeared and she was getting cold, “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” Was the weak scoff. There was an awkward silence after that, which was strange considering she felt she could talk to Ivar endlessly about anything really. That’s the sort of pair they were, or maybe it was her doing all the talking and soul baring while Ivar patiently listened and...kept his own secrets. She sighs, just about ready to hang up until she hears him mutter something.

“I can’t hear you.” She counters, annoyed.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” He clears his throat, “I didn’t want you to see us. Me and Freydis.”

“You did a great fucking job hiding it.”

“Is this really a good time for your sarcasm?”

“Fuck you, Ivar.”

“I’m being serious,” He hisses in frustration, “That was nothing for you to see. I had no idea you were off today.” He sounded irritated, as if it were somehow her fault he got caught. It shouldn’t have mattered if they weren’t anything to begin with. “I don’t even know why I’m explaining myself to you!” He ended his little childish rant with a sigh, the kind of sigh where he needed to run a hand down his face to keep his shit together.

“So then why the fuck did you call me?” She hissed back, and in her annoyance she splashed water from out the tub, the cold droplets sprinkling over Benji. It had the cat screeching for his life before running out of there.

“I don’t even fucking know myself.” She hears him take in another frustrated breath, grumbling something about the complications of women. Asshole. He was the complicated one.

The splashing of water was heard on his end. He must have been having a bath of his own. That was their thing, after a particularly rough day at work, or whenever the actions of their lovemaking called for a bath, they didn’t hesitate to slip in together and enjoy each other again. It was clear she valued those moments more than he did. It all meant nothing to him.

Her traitorous mind conjured up images of how his body must have looked, water droplets running down his glistening chest and chestnut colored hair plastered on his face. Fuck.

“I’m fucking stupid.” She groans, already feeling another wave of tears surging through her. She sniffles, bringing her knees to her naked chest as she stares at the flickering candles surrounding the tub.

“You’re crying,” Ivar says stupidly, his tone unreadable, “Please, don’t cry. I hate it when you cry,” He was speaking gently, as if that would be enough to soothe her, “I told you not to fall in love with me.” He repeats the phrase softly, almost sadly, like the corny lead of some fucking corny romantic comedy that did trash in the cinema.

“Yeah…” She says, fighting to hold back the sob she wanted so badly to release, “Yeah, I know.” And with that, she hung up, tossing her phone aside and sinking deeper into the now freezing water.

Maybe if she stayed in there long enough she’d feel numb.

…

She had stared at her ceiling, the star lit sky projection twinkling down at her, much like they always did when she was a little girl back in her hometown. They always did serve to calm her, making her feel safe and helped her sleep a lot better. They didn't help much this time around.

She stared all night, even after the stars disappeared with the sunrise, thinking about him. She was getting too old for this, crying like a fucking teenage girl.

She barely slept and was desperate for a cup of coffee the moment she rolled out of her cocoon-like bed. Dragging her feet over to the kitchen, she brews a pot of the caffeinated liquid before preparing Benji’s breakfast. The cat slithered between her legs, meowing uncontrollably as he awaited his food.

“Shut up, Benji.” She mutters to him tiredly, placing down his food bowl and giving him a quick pat. She leans against the counter, her eyes following the slow drip of the coffee into the glass pot, wondering how the fuck she’d gotten to this point. Her eyes hurt, swollen from all the crying she did last night, and everything felt hazy and slow.

After last night’s conversation with Ivar, she decided to block him, erasing whatever memories she had of him. Ivar was always a generous man with her, sometimes buying her little things that caught her eye, probably just things to appease her with she realized. She gathered all the items up in a cardboard box she had laying around, leaving it by the door to throw away once she left for work.

Finally, the coffee was done. She poured herself a much needed cup, adding a few drops of her favorite vanilla creamer. Taking a small sip of the hot beverage, she groans in delight as it coats her taste buds, ignoring the burning caused by her impatience.The fusion of bitter and sweet was helping her recharge for the day. She’d need at least 2 more cups if she was going to do these guided tours at the museum today.

There was a knock on her door as soon as she moved to get ready. In her confusion she pauses her morning playlist, turning to look toward her door as if something were about to burst through and devour her whole. It was 7:30 in the morning, an unusual hour to knock on anyone’s door. Her first thought was Ivar, but why would he even bother showing up to her door? He was never awake this early as he got to show up to his office whenever he wanted. Ruling him out, she finally makes her way to the door, peeking through the peephole. No one was there.

She unlocks the door, turning to look towards the left and right of the hall before looking down. She blinks, stunned.

Flowers. A huge bouquet of flowers. Her favorites actually, Gerbera Daisies, all in a soft powdery pink color with bright yellow centers. They were placed in a monstrosity of a vase of white porcelain, painted with stunning blue designs like fine china. Beside it was a small bag with a generic looking orange tabby cat on the front with its paw up. Those were Benji’s favorite treats.

Taking one last look around the hallway she bends down, carefully picking up the vase of flowers and the cat treats, all while pushing Benji back in before he tried to make a run for it. She tosses the treats aside, staring long and hard at the pretty flowers with a scowl. There was a white card clipped within the stems, wet from the vase water. Snatching it, she runs her finger over the parchment-like surface before opening it to see a familiar scrawl in the blackest ink. The water spreads the ink, staining the white card in black streaks like tears. She read the simple message:

I know these are your favorites. You deserve pretty flowers. I’m sorry you felt the need to fall in love.

-Ivar.

Her brows arch and a frown tugs at her lips. She felt her heart drop instantly as her brain finally processed the simple words he’d written. Reading it was enough for her to sense the emptiness of the message. She knew him well enough to know he slept just fine last night. Probably next to that other chick. How could he possibly think that flowers would make it all better?

She quickly rips the card into little pieces, tossing them into her trash can. She lifts the bouquet of daisies from their stems, removing them from the vase and throwing them harshly into the trash with a snarl. She squeezes her eyes shut, the tears already coating her lashes, rolling down her cheeks and onto those stupid flowers. She already broke her promise of no more tears and it wasn’t even 8 am. She bites her lips, glaring down at the daisies as if they were the root of the problem.

“Fuck you, Ivar.”

...

Part 2

...

@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @leilabeaux​ @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @shannygoatgruff​ @syrenak

[drabblers]

Late Night Musings

Prompt: Late Fandom: Inuyasha Characters: Kagome, Sesshoumaru Setting: All human AU; Continues Permission 1,060 Words

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The hour was late. Kagome lay awake, staring up towards the ceiling obscured by the darkness that had fallen long since. She’d been trying to will herself to sleep for a while now, but restlessness clawed at her soul and her mind was too loud. 

For a moment, she had found peace earlier that day. Once again, little Rin was to thank, for the archery demonstration had been all by her request. Kagome had wholly lost herself the moment the smooth wood of her bow warmed against her skin. Her thoughts had faded into silence, the world had slipped away. 

She should make archery practice a daily routine, now that there was a practice yard she could use. She hadn’t been able to indulge in regular practice for such a long time. 

Though thinking about indulgences… She should ask the maids tomorrow about the use of a bath house. She might as well take advantage of all the perks that life as a guest of the Nishikawa clan offered her.

A wry smile tugged at her slips. Look at her. Fifteen long months on the road, visiting various shrines, offering help where she could to the folk ravaged by the endless civil strife. Fifteen months of a life with a countless ri walked, a life that had offered very little comfort and expected a lot of hard work from her. A life of toil. But also one of freedom. A life of travel and new experiences, of seeing first-hand the lives of the people across the land.

In all these months, Kagome hadn’t had much trouble sleeping. Usually she’d fallen into a deep sleep instantly, exhausted by a long day on the road. Sometimes she’d even walked through the night, pushing against the weariness dulling her steps.

But now sleep eluded her. She lay in her very own guest room, the futon soft underneath her, the quilt keeping her comfortably warm. In only a handful of days she had become so well accustomed to this new life, serving a powerful samurai clan. Alarming, really, how quickly Kagome had adjusted to life under the Nishikawa’s roof. A life of luxury… And of confinement. The walk to the practice yard today had been the furthest she had ventured since her arrival. If she stayed to teach Rin, it was unlikely she’d venture outside of the Nishikawa castle’s walls until the time came for her to return to the Musashi province. 

Kagome turned over on the futon, shoulders hunching as she burrowed deeper under the quilt. When she returned to Musashi, her days as a wandering miko would be over. There would be a new life waiting for her, for her to adjust to.

Maybe staying here with the Nishikawa clan was a good thing after all. Practice of a different kind so she might better settle into the expectations awaiting her. Hovering for a moment in the in-between, before she’d step down to the rest of her life.

In the dark of the night, that thought suddenly loomed large over her, so finite. Kagome’s eyes burned and she squeezed them shut. 

* * * * *

The hour was late. The lantern’s flickering flame cast sharp, elongated shadows to stretch across the shouji walls. Sesshoumaru sat back with a sigh. He tossed the letters and messages he’d been reading on his desk and ran a tired hand over his eyes. 

He could feel the first stirrings of a headache, worming at the back of his skull. The day had been long and he’d managed to keep himself preoccupied for the most of it – though the errant thoughts of their mysterious miko guest were as frustrating as they were unintentional. 

Then again, there were worse things to dwell on. Few scant days had passed since the shrine visit and he hadn’t once thought about Touran. Rin’s disappearance and the miko’s unexpected appearance had both provided ample distraction. Even when his father had brought up the topic of marriage the other night, memories of Touran hadn’t flooded him the way they used to. Perhaps, now that two years had passed, her hold of him was fading.

Though not quickly enough. Sesshoumaru’s hand balled into a fist, his fingernails digging into his palm. The bitter venom still lingered in his veins. The anger still hadn’t left him, even after two years. He’d fooled himself into believing it had, perhaps, but the way he’d reacted when his father had brought up the topic of marriage showed his failings clearly enough.

Sesshoumaru knew his father was right. The Nishikawa clan needed an heir. Sooner or later, he’d need to sire a son and in order to do that, he would need to remarry. But after his experiences with Touran, the mere thought of marriage sent pulses of rage through his body.

Their marriage, like many of those of their class, had been one of a political alliance. There had been bad blood between their clans, some decades ago they’d been on the opposite sides of a war. So marriage, their families decided, was the optimal way to bury the hatchet for good. But Touran was proud and loyal – and those loyalties lay with her clan, even after she had become a Nishikawa. She did her duty. She married Sesshoumaru. She gifted him with Rin. 

But she had no intention of burying the hatchet.

She relished wielding it instead. Her manner had always been the perfect picture of politeness – but her eyes were cold every time she was with Sesshoumaru. Her gaze had been sharp, burning him like ice. She’d felt contempt for him she hadn’t bothered to hide, every discussion between them a chance to mock him. She’d been like a panther poised to strike, her carefully crafted speech always full of fangs and claws with which to tear him into shreds.

Touran had been a great mother to Rin, but she had been a terrible wife. Sesshoumaru ran his hand through his hair. He probably had his faults too, as a husband. He’d answered Touran’s goading with cold neglect. He’d raised his voice at her more than once, when the fury had got a hold of him. 

No. Sesshoumaru was better off without a wife. 

He turned away from his desk, leaving behind the troubled thoughts and resurfaced memories.

It was time to lay that all to rest.

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Continued In The Moment of Peace

[geekydane]

Talk to me - Tommy Shelby x reader - chapter 11

Masterlist

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You hated hospitals. The smell of antiseptic and the sterile white and cream colours everywhere only made you newly regained memory so much more unbearable. The fact that you were here for Tommy was the only reason you hadn’t run away. It was all so surreal. You had actually killed those men who shot him and you tried to figure out how you felt about it, but at that moment you still felt nothing. You didn’t feel bad or feel sorry for them. It was exactly the same you had done to those men that had held you captured years back.

It was like your brain had been reset and everyone had told you that you were an innocent little girl who was kidnapped and raped until you were ruined. You were told how the police found you and brought you to safety but you remember now how you clawed your way through the men when you snapped. Used their own weapons against them. There was only so many times a woman could let herself be violated before she took care of those who did it. You remember how you saw red and everything just happened in a blur. Exactly like when those men shot Tommy. How many men were in that room back then? How many lives did you take? And why didn’t you feel anything towards them? Who were you?

The Langstons must have known who you were and what you did. That might have been why they seemed kind of afraid of you and didn’t really try to connect with you in any way. But did they tell Polly when she took you in? Mrs. Langston spoke with her. Of course she knew. You thought back to the first time you met Polly and what she said to Tommy when he found out you were hired.

I’m sure Y/n will be very useful for us in the future.

“Miss, we’ll need you to leave. You are not on any of the lists of family members.” A nurse waved a clipping board in front of you and succeeded in getting you out of your head. You looked up at her. She looked around your age and she did look a little nervous as John and Arthur looked at her from the other side of the room. None of them had said anything to you since you got to the hospital. They staff had tried to kick you out since you came. It wasn’t like it was visiting hour at that point. John and Arthur weren’t supposed to be there either. But you guessed that the staff was more afraid of them because they checked in as the Shelbys or it was because they were actually family and you were not. You just couldn’t imagine being anywhere else when Tommy was at the hospital. You did your best to ignore the nurse and stayed in your seat.

“Miss. You need to leave, you…” You stood up in a beat and the poor nurse flinched. Couldn’t she just let you stay? Maybe your name wasn’t Shelby, but you came along with the brothers after all. John and Arthur didn’t say anything to the nurse to help you though. Did they want her to kick you out? Did they dislike you after what you did? You couldn’t possible think they were god’s best children themselves, so why would they care if you beat those guys? You were sure they had done the same a lot of times before.

You started pacing back and forward as the two brothers looked at you and the nurse looked around, maybe to see if anyone could help her get you out. In the next moment a doctor, you recognised from when you got to the hospital and Tommy was carried away, walked towards you and finally John and Arthur reacted to something.

“He is stabilized. Family may see him, but he’s very sleeping. He’s doing his to stay awake though. He’s very stubborn.” The doctor chuckled but he stopped as soon he looked at the brothers. They both stared him down with a sour face and it was like he visibly shrank half a meter. You looked after them as they followed the doctor to Tommy’s room and you were left alone in the waiting room.

It didn’t take more than 10 minutes before the doctor walked back into the waiting room. You were wondering why Arthur and John wasn’t with him so you stood up. He approached you and you saw how his glasses were crocked on his face and his coat was very wrinkled around the collar.

“M-miss? Mr. Shelby wants to see you.” You walked up to him as fast as possible and you were sure you saw him flinch when you stopped. So, which one of the ‘Mr. Shelbys’ had threatened him? You gestured for him to lead the way and you were led down a long hallway with many rooms full of patients. Nurses walked back and forward and eyed you as you went down and stood in front of a door.

“They are in there. Good day to you.” The doctor disappeared down the hall before you got to look at him. Eagerly you opened the door and almost slammed it into the wall. The room was small with only a single bed. Some of the rooms you passed had 6 beds so Tommy got special treatment. Good. John was sat on a chair next to the bed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Arthur stood near the window and looked out on the streets. You didn’t know why but you were afraid of looking at the bed. You were suddenly afraid of what you would see and how bad he was hurt. You couldn’t remember where the bullet hit him or how long it took for you to get to the hospital. Was he near dead? Did he barely survive? Could he still go die on you? So many horrible things went through your anxious brain instead of actually looking at Tommy and see if he was alright. Luckily the sound of his voice brought you to finally look up.

“Y/n?” He mumbled your name but the sound of it dragged you towards him in the bed. He was lying in a position that looked too much like how people were laid in a coffin. He lay very still and with his hands folded on top of his stomach. As you stood next to the bed his head fell to the side in a tiring way and he opened his eyes slowly to look at you. You could feel the tears pressing on as a little smile tugged in his lips for a second before he relaxed again and closed his eyes. You were afraid of hurting him, still not remembering where he was hit, so you sat down very slowly on the edge on the bed. His brothers both stared at you as you put your hand on top of his folded ones. He quickly took your hand and caressed it with his thumb.

“I’m all right. Nothing I haven’t tried before.” Tommy said quietly. There was a long pause afterwards where the two of you only existed in your own little bubble. You sniffled when the tears started to fall and Tommy opened his eyes again.

“Y/n. You said my name. You shouted my name.” He lifted his hand from yours and reached out for your face. You leaned in so that he could caress your cheek. It was so uncharacteristic of him to show this kind of affection when anyone was nearby. You looked at Arthur out of the corner of your eye and he was staring at you.

“Can you please… say my name again?” Tommy whispered. You took a unsteady breath as you tried to wrap your head around actually speaking again. You couldn’t. You didn’t know how you did it back then. Maybe it was the panic that made your brain forget all the voices that have kept you quiet for so long. You wanted to switch them off for Tommy again but you just couldn’t. The fact that you couldn’t do that one little thing he asked of you when he was in a hospital bed made you feel so useless. They would all be better off without you. You weren’t useful for anyone.

“Please.” He whispered and you pulled away from his touch. You couldn’t let him touch you now that you couldn’t give him everything he deserved. You didn’t deserve him. You shook your head and almost started bowling which suddenly made Tommy hyper aware. He defied his pain to actually pull himself up in a half sitting position, leaning against the wall. His quilt fell down and reviled his ribcage covered in bandages. John quickly jumped from the chair as you backed away.

“Tommy. Take it easy, will ya?” John said with a frown, as he adjusted Tommy’s pillow behind him.

“Will you please leave?” Tommy said a little louder than he did before. His voice was raspy but still strong considering what he has been through. John looked almost insulted but he didn’t get so say anything before Tommy scowled at him.

“Get out. You too Arthur!” He growled and the two brothers took their time to get to the door but eventually they left. Not without giving you a side glare first though. It felt like an eternity side you were alone with Tommy. It was actually only the morning before that you woke up in Tommy’s arms.

Tommy didn’t say anything but gave you time to calm down again. Even though the sight of him with bandages and heavy bags under his eyes wasn’t something that you were used to, it was always very calming being around him. You slowly stopped the tears from falling and when the only disturbance in your breath was small hiccups, Tommy reached out a hand for you. An invitation. You walked to him and let him pull you closer to him. You ended up sitting next to him in the bed. You made sure not to touch the bandages as he let you rest your head on his shoulder. A strong arm around your waist.

“It’s hard to see you struggling, but you have no idea how much it meant to me, that you called out my name. The sound of your voice surprised me so much that for a minute I forgot that it hurts to be shot.” He made a struggled sound that might have been a laugher if it didn’t hurt him to laugh.

“I was hoping that you would be able to speak now. That you finally prevailed whatever you are fighting with. I guess it’s not that simple.” He squeezed you a little closer and kissed your forehead. He was so gentle it was hard to imagine that he was a raging mad mafia boss with war trauma.

“It doesn’t matter. Now we know that you can do it. We’ll work through it. Together. If we just move forward slowly. If you will just take small steps. Small steps. Will you do that? For me?” His voice lowered to almost a whisper in the end but you we touched by every word. You didn’t know how aware Tommy was about your struggles. How you felt dealing with them. It made your heart swell ten times for the man and also made you determent and nod to his question. You would do it for him if not for yourself. That was also why you bend your neck so your lips almost touched his ear.

“Yes Tommy.” You said very silently, but not yet a whisper. You wanted him to her your voice because he deserved it and he begged for it. He stiffened for a moment as the realization hit him. He turned to you with gleaming eyes and looked from your eyes to your lips. Before you started to overthink anything you gave him the acceptance and leaned in. He met you halfway and first gave you a soft peck on your lips. But when he knew that it was okay he finally deepened the kiss and gave you the fullest he was able to in his state. He drew you closer so that you were almost pulled half on top of him. His free hand grabbing your leg and caressed the skin exposed from the dress creeping up over your knees.

“Mr. Shelby, you need to…” The moment was ruined in an instant as a young nurse appeared in the doorway. She stopped when she saw the two of you. You pulled away quickly, which only made your leg that was half draped over Tommy, touch the side of his ribs that was bandaged. He hissed in pain and the nurse jump to him but Tommy was furious.

“GET OUT! GET OUT!” He shouted at her. The nurse stuttered and almost fell over her own feet as she turned and ran out the door, slamming it after her. Tommy huffed angrily and you stood facing the window, too embarrassed to look at him again. Someone caught you being all over him. What didn’t that make you look like? He got shot and was fighting for his life. He was still in pain and here you were in his bed, half on top of him and hurt him in the doing.

“Y/n. Come here.” He was still huffing in pain but you turned to him, still looking at the floor and the arms crossed.

“It’s not your fault someone shot me and it hurt like hell. I want to enjoy your company a bit longer before I have to rest. Please come here.” He was holding out his hand to you and you accepted it even though you still felt a little embarrassed. He pulled you in and you sat down again next to him. You made sure that you didn’t end in the same position again by sitting up a bit straighter, so that Tommy’s couldn’t reach up. He sighed and rested his head on your cheat. You ran your hair thought his very untamed hair like it was a reflex.

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You weren’t much for leaving Tommy there but Arthur stayed behind with him while you drove home to Birmingham with John. It was weird as the sun was beginning to rise and it was kind of dark. You didn’t know what to feel about being alone in the dark with John. He wasn’t a danger, you knew that, but he wasn’t tommy either. He didn’t say much for a long while. He kept his eyes on the road and he kept a toothpick in his mouth that he moved from side to side once in a while.

“I heard you shout.” He suddenly said out of the blue. You turned to look at him but he still just kept his eyes on the road. What did he except from you then? That you randomly started to chat like you never stopped? The uncertainty made you uncomfortable so you just stared out on the road.

“I get it, you know. The adrenaline. It can make someone do things they never think they would ever do. We’ve all done that. Even though I don’t understand you completely, I think you are good for Tommy. He seems very happy.” You hadn’t seen John as the sentimental type, but you guess he had a side to him. He did have both a wife and children of course. Tommy had told you, in one of many conversations in the bedroom, that John’s first wife died while they were in France and Esme was his second wife. He even tried to marry Lizzie but Tommy didn’t want that for some reason. John must know about love and how it felt. Maybe he saw something in the two of you. It made you hopeful and you smiled to yourself. John finally squinted at you and you saw how he started to smile too.

“You all right, ey. Just don’t forget who we are. What happened to Tommy tonight will be attempted many times over. But after what I saw you do, I think you are able to handle it. But always be aware.”

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It felt strange when you got home to the Shelby residence and Polly was there to greet you. She walked right pass John and engulfed you in a hug that you were not prepared for. You stiffened completely and counted until she loosened her grip on you and gentle grabbed your face.

“I’m so sorry that you were dragged into all this shit again.” She said and glared in John’s direction.

“Tommy was the one they shot at.” John grunted as he lit a cigarette.

“Oh Tommy is already full of holes. I’m not far from imagining Whiskey will escape his body through bullet holes soon enough.” Polly sighed and took a look down your body.

“You need to take a long and relaxing bath, my dear. You just stay in Tommy’s room for now. I’m sure he will appreciate that you are here when he comes home.” He pushed you gently towards the stairs and you started walking up slowly and slightly confused about the very motherly greeting you just experienced. Polly left to the join John in the other room and you stopped on the stairs as you heard her talk to him in a very low voice.

“Did she really do it? She doesn’t seem very agitated.”

“I pulled her away from the poor bastards. If I hadn’t stopped her, she would have pulled them to pieces. Limb for limb.” John laughed and Polly shushed him.

“I know her story but I’m just having a hard time imagining her going berserk like that. But I guess if she’s pushed too far...” You didn’t want to here anymore about their thoughts of you so you walked the rest of the way up the stairs as quietly as possible. You didn’t need to start doubting yourself any more than you already did. You went into Tommy’s room and it was strange to be there alone. You say on his bed for a while just sitting, not knowing what to do with yourself. Then you remembered that Polly had told you to take a bath. You went into Tommy’s wash room. The smell of his cologne hang heavy in the air. You went to the tub and started filling it with water. The water was not very warm but it was the middle of the night so it must have been a long time since someone put coal in the boiler. Touching the water to feel the temperature you finally took a look down at yourself. Your sleeves on the beautiful long dress were stained crimson. Slashes of red covered the skirt and you immediately started shaking. You always thought about how you looked and presented yourself. How could you have gone around for so long smeared in blood? What did people not think of you? But then you remembered that you actually killed someone… again. The unsettling feeling or horror and realization finally hit you and you felt numb as you pulled off the dress and let yourself sink into the water. You stayed there until the water was icy cold.

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You didn’t sleep at all. You had tried to settle down in Tommy’s bed but it felt wrong being there alone. You had left the water when your teeth started to clatter. When the sun started to rise you started to get up and realized that the only clothing you had at Tommy’s place was the sleepwear and the bloodied dress. You put on the night dress and felt guilty for roaming Tommy’s closet for a white button up to put on over the dress. At least you were a bit covered up. You went downstairs to see if anyone was awake. You hoped to find Polly or maybe Ada. They could maybe get some of your clothing from your apartment so you could get ready to work. You half stumbled down the stairs, realizing how exhausted you were, when Polly walked out the sitting room, already dressed.

“Oh y/n. Why are you up already?” She asked and looked a little worried. You pointed to the door that led to the office building and she frowned at you.

“You are not going to work. You should be in bed and get some rest on top of the night you have just had. I will send someone to get you some clothing. Go back to bed.” She sounded like a concerned mother but at the same time vert demanding. You didn’t want to fight and really wasn’t able to, so you turned around and went up the stairs again. You lie down and a moment later a maid came to collect your dress. You pointed at the wash room and she bowed for you before disappearing out there. You could hear how she gasped when she saw the state of your dress. You drew the duvet further over your head until she disappeared again. A little later Polly came up with some food and assured you that you should stay in bed. You really wanted to tell her that you didn’t want to be alone, but even though you had been able to say a few words, you still couldn’t make yourself speak to Polly. Maybe not yet.

You didn’t know how many hours you had been either laying around in the bed or walking around studying every single thing in Tommy’s room. His war photo was framed and was on the table next to the sofa along with his multi coloured liquor bottle. He was very handsome in his uniform but there was a certain stiffness in his posture that he didn’t have anymore. It was like he was much more carefree in the time you have known him. Or maybe not carefree, but… free. You took the frame and dusted it off with your fingertips and took it with you to the bed. You didn’t know why you liked it so much. It didn’t look like your Tommy but you wouldn’t mind seeing your Tommy in a uniform.

“Having fun without me?” The ruff voice came from the doorway and in came Tommy limping with a crutch under one arm and Arthur under the other. They shuffled around so much that you could understand how you hadn’t heard them get up the stairs. Maybe it was the comfort of Tommy’s room that made you feel so secure that you wasn’t hyper aware of every little sound. You hadn’t thought about that before then. You hurriedly stood up and walked towards him. Them. Arthur was there too. You let Arthur place Tommy down on the bed and Tommy hissed in pain as he hit the soft mattress. You took the crutch and placed it next to the bed.

“Take care of him.” Arthur said and inhaled sharply. He was looking the other way like he was trying to hide his face that showed whatever feeling that was behind those words. You nodded but he didn’t look your way before he was out of the door. You turned all of your attention to Tommy that was trying to lift his legs up onto the bed but the pain was clear on his face.

“Let me help you.” You said without thinking and Tommy stopped all movement and he widened his eyes.

“I can’t get use to you speaking to me.” He mumbled and even thought you knew it wasn’t meant to be negative, you couldn’t stop your body from reacting. You breathed in sharply and Tommy noticed.

“That came out wrong. I love hearing your voice. It works better than any medicine they gave me in that shitty hospital. The shortage of medication so many years after the war is still ghastly.” You helped Tommy get his legs up on the bed so that he could lie down. You were very careful and went slower every time the frown on his face deepened. You put a pillow behind his back as he leaned against the headboard. You went to the other side of the bed as Tommy picked up the framed picture of him.

“Were you that lonely?” He said with a hint of a laugher and you blushed. You weren’t embarrassed that you had taken the photography but what he might be suggestion you had done with it made it…

“I’m kidding. Come here.” He made a strained sound as he reached over and placed the framed photo one the nightstand. You shuffled close to him on the bed and let him drag you into his side. You made sure not to touch the area around the bullet wound and put your hand in his chest instead. He apparently took it as an invitation and went for a kiss. It surprised you with the suddenness and you instinctively moved away from him. He frowned by your actions and you regretted it immediately.

“I’m sorry I just thought that maybe now…” He trailed off. He started to remove his arm from around you but you grabbed him before he could move away further. You snuggled your head into his chest and tried to hold onto him without actually hurting him.

“No I’m sorry. It’s a habit.” You mumbled into his shirt. He hummed at that and you could feel the vibration in his chest.

“Keep that habit, because men are pigs. But I can be the exception.” You let Tommy lift up your head and he attached his lips to your again. This time you just let it happened and melted into him like you had done that for years. It felt strangely normal and okay even though you couldn’t remember the last time you had been intimate in any way with anyone. A feeling of belonging came over you as Tommy deepened the kiss as much as he could in the awkward angle you were kept in, because of his bullet wound. The bullet wound…

“Tommy?” You pulled away from him and the sight of him licking his upper lip almost made your brain go numb for a second and you forgot your question. Tommy noticed how intensely you were watching him and he chuckled. It made you snap back and you looked down at your hands that Tommy had intertwined slowly doing the kiss. You collected your thoughts and tried to figure out the longest sentence you had said in many years. The anxiety was still lingering over you, even though you felt comfortable with Tommy.

“How are we going to get back at Mick King?” Tommy stiffened a little but he just huffed and relaxed again.

“Don’t you worry about that. That is my job to figure out.”

“Did Arthur tell you what I did?” You asked quietly.

“…Yeah he did.” Tommy said with no hint of disgust but not any hint of any other emotion. He was hard to read sometimes.

“I remember stuff from back then now.” The both of you became quiet for a long moment. Tommy squeezed your sides a little in a comforting manner.

“The day I got here… I overheard Polly call me useful. Was that because of what happened… back then?” Tommy’s thumb was rubbing calming circles on the back of your hand but he remained silent.

“Tommy… Tell me.”

“Yes... Yes, Mrs. Langston told us your story and that was why Polly wanted to take you in. But you didn’t show that side of you. Not before…”

“They hurt you Tommy.” You explain yourself, interrupting Tommy that huffed.

“It was very dangerous what you did and even though you have proved you can take care of yourself I don’t want you to bring yourself in that kind of danger again, okay? That’s an order.” Now it was your time to huff.

“Let’s leave it here. I’m tired and you shouldn’t think about revenge.” Tommy said and before you knew it you were kissing again. This time you were more prepared and let him take the control. You really didn’t want to hurt him, but you trusted him to stop when it hurts. He pulled you on top of his lap and you could feel your own body react to his hands that slowly ran up and down your sides. You held onto the back of his neck to pull yourself closer to him and bit down his button lip. He growled like an animal and his breath became heavier.

“I’m gonna hurt myself if we don’t take it slow.” He acknowledged and you nodded. And in that moment when your forehead touched Tommy’s, you knew you were not only going to fight for that man, you were going to fight beside him, even if he wanted it or not. You were going to get your revenge and just the taste of the word was sweet to you. You just hoped that you could actually control your inner demon and never hurt anyone of those you loved.

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[xdepthsofwinterx]

“Avoiding your triggers isn’t healing.”

- Inspired by this Inbox Meme {{Trigger Warning: Depressive Thought}}

Her form went ridged at the declaration, regardless of how softly her elven companion had uttered it. Fingers instinctively gripped about her mug, dark irises watching the now tepid tea ripple.

Bare feet padded across creaking floorboards as Kymiel shifted from his place by the table, coming to sit upon the paved steps opposite the mage. She could see his sun-kissed toes out of her peripheral, counting each one as her breathing hitched.

Dhana wanted to bite, to snap at his response. Alas, as the blackette deliberated, the bitter taste of sense ran through Kymiel’s statement.

‘Running from Deekin, avoiding any direct contact with Eli, Xanos and the others…I’m really just hiding, aren’t I? Fuck.’

A calloused hand released battered porcelain, rising to thread wearily through her black mane. Sepia eyes slid closed at the treacherous burn brimming there. Leaning forward, Dhana’s voice was unmistakably hoarse as she spoke.

“I’m…terrified of touching those scars. At what might-…at what most likely will happen,” her head bowed, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. “I’ve held everything I have left together by mere threads, and if one where to snap I…I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

There was a long, heavy silence, intermitted only by the soft patter of rain drops upon the window pane. Brows clenched hard, face screwed up in an attempt to dismiss her grief. But Lady Luck was scorning her as hot, watery trails streaked down her cheeks.

“You are in survival mode and have been since we met in Waterdeep. You are slowly suffocating yourself.”

Blearily she looked up to find the ranger regarding her intently. He spoke factually, pity and patronising tones nowhere in sight. That didn’t stop Dhana retaining her scowl.

“And what would you suggest, master elf? Charge back to all those I’ve wronged and throw myself at their feet?”

To his credit, Kymiel didn’t even flinch.

Instead, the wood elf leant in, mirroring her pose; arms bent, torso tilted forward as he regarded her.

“Life is for living, not just existing,” Ochre eyes pinned her, “allow yourself to coast along, grasping at straws will only bring you more of the same.”

“Don’t settle for the bare minimum. If you yearn for change, then be the force of your own change."

Dhana visibly sagged, the darkened circle about her eyes far more pronounced in that moment.

“You don’t understand, elf. The amount of change I need is…. insurmountable!” he was lucky she hadn’t thrown the mug in her grasp. There was a deep, wallowing pit of despair growing in her stomach. Everything, all at once, being made aware to her…all her insecurities and faults…

Dry, tanned hands found her own, gently tugging the one in her hair free. Kymiel had moved silently, kneeling before her now. At this proximity she could see age etched into the crows’ feet about his eyes, the crease lines about his lips from sunny smiles. A second of bitter envy.

“Not all at once, Dhana, that would be cruel and unrealistic,” the mage fought the urge to strike him, claw out those bright eyes. Get away, don’t look at me, fuck you- but she forced herself to remained still, “One day, one step or even one action at a time. It matters not how big or small, or other’s perception of its importance, so long as whatever you focus on matters to you.”

The reaction had always been the same whenever the thought of change had arisen. One self-depreciating train of thought domino-ed into a downward spiral. Each belittling voice inside her skull swiping at her until she lay foetal in her covers, unable to will herself to emerge for even daily necessities.

Hence the intervention of her current travelling companion.

Part of her wanted to resent his interference, ward him off with snark and barbed words. But the ranger had seen the crux of her darkness…and remained, stubbornly, at her side. It reminded her painfully of her academic family, the kobold…

So when Kymiel carefully sat beside her, the warmth of a familiar quilt thrown about her shoulders, the mage could do little bar openly weep.

Rock bottom, it seemed, wasn’t enough to keep her friends at bay.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Dawn(4)

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings:hurt, anxiety, missing(?)

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: I’ll be leaving this job when things settle down. I cannot work for a company that does not have humanity or sympathy for the people that keep it going. I would rather get a decent pay and be treated with the respect I deserve for the job I do. This pandemic really brought a whole different side to how much they care for you.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The rough kisses of the wind under the light of the moon bring with it the song of nocturnal birds ready to take the night. Every little ecosystem of the witching hour is alive as the light brings forth a new day and a new adventure, bursting out into songs of the twilight; or their supper. Everything except for the God on the horse that zooms past them, interrupting their daily chores to look at him in curiosity for five seconds before going back to whatever it is they were doing.

For Loki, it is less of an adventure and more of a race against time. He knows firsthand the sensitive areas of the Asgardian mountains, especially the ones lying close to Vanaheim and Alfheim that are hiding the remnants of old enemies of the throne. Once the war was over, it was a given that the invaders from other galaxies who had set their claws in the weakest kingdoms would have to face the Asgardian forces to draw them away, and so they had fled in the darkness of the many nights to prevent being captured and exiled to their planets or worse, being left on a barren moon to fend for themselves. And it would not be any barren moon but one which the Silvertongue would choose specifically for their suffering.

One of the reasons Loki had travelled to the borders just a day after his wedding was to take care of the still weak defences of the kingdom. Several aliens who had surrendered because of their children and to prevent violence were assured a safe refuge and means to make an honest living by both the Princes. But the once who had fled with the motive to not negotiate for a mere living had full intentions of coming back with resources. Loki made sure that guards were stationed near the villages by the edge of the cities so as to prevent the fiends from pillaging the hard work of the innocent while at the same time, releasing the wild animals under the care of the crown- more precisely, his command- to make sure they kept the threat in check.

It had been hard for Loki to get up in the morning with you by his side, sleeping without a care in the world. He’d watched you snore, your lips parted and your sleep reasonably heavy after the week you had had, and questioned himself to have found you more mesmerising than any time before. He knew Thor could have handled the situation without him, but seeing you sleep next to him with your guard down brought an unknown sensation from somewhere deep inside him, unfurling like a whirlpool in the midst of an ocean. The sensation, the instinct to protect you- to watch you like this more often. After all, how many people in his life had he witnessed to trust him enough to tell him his brother was afraid of spiders.

And now as he is flying in the wind through the forest trail to reach you, Loki can only think about your safety. Well, that and the endless rant he would have to hear from Tony if something happens to you and he finds out about it.

If his memory of the lessons of the kingdom’s Geography serves him right, the Nightweed can only be found by the rivulets flowing from Vanaheim’s direction. That would mean the group would have to travel south-west to reach it a few hours before the crack of the dawn. And the trail he follows suggests his observation be correct.

Just a half an hour journey later he finds a soft glow of lanterns up ahead on the trail, his pounding heart feeling an unexplainable rush that makes his grip on the reins tighter as he directs his horse to reach it with full speed.

What he does not expect to see is Sybll being the only one sitting on the ground next to a few horses while a guard keeps a watch for anything out of the ordinary. The lines of worry on her face are visible in the glow of the white lanterns but the fear that creeps into her eyes when she sees Loki emerge from the darkness is no match for them.

“Your highness,” she breaks while trying to get up from the ground and bow her head in the presence of her Prince.

“Where is she?” is all he asks.

The answer does not come abruptly. Instead, Sybll’s eyes well up and her fingers torment the flesh of her arms till she has grounded herself to finally speak.

“She’s missing. Someone took her,” she winces.

.

The visit to the forest feels like a dream. The smell of the flowers of the night, the cool breeze caressing you with the frostiness it brought you from the nearest waterfalls and rivulets, the happy songs not holding much meaning for you, the laughs and cheers. Everything seems to be blurring into a sweet memory.

Till you remember the urgent need to pee that led to you losing consciousness. And with that one thought gathering amplitude inside your head, your eyes open wide while your head throbs, looking in every direction for Sif or Sybll or anyone else who is familiar. Instead, you lock eyes with a gross creature sitting at the entrance- of what seems like a tent- looking at you with utter disgust in his eyes and a wicked smile on his...well, whatever this orc has for lips.

That creature runs out of the tent before you can ask him anything and you take that time to look around for any clue as to where you are. One thing that does make sense is the seal on the grain sacks and chests kept in one corner which does not belong to any royal families you were introduced to on your wedding day.

Wait, my wedding day was yesterday.

Just the thought of that fact gives you a headache.

Getting up from this quilt that you have been laid over, you feel the frost of the night over your exposed shoulders, really missing the cloak you'd kept on your horse when you dismounted it.

Steps sound outside the tent and you are obligated to turn towards the opening to see who is responsible for getting you unconscious and dragging you away from another Asgardian tradition.

Well, the master, or chief, looks nothing like the one he had stationed to guard you.

This one looks more like an elf with a backbone straighter than any protestant you would witness in a 'go away immigrants' rally. His golden hair falls till his hips, not a single strand out of its place; even when he walks towards you. For a second you really think he has walked in here by mistake till his yellow eyes start to observe you from head to toe.

Creepy elf.

"Hm," he breathes out, his head held so high he has to look down at you even though he is barely two inches taller than you are, "I thought the prince of Asgard would do better than...this."

"Hm," you mock back, not acknowledging that petty insult with an answer. But you really cannot help it. "I'm sure if you had asked nicely he would have considered your hand in the marriage too..."

"Torbarik," he introduces himself, never breaking that stoic ego of his, "and I would rather eat dirt than marry that bastard," the elf creature purrs all the while unconsciously avoiding anything that would get his white robe with sparkly embellishments dirty.

"So...you would marry him," you state, narrowing your eyes in introspection at that guy who is clearly irritated now.

He takes a step towards you, enough to bend a little when he wants to stare you directly in the eye. "Your father in the name of the law promised us a place in the kingdoms before your husband-" he practically hisses the word in your face- "and his high and mighty brother took over the territories to make it their little playground and drive my people out."

As much as you want to pay attention to his words there is something else that bothers you on another level.

"I'm sorry," you finally blurt out, "I cannot concentrate on what you're saying with those two little hairs standing up on your head. Right there. Yeah. Near the forehead."

Torbarik moves his head back, like a little jolt he feels at the thought of someone pointing at his imperfections.

"Look, I don't know what Odin promised you," you shrug, "and whatnot. But I do know that whatever Loki and Thor and doing is probably for the best of all people involved."

“What is best for their interest,” Torbarik interrupts you, walking around the tent, his eyes looking around, his marble-like face expressionless, “that is how the royal family has always been. I claimed the lands of Alfheim with power-” he pauses in front of a small mirror hanging by the pole in the centre of the tent and checks himself and those loose hair strands you mentioned- “and no one can take that away from me.”

You have to pause and take a breath. Initially for clearing your head, mostly for keeping you from throwing words at him he might not recover from.

“And where do I come into this?” you finally ask. “I do not have a political standing in the Asgardian court if that is what you are going for.”

Torbarik feels a shift in lips, a slight smirk forming on them as he turns to face you with an eerie look in his eyes. “Oh, but you are the most vital piece of the court, your grace.”

You know he means to mock you when he addresses you that way, and that look of madness in his eyes is not helping. “You, the latest addition to the royal court, a...low blood but married into the royals, nonetheless, are the key to it all. You are what I will bargain for power in these lands, my dear.”

So, he is insane, your inner voice shouts in a mad fit of hysterical laughter while you scoff at him. “And what makes you think anyone will negotiate with you? What makes you think Odin will negotiate for my life? Like you said, I’m just a human.”

For the first time that night, you watch Torbarik smile the broadest smile, revealing those unresting sharp white teeth. What is worse is his steps towards you, not halting till he has you pinned into the tent’s wall with his body, not even giving you much space to breathe.

“Oh, but not just any human,” he sings, his dirty-nailed fingers running lazily over your jaw, “you are the human who could bring havoc to Asgard with one simple scratch. Or maybe a broken bone. Or worse....your death.”

The nail from his index finger goes down the jaw, over your neck, deeper than before, definitely scratching something. “Imagine the destruction,” he whispers into your ear, sending uneasiness crawling down your skin, “when your family on earth finds out about something happening to you. The war they are going to wage. Bringing Hel on this land Odin is so proud of. And all-” his fingers wrap you by the throat, not yet turning it into a grip- “because Odin or his sons could not protect you.”

Even in the chill sweeping from outside on your feet, your back feels sweat trickle down while your heart tries its best to maintain a survivable pace.

“Loki would see this coming a mile away. Do you really think you stand a chance in front of hi-”

The grip tightens around your throat. You can feel the nails digging into your skin. “Oh, I want him to see this coming. I want him to know there will be blood if he does not agree with my terms. Even if your life means nothing to him, he will pay the price for it.”

It is not as much the words but the thoughts they conceive in your mind. Restless, unnerving thoughts. Thoughts of what weight do you exactly carry for Loki. Do you even carry some significance for him? Or are you just another peace treaty that was done and dusted?

Your heart feels a pain rush into it as quickly as you try to hide it on the outside.

“My husband does not negotiate with a terrorist. And you are a fool if you think he will not find a way through this web you think you are spinning for him.”

Torbarik breaks into laughter that chills your veins. Your skin feels something sticky where his nails are digging into your skin. “I would like to see him try.”

.

“...and by the time I came back to where I had left here, she was gone.”

The defeated sigh that leaves Sif’s lungs hurts her more than anyone for not being able to do the one thing she was meant to be doing.

“It’s not your fault, Sif,” Loki is quick to point out, knowing that look in her eyes well enough to know where her thoughts are spiralling right now. “Whoever took her must have been following you for some time to know when to strike. Are all the handmaidens accounted for?”

Sif nods, looking over his shoulder to watch them stand huddled together by the horses.

“Okay, here is what we will do-”

“Loki,” Sif interrupts the God before he can put a plan in action, “I can find her. Let me find her.”

Loki blinks. “Of course you will. You are the best asset we have right now. Baldur can take the handmaidens back to the palace. We have a lot of ground to cover so-”

“Pardon us, your highness,” Sybll’s voice stops Loki to make both the warriors turn around and face her form that is barely keeping it together underneath the tightly held cloak, “but we would like to be a part of the search too. We cannot go back to the palace when the Princess might be in danger right now. Please, we have been taught how to defend ourselves by the Queen. Let us be of some help as well.”

Loki has to pause and look at the eager faces standing their ground to do as much as possible. He turns to Sif for an opinion and she silently agrees with the lot.

A sigh escapes his nostrils in the form of visible air in this night getting colder by the minute.

“Fine,” he finally agrees, allowing the handmaidens to breathe easy, “but not without security.”

Loki gets down on one knee to touch the soil with his palm, reciting an ancient spell that reverberates through the land of the forest- its epicentre where Loki stands- with visible green and golden waves rolling right on the dust. Just as the recitation stops and his hand leaves the soil, everything goes silent; not even the owls hoot nor does a leaf.

And then Sif sees them. At the top of the nearest hill. Golden orbs- too many- in pairs, looking down at them, as if floating in their direction. The fear of the unknown takes root in a corner of her heart right before the moonlight shines on them.

Sif feels a touch on her shoulder and turns her head just enough to witness Loki’s hand shifting her and every other lady’s armour in something as black and as the night.

“Search for my wife,” Loki announces with a subtle hint of something dark without ever raising his voice- changing into a battle-ready black armour- and summoning his sword, “and they will take care of the rest.”