#she's in pain literally every day of her life following the bone pit fight and like ... bitch MOOD

[acourtofsnakes]

Kyr’am - Rogue Chapter 5| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: Sick of the countless failures, Moff Gideon decides to call in the big guns. 

Warnings: Not many in this one, but mentions of violence(brief), brief mention of suicide, (literally barely touching on it), does another cliffhanger count as a warning?

AN: Ooooooo, new people 👀

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Wordcount: About 2184, a short one this time for introduction purposes

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo 

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 

Mando’a translation: Kyr’am - Death 

The atmosphere in the light cruiser was… tense. Beyond tense, actually. The tension as almost a living thing, vibrating throughout the room and threatening to explode into destruction if someone said but one thing wrong. 

Moff Gideon stood at the head of the huge table, staring at the holo-image in the middle of it with a look of distinct distaste. His hands were clasped behind his back as he surveyed the image, a young woman wearing a cloak, fire in her eyes and a ridiculously high bounty above her head. His anger and disappointment were evident, obvious to the men and women seated around the table before him. 

There was a break in the air, and then a young woman, Gideon’s Comms Officer and assistant, decked out in the dark grey green uniform walked in. Her even, regimented steps echoed on the floor and she stopped a little way away, offering a quick salute, “Sir, I have just received the report you requested from our spies in the field.”

The air tightened in the room, the people seated around the table holding their breath, hoping it was good. Hoping it wasn’t what had been rumoured. 

Gideon looked away from the table, seeing what his people were holding out for. He turned to his assistant, nodded for her to continue. 

The woman looked across the table, a glint in her eye and a faint smirk dancing across her lips fleetingly. “They got in touch with the contact who was representing you. Apparently, the hunter succeeded in finding the target.”

The collection of people around the table sagged in relief, one even going so far as to rub his eyes as he let out a sigh. 

The assistant couldn’t hide her smirk this time, allowing it for a few seconds, “And then he went rogue.”

Gideon knew this already, but this is a punishment for the people that promised him he’d get what he wanted “Rogue? What do you mean by that, officer?”

“He found the target and began to bring her back as requested. They got into an altercation at another planet, some witnesses said there was a fight in a back alley and the last they saw was the target dragging the hunter back to his ship.”

The table was still, dread beginning to curl around the room like a snake, twining around feet and legs and flicking out a tongue to taste the danger that lingered on the horizon. 

“And then?”

The assistant’s voice came out clear, almost disinterested, “And the next thing that we have, is the tracker and puck being destroyed. As of half an hour ago, no one knows where they are.”

Gideon dismissed her then turned to the table. He sighed, looking at the man who had recommended the Hunter this time, “’The best there is.’ That is what you told me, captain. ‘He’ll have her within a week and be back here to collect his reward.’ Well, captain, it’s been a week.” He spread his hands, his eyebrows raising in a mock expression of wonder. He looked around the room, then back at the captain, “Where is she? Are you hiding her under your seat?” 

The captain swallowed harshly, a sheen of sweat crawling over his skin. He kept his hands under the table because they were shaking, “N-no, sir.”

Gideon shrugged, that false wonder still in his voice too, “Then where is she? I took a great risk in following your advice. And it hasn’t paid off.”

“Sir, please! I didn’t know this would happen. I thought the bounty on her would be enough to keep him straight. My sources said he was running out of money, that he was exchanging favours instead of credits for the repair of his ship. He couldn’t have turned that money down. I don’t know what happened, maybe she tricked him. Used her power to-“

Gideon’s hands slammed onto the table, echoed only by his snarl, “Enough.”  

The captain cut off, unable to stop the pitiful whimper. No one moved, no one looked at him. They all knew what was inevitably coming. 

Gideon pointed at the pain, “Don’t you dare try to make a fool of me. It’s on your authority that this has gone wrong again.” He straightened up, “Every single one of you is to blame. Each one of you let me down. You will be punished. As it is, I have found other means. Expensive means.”

A lady lifted her hand, trembling. 

Gideon’s eyes slipped to her, his eyebrows raising just slightly. 

The lady swallowed, “Everyone knows she hasn’t used that power since she was a child. As far as we know, it doesn’t even exist in her anymore. I.. what’s the point?” 

Gideon looked at her, his dark eyes simmering but he said nothing. 

Only for a man across from the captain to speak up, “She’s right. They say if one of those types doesn’t use their power, they forget how to wield it. The Child repressed his powers for decades.”

Gideon was impatient now, waved his hand dismissively, “And then used it repeatedly in presence of the Mandalorian. It can come back. I have proof that it has. She used her power to heal him.”

“But, sir, we don’t know that-“

The atmosphere in the room noticeably shifted again. This time, the danger became something so much more. 

It became a truly living thing that pressed against the traitors around the table. It licked down their bones, caressed their minds but it sung a song of death and destruction. 

The door slid open, and then a figure walked into the room. 

He was clad head to toe in black, a black so dark it seemed to suck the light of the room. 

His tall, lithe body was armed with weapons of every variety, everything one could possibly imagine and more that were only rumoured, weapons that had been made just for him. 

He stalked into the room with all the ease of a predator walking into the den of some small, helpless animals. And relished in the sheer power he had without even trying. 

The harsh lighting of the room glinted off the blade sheathed down his back. The scabbard was engraved with symbols, symbols that had long since been used. The hilt was as black as his outfit, and intricately carved. If he had unsheathed it, the blade would have been as deep as obsidian, and so sharp it could have sliced off someone’s hand with a mere whisper. 

He stopped at the opposite end of the table to Gideon, shoulders back, posture tall and at ease, but coiled beneath the surface, waiting to strike. 

A hood covered his face, gold embroidery picked out by the lights and snaking around the edges of the hood. 

No light pierced the shadow that fell over his face, keeping him anonymous.  

Clearly the captain realised he wasn’t getting off this ship, because he suddenly broke the deathly silence by laughing. “Seriously? Is it dress up day or something?” He looked around the room at the horrified expressions looking back at him, “What? Are we supposed to be scared or something?” His arrogance was barred by the sweat pooling into the neckline of his uniform, the frantic pulse at his throat.

The night-clad figure said nothing. Merely rested his gloved hands on the table. A simple act. 

But the air in the room vibrated, a warning. 

Gideon inclined his head toward the figure, “Thank you for coming. You understand that I would have left your services be if these fools hadn’t failed me.”

The cloaked man nodded once, a slow incline of his head that somehow said everything he needed to. That he wouldn’t even have paid attention otherwise. 

Another woman at the table, a general, inquired quietly, “His services, sir? Does this mean-“

“Yes, General. It does. Never in my life have I been so spectacularly let down by a group of people before. You were supposed to the best in your fields, yet you couldn’t give me one tiny little girl.”

The woman swallowed, nodded and looked at the table in submission. 

Again, the Captain added another nail to his coffin, “You’re giving this freak the job? If we couldn’t find her, if even Trandoshans and Troopers and two Mandalorian’s can’t get her, what makes you think he’s qualified?” He stabbed a finger toward the figure, who remained silent, a predator watching their next mean. 

Gideon glared at him, losing his patience with this captain, “Because he is the best there is.” 

A snort from the foolish captain, “Oh? And why would you bring him in just now? Why not before?” 

Gideon’s glare could have cut through metal, his words clipped, “Because he has a very unique skill set that I would rather not be associated with using. However, because of this situation and the necessity of obtaining her, it makes him the most qualified.”

“Skill set? Like what? Is he going to bed the girl and then drag her in? Or does he have a-“

The captain’s words were cut off with a gurgle, and his eyes went wide. His chair pushed back and then he was rising from his seat, as if pulled up by strings. Every limb of his body was frozen, rigid. Like he was no longer in control. 

The figure had finally moved, lifting one of those gloved hands in a gesture that was almost casual. He tilted his head within his cloak, and a voice like silk slipped out, far too soft, far too seductive to belong to anyone good, “Perhaps you’ve been living under a rock and you’ve simply never heard of me.” His voice was crooning, desirable. It belonged to the deepest pits, full of monsters and creatures. It was the very darkness that plagued you, seduced you in a voice like honey – and then devoured you. 

Undiluted terror dawned on the captain’s face. He flinched, twitching, trying to claw at the invisible hold on his throat that was slowly crushing his windpipe. 

The cloaked figure lifted his head, like he was scenting the fear oozing from the captain. 

This man was a dark legend. A rumour that you had to be crazy to whisper, for fear of unleashing his dark wrath upon the speaker. Many, many people had heard the rumours of a hunter so precise, so ruthless that he left no trace. People went missing, and then showed up days later completely unrecognisable, bodies so destroyed that even the most advanced robots couldn’t extract enough DNA to give the victims a name. 

His work wasn’t messy though, that’s what made him so terrifying. 

It wasn’t just clean and efficient. It was beautiful. This was a man that relished in his skillset, lived for the hunt and the kill. Breathed it. It ran through his veins, worked the muscles of his heart. 

The fiercest warriors had dropped to their knees and wept for their lives before him. Mere mortals had died just from the sight of him.

As soon as he got the scent of someone, they may as well have ended their own lives to spare the pain. 

Many had. And it still didn’t stop him from finding the bodies and playing.  

The rumours also whispered that he wasn’t human. That he had sold his soul but even the vilest of monsters hadn’t wanted it. They’d taken one look and given it back. He wasn’t born by the Maker; he was something else entirely. He had no trace of soul in him aside from the Force, which he had twisted and utilised for his formidable beauty and indescribable actions.  

Gideon watched him play with the Captain, “You will receive the payment on her head and more. We know your prices and are grateful for your services, you may have whatever you need to assist you.”

The man flicked a finger and the Captain dropped to the ground, some guards dragging him away, “Just stay out of my way. You can keep the kid and the Mandalorian, but the girl is mine when you’re done with her.” The possession in his voice when said the word, “mine” sent a chill down the spines of everyone in the room. There was no room for disagreement, for challenge. They would finish what they needed to do with you, and then you would be given to him. Probably wrapped in a bow. 

Then he was gone, walking out of the room in a preternatural silence. 

This man… he didn’t just exude fear. He was fear. His were the eyes in the dark that watched you walk home.  He was the voice that whispered when no-one else could hear. His breath was the kiss of ice that licked down your spine when you were alone, making you lock the doors, pull the bed covers up higher. But he was like smoke, he seeped through the cracks, through carefully built defences and invaded, slumbering like a beast within, without his host even realising. 

He was death. 

And he was coming for you. 

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[kyber-crystal]

lost in space || s.r

summary: post-IW in which you’re stuck on the ship with tony and nebula. knowing you didn’t have much time left before oxygen levels ran out for good, you decide to send a final goodbye message to the man you’ve grown to love over the past several years.

words: ~2.1k

warnings: angst in the beginning, fluff, major feels, worried steve ;-p

a/n: i took inspo for another oneshot like this that i read but then i got a bunch of new related ideas, so here we go!

22 days.

22 days of drifting through empty space with Tony and Nebula.

After day 16, you began losing hope in returning home. Nobody had to say anything for you to put two and two together and realize you didn't have much longer before what little was left of your oxygen supply ran out. So this had the three of you accepting you wouldn't make it through, opting to make the best of the time you had left. Your breathing became more heavy and labored, as the act of taking a single breath had now grown more difficult with each passing minute.

While she didn't want to admit it, Nebula thought having you and Tony by her side was much better than imagining being alone. It was an unspoken agreement that you all enjoyed each others' company; seeing you were all you had now after losing almost everything.

You exhaled as you sat in the cockpit of the ship, chin resting in your hand as you gazed out the glass dome and took in the eerie yet beautiful sight that space had to offer.

Feeling a rough hand clasp your shoulder, you turned around to see Tony standing there.

"Hey," he smiled softly, holding his remaining granola bar out to you. "You haven't eaten all day. Why don't you take the rest of this."

"No, I can't do that," you shook your head. "You need to eat, too."

"Your health is just as important, Y/N. You've lost too much weight in these past three weeks."

"Haven't we all."

"Just take it."

Knowing he wasn't going to stop arguing, you mumbled a 'thank you' and took the bar from him, taking a small bite.

You pushed yourself out from your chair and took a seat next to him, lowering yourself to the ground on the steps as he leaned his helmet against the wall.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving them a message. In case things go wrong, and...we don't make it," he replied as he took in a deep breath and began fiddling with the helmet, flicking a switch inside it before tapping its' side, projecting a blue light over you two.

"Tony...we're literally going to die. I don't get why you're doing this, Steve and the others probably think we're already dead..."

"Might as well say a last good bye, then. And, recording...is this thing on?" He tapped the side of the helmet again. "Hey, Miss Potts...Pep. If you find this recording, don't post it on social media. It's gonna be a real tear-jerker. I don't know if you're ever going to see these. I don't even know if you're...if you're still...Oh, god. I hope so. Today is day 21, uh..."

"22," you corrected as you leaned back against the wall. “Or 23. Wait no, 22.”

"Yeah, 22. You know, if it wasn't for the existential terror of staring into a void of space, I'd say I'm feeling better today. The infection's run its course, thanks to the blue meanie back there."

"You’d love her. She’s very practical," you added, "Only a tiny bit sadistic."

"Anyway...some fuel cells were cracked during battle, but we figured out a way to reverse the ion charge to buy ourselves about 48 hours of time. But it's now dead in the water. We're 1000 light years from the nearest 7-11. Oxygen will run out tomorrow. And that'll be it. And Pep, I...I know I said no more surprises, but I was really hoping to pull off one last one. But it looks like...well you know what it looks like. Don't feel bad about this. I mean, if you grovel for a couple of weeks, and then move on with enormous guilt. I should probably lie down. Please know that...when I drift off, I will think about you. Because it's always you."

You both fell into silence afterwards and you quickly looked away, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to try and stem the flow of tears that threatened to spill. Tony must've noticed the look on your face, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder as you stared blankly out ahead.

This really was it. When you imagined dying, you saw yourself going down on the battlefield, maybe jumping into the crossfire to save someone. Or simply passing in your sleep, dying of old age, anything but being unable to breathe.

You didn't think you'd meet your demise by running out of oxygen as you drifted mindlessly through space.

"Why don't you talk to Capsicle," Tony finally spoke up several minutes later. "This might be your only chance to get the closure you've wanted for so long."

"I'm not...it's not like that," you sighed, running a hand down your face. "He's just a friend."

"Don't bullshit me, Y/N. I know you're in love with him."

You let out another sigh, staring at his helmet blankly for a moment before opening your mouth to speak.

"Hey, Cap. You know, for the longest time, I was stuck trying to figure out what I was really meant to do, why I was ever placed on the earth to begin with," you spoke, looking out the glass at the darkness of space again, "When Fury first recruited me to the initiative, I was...I was in a dark place. And I didn't know how to get out. I felt stuck, frustrated...lost. I felt like I wasn't worthy or even the slightest bit prepared to take on the responsibilities of a hero because of all that I'd done in the past. I'd committed my fair share of sins, and...it all came down to a point where I almost lost the will to keep going, to keep living. My demons held me back from the perfect life I so desperately wanted and followed me everywhere I went. But then you came along, and for the first time in a long time, I started to hope, to...feel things again. You taught me that there was such a thing as second chances and forgiveness, that it's okay to make mistakes, and most importantly, I was meant to feel things; to love.

"You taught me that I was meant to feel happy, to allow myself the chance at living that burden-free life. That I didn't have to feel so doubtful when something good happened because all I'd ever learned was to feel suspicious when an event occurred in my favor. God, I really do owe you, huh? I honestly don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you. Maybe spiral down into an endless pit of despair and destruction? But really, I'm grateful that you walked into my life. I don't know how I'm supposed to repay you for all that you've given up for me.

You chuckled lightly and sniffled, hastily wiping at your eyes. "I know you're still out there. I hope you are. Because I know Captain America would never go down without a fight. This fight, though...you don't need to keep fighting. I've already accepted my fate. I'm going to die in less than two days...and I'm not bitter or mad at all. Death is inevitable, you know? If there's anything I took away from my torturous days in the Red Room, it was to never fear death because every girl would eventually meet her end. I'll be completely honest with myself here, I don't mind dying alongside these two...Tony and Nebula are some pretty great roommates. Who knew an alien could be so good at paper football?

The helmet flickered and you knew you didn't have much time left. "Steve...I don't want you to look back at all this in pain. I want you to live your best life...one that isn't filled with regret. And if this means moving on, starting anew...then do it. I want you to be happy. Be happy...for me.

Another tear fell, but this time you didn't bother to wipe it away. "I guess since my days are now numbered, I should let this weight off my chest...I love you, Steve Rogers. More than you'll ever know. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember and I can only hope you feel the same but I guess I might never know that answer now...we can't always get our happy endings, can we?

"I'm so sorry I didn't get to say goodbye one last time, I love you," you choked out as the recording finally powered down and you let your head fall into your hands, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. The ache of longing to be with him echoed through the marrow of your bones; a chill wind trapped inside your heart and a million little glass shards tearing at your guts. Nausea swirled around in your stomach, head swimming with thoughts as your blood felt like tar, struggling to flow steadily.

Reaching over, Tony carefully grasped your hand, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently. "It's gonna be okay," he muttered, eyes closed as you trained your gaze on the glass. "It's gonna be okay."

It could've been five minutes or five hours later, but suddenly, a vast white light illuminated the space surrounding you, forcing you to shut your eyes again.

As you focused on the bright ball of light, you could make out several features of a woman, though you initially thought you were dreaming. This couldn't be real. Was it?

"Hang in there, guys, I've got you," her voice flooded your ears, before she disappeared from view.

You opened your eyes a second time to see you were speeding towards Earth, the ship slowing down slightly as the familiar outline of America came into view.

Then, a steady jolt of the Benatar indicated you'd hit solid ground, in the middle of the field in the Avengers facility.

Nebula helped Tony up first, then you. The entry hatch opened, and you carefully stepped down the ramp together onto the grass.

It was pitch-black out, the only sources of light coming from the lights that projected from the compound, but it didn't take long for your vision to adjust. A small smile found its way onto your face as you saw six familiar figures came running towards you.

"Oh my God," Pepper cried, throwing her arms around Tony's neck and holding on as if her life depended on it. "Oh my God."

You smiled wistfully as you observed your surroundings, lowering yourself onto the ramp's last set, arms crossed over your chest as you realized just how cold it actually was.

A sudden warmth enveloped you and you felt someone's leather jacket being draped over your shoulders. Seeing Steve's familiar tall figure out of the corner of your eye, you moved over slightly to allow room for him to sit.

He looked over at you in concern, taking in your pale and malnourished figure. His chest ached at the sight.

"I'm okay," you found yourself saying, "don't worry about me."

"I've been worrying about you for the past twenty-two days," he replied, hands in his pockets, "I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," you swallowed hard.

Steve let out a shaky breath and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you rested your forehead on his shoulder.

"I thought you were dead," his voice cracked, "and if you really were, then...I don't know what I'd do."

“Me neither,” you breathed out. “God, I missed you so much.”

Then all of a sudden, the whole word seemed as if it was on standstill as his sapphire blue eyes bored into yours with such an intensity that sent a chill down your spine, keeping you firmly locked in place. And it utterly terrified you because you’d never felt something so intense like this before and he was the reason why you even felt this way to begin with. 

And before you can protest against your own thoughts, you closed your fists around his shirt and gently tugged him towards you, closing the gap and kissing him. The sudden action took you both by surprise but Steve doesn’t waste any time in reacting, moving a hand from your cheek to the nape of your neck to kiss you back. 

Everyone’s too exhausted, too busy feeling relieved at the fact that you returned safely to make a teasing comment towards yours and Steve’s relationship. They’ve secretly been betting for a while that you’d finally get together, though not in this exact way. 

Until Rocket breaks the silence. “Nice welcome back gift, Agent.”

"You cockblock," Nebula flicks him in the head. "Let them have their moment, geez."

[mochideleche]

can’t keep away from fate | CH9

Pairing : Percy jackson x demigod!reader

summary : The daughter of destiny- literally, along with inevitability, compulsion and necessity. Being the child of a primordial goddess doesn’t really assure you a quiet, calm life but when you return to new york after five years of being shipped off to boarding school, your once mundane life says goodbye.

A/N thank you all for all the lovely support and messages, they honestly make my day uwu. Also! i’m so sorry for keeping you waiting but im giving myself a break from school work so here you go!

contents page

Normally percy would hate sleeping. As much as he needed it - which he found was very often these days, the nightmares were nothing to look forward to. 

However these day, percy found a little enjoyment in them. 

Sometimes he’d dream of kronos and his army, luke’s golden eyes, camp half blood but now he saw dreams of you. 

It had been a few months since he’d seen you, since he kissed you- percy always relived the moment, snapping back to reality to find himself smiling like an idiot and flushing red, but his dreams were the only way he could see you. 

Undoubtedly, Percy tried to iris message you, but to no avail, you’d never be reached or the line would go black every time it went through. 

That worried him. 

He’d brought it up to chiron the first time it happened, but chiron suggested that you were probably cutting the line of yourself- if luke had somehow got to interfere with the iris messages he’d figure out what you were doing. 

Sometimes when percy made visits to camp he’d see new faces along with hearing about the heroic journeys the children had taken to get to camp along your side. 

“She was so cool!” one of the kids who percy had asked about their arrival (obviously wanting to hear about you), “She fought off this army of half dog half seal men with just waving her hands!” 

You had acquired a new nickname, ‘the guardian angel’ seeming the way you delivered demigod kids safely to camp so stealthily that they wouldn’t even had known it until the children popped up on half blood hill. Then you were gone without a trace again, off to find other demigods. It sometimes pained percy that you were frequently within reachable bounds to camp but he never got to see even a glimpse of you. 

There were also rumours, which were most definitely true, about how luke’s ranks were decreasing in number- random disappearances, as nico di angelo had described them as, of your doing. 

“I sensed her presence when i was in the forests of new jersey,” nico explained to the counsellors during one of their meetings, “along with about 2 dozen  laistrygonian giants and by the time that i got there-” he clicked his fingers and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion “they were both gone” 

Gosh somehow it made percy feel bad that all he could do was sit back and wait whilst you were out there surviving on your own and fighting monsters and saving children. 

What a hero he was. 

Yes, he was fated to fight with the titan lord but right now, he was busy fighting his math homework.

Percy stared dejectedly at his unfinished work, gods he missed you. 

The way you’d laugh when he did something stupid, the way you smelt like magnolias, the way you would place your hands on his to comfort him and the way you seemed like nothing bothered you and how you say everything would always turn out right.

Percy definitely needed to be told that right now. 

------

Whenever percy felt like he was done for, he’d think about you. Even if he did just see one of his friends sacrifice his life, had an arrow shot through his leg and was falling 20 feet towards a huge mass of water- he was able to keep himself just that little bit more hopeful by just thinking about you.

I need to see her again, Percy thought as he his collided with the water. 

He blacked out and was immediately pulled into a dream. 

He found himself on top of Mount Othrys in a greek pavilion of black marble that seemed to blend in with the shadows. Through the darkness he was able to make out two giant figures : one seemed to glow against the black walls of the building and the other seemed to melt into them. 

“Quite an explosion” one remarked.

“it doesn’t matter, our army shall rise again to destroy the gods” the other snided. 

“hm, quite so,” the other agreed calmly, “but the demigods are becoming more, diligent. First the disappearances of our troops and now the explosion, right in front of kronos’ nose, ha”

Percy’s heart dropped, he knew what was causing those disappearances- it was you. What if they find out it was you? what would they do? would they try and track you down? kidnap you?-

“This would have not happened if you would let me fight!” a voice shouted and percy realised that there were in fact three giants there, crouched below in the centre of the room under what percy thought to be a statue was the titan atlas. 

he struggled under the weight of the sky, a swirling funnel cloud, but still managed to strain his voice to argue, “let me out! take my place!”  

But before Percy could watch any further his dream shifted. The voices became quiet- they were distant, he was no longer standing in the greek pavilion but about 20 feet away, standing behind one of the supporting columns and beside nico di angelo.

The boy faced him, “You see percy, we’re running out of time, do you really think we can win without my plan?” 

The fact that nico had seen him shocked percy enough but his message was more than enough to shake percy to try and wake himself up from his dream. 

But the image began to fade and he found himself off of mount Othyrs and in a more flattened out land.

At first he thought he was in the forests of long island but he noticed the trees here were thicker, Their branches coming down lower than the ones around camp and the air was more chilly. This was not New York. 

Percy tried to take in his surrounds then caught his breath. 

There standing behind a large oak tree was a petite girl with her long hair flowing down her back, wearing an army jacket and black ripped jeans and holding out two long drakon bone swords. 

You looked distressed. Your face was pulled into a slight scowl as you peered around the tree and into the forest behind you. Percy knew you were in some sort of trouble but he couldn’t help but smile.

But the smile quickly disappeared when an arrow shot out of nowhere and embedded itself in the oak tree you were standing behind. 

You broke out into a run and percy followed in suit. 

Unknowingly, percy reached into his pocket and pulled out riptide, his first instinct was to fight whatever wanted to hurt you but he quickly realised that there wasn’t much he could do so could only keep up pace beside you. 

Most dreams you were in seemed heavenly to percy, but this was a nightmare. 

Seeing you need his help but not being able to do anything killed percy. Of course he had no doubt that you could handle anything by yourself, but then again, you wouldn’t be running away if you could. 

Despite not actually running percy found that he was becoming short of breath, you were an awfully fast runner.

“Percy you’ve done so well, but I think it’s time you woke up”

Percy’s head snapped towards you. you were staring right at him.

You glanced away momentarily to keep track of where you were going before placing your gaze on him again, “I miss you” 

Percy was at a lost for words. Months he’s spent trying to contact you, dreamt of you, trying to reach out to you and now, when time was limited, you had answered him and not only that, you were telling him to go away. 

“Y/N-” but the scene began to fade and percy panicked, why of all times he had to start waking up now?

He felt himself began to slip into consciousness but he stubbornly did his best to try to go back to sleep. 

but alas, your soft smile disappeared along with the dream as percy’s eyes shot open. 

----

Percy didn’t think things would go so downhill. If anyone told him that the highlight of his week would be a midnight panic with a goddess, the son of hades and a hell hound, he’d pretty much expect it. 

As he sat down by the magical fire, he got some time to think. 

After being told that he’d end up dying either way and committing to a plan that would probably speed up the process, he was pretty miserable.

“things will only turn out that way if you think they will” 

Your voice echoed in percy’s head, it had become a sort of habit every time he found himself thinking negatively.

Yeah but it’s in the prophecy princess, i die no matter how positively I think. 

Then a sudden pain stabbed percy in the heart, If he didn’t survive nico’s plan he wasn’t going to see you again. 

He was hoping some how you’d turn up in the next few days, (after nico assured him that you in fact were still alive and he had not felt your death- but that only gave percy temporary relief) He knew there just had to be a way he would see you before his destined fight, you were the daughter of fate after all- maybe you had to like... force great prophecies like this...? it was ridiculous but thoughts like this made percy hopeful.

“you are distressed” Hesita commented and percy was worried that she could read his thoughts. 

“the time will come and you will know what the right decision is” the goddess said vaguely

“Uh, thanks” Percy nodded, not knowing what else to say and the goddess return to attending the hearth, why couldn’t gods ever speak plain english?

----

Percy had been to the underworld when he was 12. It was a long, tiring trip that took them to los Angeles and had nearly killed him bout 7 times. And only now did he find out about an entrance to hell which was literally 20 minutes away from his house- brilliant. 

the stairs to hell were exactly how percy imagined them, dark, slippery and narrow. The only way he could actually see was by the light of his sword and the fact that mrs o’leary bounding down the stairs noisily reassured him that the stairs didn't end in a great drop to an endless pit to Tartarus. 

Nico lagged behind, a look of doubt evident of his face. 

“You alright?” percy dared to ask, hoping the boy wouldn't become defensive at the question.

Nico nodded, but opened his mouth to say something, “i saw her you know” 

Percy stopped, saw who? he thought for a quick second then immediately knew nico meant you. 

By this point nico had caught up with percy and stood just two steps behind him, “ She- when we first met she offered me the keys to her apartment”

“She what?” Percy interrupted, too surprised not to. he knew that you owned an apartment in Queens- a gift from your father for when you stayed in New York, and he knew that whatever you and nico had talked about had stayed between the two of you, but this? Why didn’t he get keys to your apartment?  

Nico turned away to avoid eye contact, percy realised he must have been staring at him hard and tried to change his expression 

“She told me that i could stay there anytime if i needed it. I wasn’t going to step near that place at all. But one night i got into an argument with my father and had nowhere else to go...”

Nico trailed off and percy was worried that he was beginning to back track on himself and regret ever saying anything to Percy, but thankfully after a deep inhale of breath, he continued. 

“I was only planning to stay there for a few hours, but it just so happened she was there too. She was asleep but it seemed like she was having a bad dream. kept murmuring things-”

Nico shuddered, “I woke her up in the end and asked her about it but she shook it off. Moved the subject onto the fact that i had actually taken up her offer and decided to make me dinner. What she said though- it, it seemed important”

“What did she say?” percy asked, if nico was scared then he knew this was serious. 

“Something about to storm or fire the world must fall” 

Percy looked up at nico’s face, he seemed as disturbed as he was back at mrs castellan’s house. Panic rose up within percy.

“It’s probably nothing though” nico shrugged but percy could tell that he didn’t mean it at all, but despite that nico walked past percy and continued down the stairs, “we should hurry up, we’re losing valuable time”

Percy had no other option but to follow and wonder, why did nico chose to bring this up now?

.....

“Percy!”

before he was fully awake, percy had reached out and pinned nico to the floor with his sword pressed against his neck. 

“we-have-to-get-out-of-here” nico struggled.

“Oh yeah? and why should i trust you?” percy growled, pressing down harder.

“No-other-choice?”

Percy rolled his eyes, he really did have no other choice. 

He stood up as nico curled to the side and retched up for air. Percy would’ve almost felt sorry for him if he hadn’t just betrayed him to his father. 

“Does your dad want to ‘talk’ again?” Percy seethed and nico sat himself up.

“honestly percy i had no idea, he tricked me!” 

“You know what your dad is like!”

“Yeah but-” nico paused and stood up, quickly realising that there was no point in reasoning, “If we don't hurry, we’ll never get out” 

Percy nodded once and allowed nico to take the lead as they plunged into darkness. 

by the time the two of them had reached an exit via the palace kitchen, percy was half dragging, half carrying nico who spent every other minute pointing at skeleton guards or zombie servants and knocking them out before they could think about stopping the two escape. 

Problem was, nico was going to be knocked out pretty soon too. 

“Stop that” Percy said, “your power drains you too much” 

by this time nicos legs stopped working all together and percy had no choice but to swing the younger boy over his shoulder.

“With great power,” nico said drowsily, “comes great need to take a nap” 

Then the sound of a great gong echoed throughout the building. 

“Alarms” nico said drowsily from behind percy, “Mrs O’leary” 

“Right” percy said, and whistled. 

Mrs O’leary came bounding across the fields of asphodel, probably excited to be back in her own grounds, and circled percy who desperately tired to throw nico onto her back. 

“Hey, girl, think you can get us to the river styx?” Percy asked as calmly as possible, despite the sounds of a thousand skeletons footsteps coming their way.

Mrs o’leary barked in response and bounded off into the fields. 

On approaching the river bank, Percy force fed Nico some ambrosia. He was scared that he had given him too much but the boy was knocked out pretty good. But after a few shakes of his head, nico was steady enough to stand on his own two feet. 

the two boys slid off Mrs O’Leary’s back and ran towards the river.

“Percy you need to prepare yourself” nico said cautiously, causing percy’s stride to slow.

“How do I do that?” Percy asked and nico shook his head.

“You know I don’t think this is a good idea-” 

“What?! this was your plan in the first place!” 

“Yeah but-” nico seemed to struggle for words but exhaled as if he was angry and shook off his previous statement, “Think of a point on your body which will tie you back to reality and don't stop thinking about it otherwise the river will burn you to ashes, okay?” 

“You know what maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all-”

“Percy!” 

“Right right,” percy defended, inching closer towards the river.

at first when he nico had proposed the idea, percy had a long think of where the point would be. Somewhere difficult to reach during combat, maybe his armpit? but then he decided he wanted it to be somewhere more dignified. 

he hadn’t thought on the matter since then, which was pretty stupid since the decision could possibly end or save his life but as his foot touched the river he knew exactly where he wanted it. 

Percy wanted to walk cooly into the river, but as soon as the water touched his legs, his muscles went numb and he fell face flat into the water. 

Then he stopped breathing.

It was terrible, this was the first time he struggled to breath underwater and the thought terrified him. images from the past few days flashed before his eyes in the darkness, beckendorf, rachel, grover and even lukes golden eyes.

instead of resulting to panic, percy kept thinking of that point, the one point where his life would end in a single blow, thinking about how that was his connection to the living world. 

“You alright?” you said suddenly as you came to stand next to percy.

Percy jumped, he hadn’t heard you or sensed you coming up behind him, (although you were getting better at hiding you presence) and he flashed you a smile, “Yeah, just thinking” 

“About what?” you asked calmly. 

He stared at your face, it was always so stoic, as if you couldn’t care less about what he said but he knew that you genuinely cared for his happiness as much as your own. 

“You” 

Your eyes widened as you turned away but percy was able to catch that small flash of blush before you did, “shut up” 

percy laughed, a genuine laugh that came from his stomach, you were just so damn cute.

he wasn’t exactly thinking of you, so to say, he was thinking about you amongst other things such as how to kill kronos, how to become better at sword fighting, how to do question five on his trig homework. 

He faced the river again so that you would turn back towards him, which worked- of course. 

“Stop being so sad all the time will you?” you said light heartedly as you tapped percy on the small of his back, “you being sad makes me sad too just so you know, so stop it” and you began to jog past him towards the surf. 

percy struggled, trying to win the fight against the current but there was no use. He felt his arms and legs disintegrating and his soul felt like it was being ripped from his body.

he thrashed around in the coldness trying to reach for the surface and trying his best to keep thinking of his mortal point,

percy was on his last class of the day, he had set them a few drills to practice for the second half of the hour and was watching them with tired eyes. all he wanted to do was sleep. 

suddenly he felt a little poke on his back, at the bottom of his spine. 

“They’re doing well, aren't they?” 

Percy craned his neck to face you, your head tilted slightly to be able to see past his shoulders, your hands still rested just above his hips. 

“of course, i taught them” percy scoffed

“and so did i” you countered, “and just for your information, they enjoy my lessons better” 

“Who says?” percy laughed, uncrossing his arms and fully turning his body to face you.

“I do” you smiled, making percy’s knees go weak. 

Percy tried to push his way to the surface but it was no use, the more he moved, the faster he sunk. This is it, he thought, i’m going to burn alive in hell. 

“Sleeping again jackson?” 

immediately your fingers tapped the small of percy’s back and he peeled open one eye to see your figure silhouetted against the shine of the sun.

He had taken a nap on the deck, laying on his stomach, one arm under his face and the other hanging off the edge of the deck, and you were currently crouched down with a mocking smile on your face. 

“yes, and you're disturbing me” he slurred out and he turned his face to the other side.

“Oh i wouldn’t say this is distracting” you joked, “this is”

And you pushed percy into the water. 

-

Suddenly percy felt a tug at the bottom of his spine and he began to make his way to the surface. it was as if there was a bungee cord attached to the small of his back, pulling him back to the shore. he ignored the searing pain in his lungs, arms and legs and kept his focus on his mortal point. 

think of the small of your back, small of your back, small of your back...

he did his best to look up and through the darkness he could make an outline of a hand, reaching in to help him out.

“oh gods i’m so sorry, i didn’t know you’d be that off guard! now take my hand you idiot” 

percy reached out to grab your hand. 

He sputtered as air returned its way back into his lungs and he landed on the shore of the beach, but the sand felt more solid, oddly shaped, just like-

“Percy get off me! you’re heavy!” 

Percy pushed himself up and stared down at nico who was red in the face and soaking wet too, 

“S-sorry dude-” Percy stuttered, did he really just imagine nico was you?

He got to his feet then held his hand out to nico who ignored it and pushed himself up, was he really that angry that percy had squashed him?

“Uh- did it work?” Percy asked tentatively, scared that nico was more than just pissed. 

“I have no idea” nico responded, sounding surprisingly bitter, “feel different?”

“Not really” percy said slowly, but before he could apologise again for landing on nico a harsh voice shouted in the distance “THERE!”

The two boys’ head snapped to the top of the hill where about a hundred skeleton soldiers stood, weapons raised and all- eyes? they didn’t have eyes, all heads, faced towards them. 

Hades stood in his chariot, dressed in battle gear, his nightmare horses skittering on the ground as if they were eager to stampede over percy’s body, “You will not escape this time jackson, DESTROY HIM”

“father no!” nico exclaimed but a line of british red coat skeletons charged with their rifles aimed.

Mrs o’leary did not hesitate to pounce at them and that tiggered percy.

He didn’t want his dog getting hurt just because hades was being a dick, and he charged without any other thought. 

If he was going to die, he wanted to die fighting. 

Percy was reckless, but this? this was a whole other level, damn- even another building. He charged straight through their lines, slashing his sword, not even thinking about where to strike but just did. 

Bullets? didn't hit him. Swords? couldn’t cut him. Clubs? couldn’t even get an inch near him.  (Hotel? Trivago.)

He’d successfully tore his way through the ranks and pounced right over hades’ horses and grabbed the god by his collar and pinned him to the ground.

Silence. 

Percy was expecting skeletal hands to come down on him but as he looked around, there was nothing there- they were all gone.

“listen here jackson...” the god said.

“No you listen!” percy growled, “tell me about the trap!” 

but the god just snarled and melted into darkness, leaving percy’s hands closed around nothing.

“You killed them all...” nico said dazed, breaking percy out of his cursing spree.

Percy stopped and looked around him, there was nothing apart from the three of them, a bunch of bones and a variety of weapons.

“I guess it worked then” percy offered.

“Oh gee” nico said sarcastically, “you think?”

the two of them stood silent momentarily and percy stared at nico.

He’d come a long way from where he began, and percy still felt like that it was his fault that nico became so bitter. 

“You should go back to your father” percy started.

Nico looked shocked to hear this, “no, I want to fight-”

“You’ll be better off down here” Percy said, the harshness in his voice surprising even him. 

the look of hurt on nicos face made him feel guilty, “I mean, we need your father to fight on our side, you’re the only one who can convince him” percy continued, trying to sound kinder.

“You don’t trust me anymore, do you?” nico said dejectedly. 

Percy was shocked, did he trust him? 

“Work on him. I know you can do it” 

Percy couldn’t help but notice how nicos face lit up slightly after hearing him, “thanks but don't get your hopes up” 

“Okay, I’ll see you for the battle, me and Mrs O’leary will head up now” Percy said, waving over his hell hound.

“Where are you going?” nico asked, tilting his head as percy jumped on Mrs O’leary’s back.

Percy smirked, “to start a war” 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Finding Home

a fic about @asocial-nebula‘s demons and angels AU!!!!

i’m sorry it’s kinda short. i had to use my mom’s Adderall today and that’s only, like, 20mg, so it doesn’t last as long. plus it’s the evening so it’s mainly worn off, but i really wanted to write something for this AU!!!

also, Nikola, i am so sorry if things are inaccurate. is Hell an underground cave system? does it have animals? running water? blankets???? i don’t know. i am very, very sorry if it’s inaccurate. i tried. but still!! i hope you enjoy!!!

Word count: 2281

---------------

Joan remembered the first time she disappointed the House of Pride. And everyone else around her.

It was still morning and Hell’s caverns were as hot as always. Joan had wiggled out of her cave and glided down to the craggy pavilion where a female demon with cold eyes and large cinnamon colored wings stood. She hissed for attention and Joan, along with the others around her, straightened up. 

  “This hunt is for the head of the House himself.” The demon had said. “The first one to bring back a Magma Pig will get a spot next to him at dinner this evening.”

Joan perked up. That was exactly what her poor reputation needed, so she had been one of the first to shoot off from the pavilion after the word was given.

She wasn’t the best flier, especially because of searing back pain from the strain of her big wings on her little body, but she pushed through the screaming of her aching muscles this one time. 

She flapped through the tunnels, barely dodging pillars of rocks and pointy stalagmites that seemed to be doing everything in their power to knock her out of the air. She spun through two reaching rock shelves and broke out into a large cave where a glowing pink waterfall flowed from a crevice in the wall, drifting into a winding river. Steam rose from the surface; everything down in the caverns seemed to be boiling hot. The sultry heat made her wingbeats sluggish and her scales feel like they were melting off, but she shook them out and scanned the cave.

There!

A Magma Pig was drinking by the river. She was huge, with fiery red pelt and streaks of gold that glowed like active lava. Her tucks were long and wickedly sharp, and she would definitely put up a fight, but Joan would win.

Joan flexed her claws, flashing her fangs in a smirk. She could already hear all the praise she would get when she brought back such a big swine. Her tail began to wag excitedly. She spread her wings and swooped--

But something stopped her mid-dive.

Piglets. Baby Magma Pigs.

There were three in total, and they frolicked out of a crack in the wall, grunting and squealing blissfully. Two began to playfight, while the other hobbled over to its mother and headbutted her leg affectionately. The mom made a loving noise, nuzzling the baby’s cheek, then submerged her snout back into the water for another drink.

Joan’s claws lost their slack. She hovered in the air, unable to bring herself to kill the family. What would the babies do without their mama? They would die!

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” A voice suddenly boomed across the cavern. A large demon with orange-gold wings came zipping out of one of the tunnels, followed by two others. “Are you a demon or an angel? Kill that pig!”

Joan floundered, nearly falling right out of the air. The orange-winged demon sneered in disgust and shoved past her roughly. She spun down to the cave floor and hit a rock roughly.

  “Wait--” She shouted, but one of the other demons already dove down and snatched the pig up, slicing her throat. The other one managed to grab two piglets and snap their necks, while the last one got away through a hole in the wall.

The baby was alone. It was going to die.

  “Why didn’t you kill it?” The orange-winged demon asked. “No kill could be easier! Are you really that stunted and useless?”

  “I-I--” Joan pulled her wings around her like she thought they would protect her.

  “I bet she was worried about the little baby pigs.” The demon that had killed the mother said, landing with a thump and a splattering of pig blood. “She didn’t want to leave them all alone with no mommy to take care of them. The poor wittle furballs.” Her voice was mocking and cruel.

  “No!” Joan cried. “That isn’t it! I-I was going to kill it! I-I just--”

  “Save it.” The orange-winged demon hissed. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re pathetic.”

Joan had stared miserably at her feet. That day, she knew her treatment would only worsen, especially when the news of her failure got to the rest of the House of Pride. And it did.

For as long as she could remember, she was not like the other demons that prowled around Hell. They were all strong and big and powerful and knew what they were doing at all times. She was the exact opposite, it seemed, with her too big wings and too small body and too bright eyes. She wasn’t enough, ever. No matter how much she sharpened her claws on rocks or filed her teeth to points with bones or perfected her magic, her attempts always blew up in her face--literally, sometimes.

She was just--messed up. And she didn’t know how to fix herself.

The other demons saw her a mockery to their race. A waste of magic and scales. Their harassment became a ritual of sorts, a daily cycle of let’s stomp on Joan’s tail and let’s leave Joan stranded up on the tallest cliff because her wings were too weak and too big for her to properly fly and let’s dunk Joan into the scalding pools until she starts to drown and let’s rake our claws down Joan’s stomach again and again and again until she squeals like a stuck pig beneath our talons. It never ended.

And then, Cathy entered her life.

Cathy was like a rope ladder dropped from heaven--and in a way, she was. She was a fallen angel, banished from the ethereal world for reasons Joan didn’t know. But even with her new horns and darkened scleras and black wings, she was still an angel in Joan’s eyes.

Cathy had saved her from a particularly painful beating from a trio of demons. She thought they would have ripped her tail right out of her back if Cathy hadn’t come along and scared them off with very rude threats and mighty wingbeats and slashing claws. They didn’t speak to each other, rather just exchanged looks before Cathy walked away silently, but Joan felt a connecting between the two of them.

So she started following Cathy around. She was like a duckling of sorts, always somewhere near Cathy, whether the fallen angel liked it or not. A silent bond was created--at least on Joan’s part. She felt safe and happy around Cathy, even if they barely interacted. Being near her was enough.

But of course, like every good thing in her life, Cathy was taken away.

One day, Cathy just--disappeared. Joan looked everywhere, searching every nook and cranny in Hell, but couldn’t find a trace of the fallen angel. All that she had left of her were the things in her cave, which she started staying in to retain a shred of that connection they had. Cathy’s scent on ragged blue blankets were the only thing that kept her calm during anxiety attacks. She liked to pretend the covers were actually Cathy’s wings swaddling her and holding her close, protecting her from everything, no matter how different she was. And Cathy would be there when she looked up, smiling lovingly down at her, telling her how wonderful she was and how much she cared about her. Sure, Cathy never said that before or made any indications that she thought that way, but it was her fantasies that kept her going.

The abuse from other demons started back up shortly after that. Shoving, biting, scratching, vicious maiming that left her bloody and bruised--it all seemed so much worse than it did before. Perhaps because of what her attackers would say, telling her that Cathy left because of her, that she couldn’t stand being around such a pathetic waste of space, that she would rather die than be around her for one more second, that she ran off into the human world because facing the dangers there would be better than having to be with her.

The last comment sparked something in Joan’s head mid-beating. If Cathy wasn’t in Hell, then she was somewhere else.

After a year of Cathy being missing, Joan set off to the portal to the mortal realm.

Everyone said not to go in there. Everyone said they wouldn’t make it out alive, but Joan still went anyway. All she brought with her was Cathy’s blue blanket, as the fallen angel’s scent would keep her going when she wanted to lay down and die.

And she did.

A lot.

The pits leading to the portal were worse than everyone said. They were dark, for one, and so tight in some places that Joan got stuck for several terrifying moments. There were also.../things/ down there. Awful things with sharp claws and hundreds of eyes and gnashing teeth. One that Joan encountered was pale white and wrinkly. It crawled across the cave walls and ceiling, only jumping down to cling to Joan’s back and shred her wings. She just barely managed to shake it off right as it was going to pull out her spine.

There was also something very big and very red and very scary. It broke Joan’s ribs to pieces when its tail swung into her chest. For a few moments, she stopped breathing, then splayed her claws and stuck them into the monster’s eyes. It screeched and left her alone. For now.

By the time Joan finally got to the portal, she could only crawl, much too weak to stand up. Her chest was so bruised it looked black, she was bleeding all over, one of her horns was broken, her tail was bent at an abnormal position, and she couldn’t even feel her wings anymore. In fact, she wasn’t feeling a lot of things...the pain was starting to go away…

Joan collapsed into a pool of her own blood and began to weep. Everything hurt so badly. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if she just laid here for a little while… She didn’t even have to go through the portal because when she looked up, Cathy was there, smiling at her and saying sweet things to her. Her ears were too clogged with blood to actually hear her, but she was sure they were the nicest, most loving comments ever.

Joan reached out to Cathy, and Cathy disappeared.

Only her blanket was there, so stained with blood there was only a single splotch of blue left. But Cathy’s scent still lingered.

Joan had to get up.

She crawled the rest of the way to the portal, clutching Cathy’s blanket to her chest. She leaned against the onyx mantle, breathing harshly. She stared into the swirling white mass before her, so bright it made her eyes prickle in discomfort.

  “Cathy…” She mumbled, feeling very dizzy. She wanted to rest. She was so tired… “Wait...for me...Cathy… I’m...I’m coming…”

Then, she reached out and touched the portal.

There were flashes of bright white and blinding silver. Joan screamed into the light, feeling like she was being burned alive. Her little body shook with violent tremors, then began to tingle intensely. 

Was she dying? Was the portal really a trap to fry demons? Was this all a trick?

Would she never see Cathy again?

Joan opened her eyes to a clear blue sky. She was laying half in green grass that wasn’t completely charred and half in water that didn’t feel like it was going to boil her. Noises sounded all around her- distant talking, far away laughing children, croaking frogs, chirping birds. 

She was here.

The mortal world.

She made it.

And when she looked up, she saw her.

Cathy.

She didn’t have her wings and horns and tail, and her eyes looked normal, but it was Cathy. 

  “Cathy--” Joan staggered to her feet. She nearly blacked out, but clung to consciousness, which felt much weaker than it did in Hell, and began dragging her agony-infected body forward.

  “Cathy, Cathy, Cathy, Cathy…” Joan mumbled over and over again. She clutched the bloody blanket close to her chest. What if Cathy got mad that she got it messy? Maybe she should go back to the pond and wash it really quickly… No, she had to see Cathy first.

Weird. Cathy seemed so happy with those humans around her. Weren’t humans disgusting and weak and useless? Why did that one in the green shirt kiss her cheek like that? And was that Jane? She remembered that she had gone missing, too. She looked different as well. Did the humans do something to them? They must have cut off their wings and tail. She had to save Cathy!!

Joan tried to run, but her knees buckled and white hot agony rocketed through her entire being. She whimpered sharply.

  “Cathy, please-- I need--you--”

One of the humans, one with short brown hair, turned its head in her direction and shouted something in shock. The others all looked over and had the same reaction. But Joan was only looking at Cathy.

She dropped the blanket and reached out her shaking hands.

  “Cathy…”

And then, the ground rushed up to meet her; she was back in the grass. Everything was starting to fade into darkness. She began to cry. She didn’t want to die. Not without Cathy holding her.

But the blackness was closing in. She was so weak and everything hurt so much and she was just so tired…

The last thing she remembers was someone yelling her name, then everything cut out.

She hoped Cathy wouldn’t be mad about the blanket.

[capricornus-rex]

A Path I Can’t Follow (5)

Chapter 5: There’s Always Something Greater | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn't know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 | Previous: Chapter 4 | Next: Chapter 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

There was a pause in their battle. Cal and the Fourth Brother stand in either side of the room. In this predicament, it was a luxury to even have a breather. The two men slowly circled at one another from across the room.

The same questions burned Cal’s mind. He didn’t know which one to ask first. For his benefit of the doubt, he assumed that the Fourth Brother doesn’t know about you—not mentioning you protected you from him in some way—and that he was referring to his female companion who is the Inquisitor you’re currently facing off at this very moment.

“How did you come to know this place?” Cal bellowed, demanding an answer. The Fourth Brother’s silent treatment and grin was beginning to annoy him.

“Why bother knowing such mundane things that can be answered by common sense?”

Knowing that it was hopeless to get a logical and direct answer from him, Cal scoffed in frustration.

“You’re not getting that holocron!” the young Jedi snarled, perseverance burned in him as he pointed his lightsaber at the enemy.

And you’re not getting to her!

This provoked the Fourth Brother, causing him to initiate the duel. Once again, their blades are intercrossed, trapped in another dance of a duel. At this point, Cal had become more aggressive but calculated—timing his Force attacks, mentally coaching himself on what the Fourth Brother’s next move is going to be, and conserving his energy for bigger attacks.

The desire to protect you—and everything you cared about—at all costs was one of Cal’s motivations. Given that the Fourth Brother and his companion is a whole new threat, Cal’s resolve held water.

The Fourth Brother sensed something else from Cal. The aggression combined with a precise coordination proved something of the Jedi. For once in his life, the Inquisitor might be facing someone who could be in the same caliber as his combat skills. He came out of his way to admit—in his mind—that he had underestimated this young boy.

“Oh, you have that fire in you. A glorious inferno!” The Fourth Brother sniggered tauntingly and grinned as he shifted all his weight on a deflecting Cal, their lightsabers’ colors mingling over the gloss of his soulless eyes. “Tell me… what’s your secret?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!?” Cal snarled back, staggered him away to restart his stance.

“If the Master could see you… Oh! He’d practically take you in our ranks.”

“Don’t count on it!”

Cal retaliated. Gathering up all his Force to send a wave towards the Fourth Brother, he sent the opponent flying and slammed his back hard against the cobblestone wall. However, this wasn’t enough to break the Inquisitor yet. There was still fight in these two men. The duel felt like an eternity.

“Oh, I most definitely will count on it,” the Fourth Brother hissed suggestively.

While on his knees, the Fourth Brother feigned and was mustering up all his energy as well to get back at Cal.

“And so shall the Grand Inquisitor!” he roared, darting through the air towards Cal.

The Fourth Brother threw punches and landed his elbows hard against Cal’s jaw, disorienting the boy, followed by a series of lightsaber attacks. Fortunately, Cal was saved by his armor—the belt straps had been severed and a gash tore the hard leather.

One kick to the rib and the Fourth Brother sends back the same wave towards the Jedi, hoisting up him in the air and throwing him further across their arena. Cal plowed through the ground, denting the silt. The Fourth Brother has gained the upper hand this time.

“If I were you, I’d keep an open mind, Jedi.” The Fourth Brother huffed, slicking back the lock of hair that fell out of place.

Heavy footsteps approached the scene. From the shadows, a second figure appeared. He was unlike anything Cal has ever seen before. He wagered it must be the Grand Inquisitor whom the Fourth Brother mentioned. Tall and gaunt, he walked in the same stride as the Chiss Inquisitor—except he had a thicker air of authority looming about him—yellow eyes glimmered menacingly over a face whose skin was white as bone, red streaks tattooed on his high forehead and the underside of his eyes, lines are literally etched all over his skin.

“Hello… Cal Kestis,” the Pau’an hissed as he spoke.

Cal had this tongue tied. He wasn’t quite sure how and what to respond to that.

“You’re a promising child, I’ll give you that. Nearly at par with one of my best warriors. It’s not every day Ezir meets someone who hasn’t died in the next minute.”

Cal groaned as he tried to move and stand up, with a single abrupt wave of the Grand Inqusitor’s hand, the young Jedi is pinned down by an invisible weight, unable to move. The Pau’an slowly approaches the young man as he spoke.

“I know that—for a Jedi—it’s hard to believe what Fourth Brother is saying. After all, he is an Inquisitor. Why should you trust him? But trust me, he was right on one thing: you ought to keep an open mind. And you listen to what I have to say.”

Cal broke free out of the Force that was holding him down, and struck back at the Grand Inquisitor to which he calmly deflected with his own lightsaber—it was a rather foolish move, brave yet foolish.

“Tsk, I think Ezir didn’t leave with enough fight in you for me,”

“Trust me, I think I have enough for the both of you,” Cal winced.

The Grand Inquisitor burst in a condescending laughter.

“Ah, there it is!”

“What are you going to do with the village?”

“Interesting priority you have there. I won’t go into detail, I take you to be a smart boy. I will deploy all my troops on that sad excuse of a civilization into a garrison. Should they fight back, well,” he scoffed, smirking and imagining the horrendous scene that could possibly take place. “I think you can figure that out for yourself. Just remember the last time you’ve seen an army suddenly storming in and shooting down everyone and everything in sight without question.”

A fire burned within Cal, violently thrashing and flailing within his very core, somewhat revitalizing him. The Grand Inquisitor’s provoking words became a catalyst for Cal’s newfound energy. The boy never ceased to surprise the two Inquisitors. When he was standing close enough, he unlinked his lightsabers and attacked the Grand Inquisitor in a spinning motion. Having known every single lightsaber combat form, the Grand Inquisitor was unfazed at this and easily blocked it all, leaving nary a window of opportunity for the young Jedi—however, Cal’s spirit showed and proved to be invaluable, and it greatly attracted the Grand Inquisitor.

A pity to kill off such a talent. The menacing Pau’an thinks to himself while blocking Cal’s attack with little to no effort.

Meanwhile, you believed to be faring well against the Eighth Sister. The duel continued on, your energy was slowly ebbing—you were exhausted, and so is she—but one of you has to step out as the victor. She was beginning to steal the upper hand. Her litheness never faltered and continued fighting you every last fiber of her being.

The Eighth Sister, still in a brutal frenzy, sending blows at you with such vengeful rage that she got her reward of dealing damage on you. She swung her lightsaber in a diagonal streak, she had hoped she had broken skin—much to her chagrin, she only managed to damage your jacket and armor, and nicked on your shoulder.

“I’ll do better in the next one, girlie!” she screeched.

She prepares herself for the next move, switching on her lightsaber into a spinning mode to lunge right at you—her target was your torso, she had hope to cut you down like ground meat. She thought there’d be absolutely no way for you to get away from that.

The problem with these Inquisitors is that they underestimate the Jedi too much. You thought to yourself, sniggering at the context of the remark.

You managed to push her away from you with the Force, and you sensed that she’s going for another one of her deadly combos the moment she regains her bearings.

Come on, think fast!

Your eyes wandered the entire room. You saw that she was standing between two pillars and a parapet on the verge of breaking hung above her head. Concentrating on the stone fixtures, you quickly extended your hands, your fingers curled into claws, slowly motioning your hands downward the pillars followed your direction—you visualize the parapet crumbling down to the Eighth Sister in your mind, the said beam finally reduced to a large chunk of debris as it all crumbles down onto her.

Clouds of dust gathered and wafted about in the ruin. Everything was quiet again.

“So much for a next one,” you quipped. Finally able to catch your breath.

Little did you know that the rumble of the collapse that you’ve caused thundered across not just in the second level but in the first level as well. It temporarily caught the attention of Cal and the two Inquisitors—each had their own concerns.

“Nahlei…” The Fourth Brother mumbled under his breath.

You tried to take a step forward but you suddenly fell to your knees. You clutched your chest. It seems that the Eighth Sister has done a number on you. The searing pain was still fresh, you can’t go on even if you wanted to. You figured you’d be knocked out cold before you could even actually reach the vault itself.

“Cal…” you muttered under your breath, reaching for your commlink. “Cal… can you hear me?”

Your voice, albeit faint and fading, has reached Cal’s ears. Everyone in the first level foyer has heard the sound of the collapsing stone thundering across the temple.

[Y/N]…! Cal screamed in his thoughts.

“We’ll meet again, Jedi. This isn’t over yet!” the Grand Inquisitor growled as he tossed out a flash bomb out of his pocket and escaped along with the Fourth Brother.

When the white light had dissolved from Cal’s view, he was alone in the foyer.

“They’re gone…” then he gasped, realizing you called to him via the commlink. “[y/n]!”

He rummaged his person to switch on the earpiece of his commlink.

“[y/n], are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah…” you winced and groaned. “No, not really.”

“Hold on, I’m coming to you. Where are you?”

“I’m in…” your deep breaths popped and cracked through the speaker of the comm. Even only speaking made you feel sore. “In the sanctum up ahead from the lobby, from the lobby… where we came in from. I didn’t get to the holocron, I’m sorry.”

Cal’s heart ached as the sound of your sobs overtaking your shaky voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m coming to get you. Just stay there and find someplace to hide. The Inquisitors are here,”

“No kidding, one did a number on me,”

“Stay put. I’m coming,”

“Hurry, Cal… please, it hurts…”

The young Jedi, fleet-footed as he is, scaled the vine-ridden wall and finds himself standing in the east wing of the second level. Long vines hung between the wide gaps, they bridged his path from one point to the other. When the view of the circular lobby was in sight, he sprinted across the dead halls and went to the left—where you ought to be. He entered the conclave and saw the pile of rocks that were once pillars and a parapet sitting in one side of the room. You were sitting on the ground, leaning against the fountain’s base while clutching your shoulder.

“[y/n]!” he exclaimed, his voice was mixed with relief—that you’re alive—and worried about your wounds.

“Cal…” you weakly mumbled.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,”

“You’re hurt too…” you gasped, reaching for the tear across his armor.

“It’s nothing. Come on,”

He scooped you up in his arms, careful not to hit any of the spots where it hurts you, and cradled you close to him like a baby. A weak arm hooked over his shoulder, you tried your best to hold on tight to him.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t…”

“Shhh, it’s not your fault, hon. It’s not your fault,” he cooed, nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

He sprinted through the lobby, jumped over the gaps, the weight of you in his arms was nothing. Since you weren’t able to move well without hurting yourself, Cal managed to find an alternate exit. He leapt up in the air towards a platform where a gaping hole in the wall leads back to the outside world—the only problem is that the landing was probably a twenty-foot drop.

“Hold on tight to me, okay, [y/n]?”

You nodded weakly, you raised your good arm and held on tight on his chest, feebly clutching onto the fabric of his jumpsuit before makes the leap of faith. The Varans have heard him and they croaked at the sight of Cal. He was relieved that your mounts were still there, untouched and unscathed. Your Varan specifically anxious at the scent of cauterized blood and flesh—Varans were omnivorous creatures, but your connection with the animal did not stimulate its hunger, the creature perceived you as a companion and master. It sniffed your person and shook its head as it croaked in alarm.

“She can’t ride,” Cal spoke to the animal and mounted you on his Varan instead. “You’ll have to catch up with us.”

The reins of your Varan were long enough to tether it with Cal’s reins so it won’t stray without a rider. He secures you with both of his arms acting like a harness, letting you lean against him for the rest of the trip, and takes the reins. Fortunately enough, the Varans maintained a similar pace as Cal rode through the wasteland, on the way back to the village—given that it was the nearest place of shelter for the two of you.

Back at the temple, in the rubble where the Eighth Sister was buried alive in, it turns out that the female Inquisitor was never felled by you.

A fist tore through the debris and she pulled herself out of her supposed grave. She comes out growling, cold blue eyes blazing with a vengeance, her juvenile behavior might be the only thing that died in that collapse. She was rejoined by Ezir—namely, the Fourth Brother—as well as the Grand Inquisitor.

“I hope you can walk that off, Nahlei,” the Fourth Brother quipped.

“When I find that bitch, I’ll make sure she’ll never have to walk at all!” she roared.

The Grand Inquisitor smirked at the young woman’s remark.

Good, her hate didn’t die off with the rubble.

“Conserve that rage for another time, Eighth Sister, you will have the chance of utilizing that in the most opportune moment.”

“It would be my immense pleasure, Grand Inquisitor,”

“Come. We still have much to discuss about those Jedi,”

The pair followed the Grand Inquisitor back to their ship, eager to lay out the plans they have in mind for this planet and for you and Cal.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Barriers

Hey guys! Here is another commissioned piece from a user who wishes to remain anonymous and their beautiful range of human, werewolf, vampire, and incubus oc’s. Please enjoy this short, and be sure to thank the author for commissioning the piece. 

Sienna isn’t stupid. Or maybe she is, she wouldn’t know. A normal person wouldn’t be out and about, balancing on the very edge of the barrier that keeps all the monster out of the real world and in their own little hellish pit, but here she is, arms outstretched, taking it one careful step at a time. Maybe if she didn’t have as much time to meander on home, she wouldn’t take the extraordinary risk of teetering at the very literal edge of human civilization. Unfortunately, though, she has the hubris of the gods that nestle in the caves beneath her feet, and so when a gust of wind blows by, she doesn’t feel a smidge of fear as it knocks her over.

Pain, yes, she feels that. It explodes at her side, the dull smack of dirt and grit ramming against her arm faster than the rest of her body. Oh, yeah, that smarts, and she has to turn off all other senses just to focus on the air intake of her lungs. Her bones and muscles feel like they’ve been rattled around in a maraca, which is probably a good thing? She hopes? Sienna would assume that if anything broke, it would be so bad her nerves might just freeze entirely, so, hopefully, at worse, something is just sprained.

After a few moments to recollect herself, she manages to wobble to a stand, blood on her mouth, and she takes one moment to look up at the flickering barrier dome over the sky before she fully comprehends how absolutely fucked she really is. Like, seriously. As in right up the ass, because even though just about anything and everything can accidentally come knocking in through the barrier, there are, unfortunately, only four points that you can then exit on out from here. And that’s just great.

Sienna’s lungs seize up again, though no longer from pain, but from terror, because now the realization of being trapped finally, fully sets in. Oh, god, the nearest exit is four miles away, how the fuck is she going to manage to get there? Deep breath, deep breath, deep breath, she doubles over, staring at the dirt as she gets a hold of herself. Four miles isn’t even that long, really, this is going to be… not easy, but not nearly as difficult as being dropped in one of those dead zones, with gates to escape from for hundreds of miles. Four? One day. She just has to survive one day.

Immediately, she gets her bearings, turning around towards the direction she knows the gate is. Sienna can do this, most definitely, she just has to be quick about it, leaving no trace of her presence left behind. Running will exhaust her a little too quickly, and tiring herself out when she could at any moment be… chased…

Something rustles off where the forest sprouts out from the ground, in the moving ferns that Sienna is certain are only flickering because of the wind. She bites her lip down hard enough for it to bleed again, picking up her pace, focusing her eyes straight ahead. Really, even if something is stalking her, Sienna really doesn’t want to give it the thrill of the chase, so she refuses to start running, even when every instinct inside of her is lighting up with fear. Calm, be calm, she tells herself, shoulders hunched as she hugs the very end of the dropoff where the barrier meets the ground.

Judging only by the quiet pattering of feet behind her, she’s being followed. Which is great, honestly, maybe she’ll be torn apart, she could definitely use the rearranging of her internal organs this time of year. Having everything in one place is kind of boring, after all. Might as well call for a bit of a change.

Since pretending the problem doesn’t exist isn’t quite making it go away as she hoped, Sienna decides that the next best course of action would be to face it head-on. She turns around, taking a step backward as if to continue her pace, and there, just within an arm’s reach of her body, a fucking vampire. Dark, grayish skin, terrifyingly flawless to the naked eye, and bright golden eyes that make her freeze like a fucking deer. She takes another step back, just to widen the gap between them, and runs into something tall and muscular.

Turning around, Sienna’s heart falters even further to find a- another vampire? No, not a vampire, it must be one of those were-things, she realizes, his blue eyes far too vibrant to be that of a walking corpse. Her entire body tenses up, and on instinct, she turns around to flee, except oh, right, the fucking vampire is in the other direction, and now a new not-person? Sienna goes right into fight or flight, and honestly, right now, it’s looking like fight is the only out.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Sienna says, standing up a bit taller. “Can I help you?”

“I sure hope you can,” the werewolf says, baring his fangs in a broad grin, “I’m just starving, no human has been stupid enough to fall through the barrier in the better half of a decade.”

Sienna tries to brush off the fact he calls her stupid, shrugging her shoulders and throwing up a quick facade of indifference. If nothing else, she’s not going to make her death fun for them. “Just passing on by, but the wind was a little too much, so I might have taken a nosedive in a downward direction. If you’d just let me pass, I’ll be right on my way.”

“I don’t think so,” the werewolf says, “since that isn’t nearly a good enough reason to let you go.”

“Well,” Sienna is already grasping at straws, “what would be a good enough reason for you?”

“Sending your mauled body back in a bag, certainly.”

“Huh.” She makes a shifty movement to the side in what she hopes only seems like a nervous jitter. “That doesn’t seem very fair, I only came here by accident, and I was just about to leave.”

The blond one straightens, giving her a glare. “Luca,” he says, almost in a warning.

The werewolf either doesn’t hear or care, mouth curled up into a snarling grin. “Well isn’t that a sha-”

Sienna kicks him right in the groin, and to a devastating effect, but she doesn’t stick around. She runs past the werewolf at full speed. Her legs fly like they never have before, and yet, yet, she makes it only a single yard before she’s tackled down, the grass burning holes through her black jeans and burning her knees from friction. Tears threaten to sting her eyes as her body lifts off the ground, her jacket in the tight grip of the vampire.

“Hi.” She says, sniffing away the tears. “Can I help you?”

He tosses her back, at the feet of the werewolf, whose eyes look just a tad bit angrier and puffed than before.

“Sorry,” Sienna doesn’t think that apologizing will do anything, but might as well try. “I would just like to-”

He grabs her throat, and while she tries kicking again, but he already knows that trick, so he’s able to wrestle her body away from the hitting radius. The werewolf- Luca, she thinks, wants to bite her, she can see it in his eyes, and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do now because she won’t be able to fight him once he does, once he begins to slowly drain her life out of her body and oh god oh god oh god, tears, she’s crying. I don’t want to die, please don’t kill me, help, help, someone help-

“Oh, for god’s sake,” the vampire yanks her back, “look at her, Luca, she’s terrified. We’re letting this one go.”

Through her hiccups, she can’t even voice her agreement to the werewolf’s statement, but she offers up the nodding of her head. None of them bother to look at her, though, only finding each other’s agreement more important than hers. Which is probably par for the course, but here’s to hoping the werewolf can convince the other two that she’s not worth eating.

“How old are you?” The vampire asks the werewolf, “almost thirty. This kid can’t be older than you, and you think that terrorizing her is going to satisfy your sick fantasy of destroying mankind?”

Oh, Sienna hates all of this, but she doesn’t voice her concerns. The vampire and werewolf go back and forth, counterpointing each other with something among the lines of what if we ate the human, to I hear you there, but like what if we didn’t, all the while the other one… the blond one stays silent. Well, now that Sienna has a minute to look him over, his soft-looking hair actually looks like it has some pink in it, like an under dye, and also seems kind of familiar? Like she’s seen him before, but obviously, she hasn’t, because he’s probably been locked up here for longer than she’s been alive. Still. Those eerie rosewood eyes are like something out of a freakishly nightmarish fever dream.

“Alright, then,” the vampire says, placing a firm hand on Sienna’s shoulder, almost holding her in place, “it’s decided. We’re taking her back to the gate. Ace, can you make sure no one else is in the area?”

The incubus glares over at Sienna, as though she were to one to demand such a thing from him, but he complies, rolling his eyes up to concentrate on; however, he is doing it. “Nothing here.”

“Good, great. Let’s go.”

Sienna walks, moving her legs, sticking as close as possible to the vampire because, at the moment, he seems to be the least likely to kill her horribly. Especially the way the werewolf looks her over like he’s deciding just where on her body he’s going to bite first. The trail that hugs along the barrier seems to stretch out to infinity, feeling much longer than when she was walking through it alone, but she sticks her chin out and tries not to show her nervousness. Not that it would matter, probably because the vampire and werewolf can smell her actual fear, and that incubus is possibly shifting through her brain right at the moment.

“I am,” the incubus says.

“Awesome,” Sienna says, putting as much venom into the word as she could without outright being mean. Just because she likes being sarcastic doesn’t mean she also wants her head to get ripped off.

“I’m sure you don’t.”

Stop it, Sienna thinks back, trying to make her thoughts screech out like radio interference, but whether it works, the incubus doesn’t show. Her mouth thins out as she shoves her hands into her pockets, her brain a flurry of movement as she tries to figure out just how she’s going to get out of this mess should things begin to get out of hand like it did before.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

Ick, the incubus again, still digging through her mind. “You guys haven’t given me a reason not to be concerned.”

“Devyn won’t let anything happen,” the incubus nods towards the vampire. “He’s already decided that you’re worth saving, so you’re saved.”

“Ace,” the vampire says in warning.

“She’s so worried,” the incubus says, annoyed, “it’s loud and overshadowing everything else.”

The vampire sets his hand on her shoulder, saying, “you know nothing is going to happen with us here, right?”

When the vampire says it with such conviction, Sienna believes him. She doesn’t feel like his buddies’ intentions are all that pure because really, they’re just doing what he’s telling them to. Honestly Sienna probably wouldn’t trust any of them not to kill her if they got the chance, the vampire’s support be damned, so she’s careful about her placement while she walks with the group so that she’s no within grabbing distance.

“Question!” She says because she’s always been curious about the goings-on inside the barrier, so might as well ask now while she can or forever hold her peace. “Do most humans get munched on if they accidentally fall in through the barrier?”

“Yes,” the werewolf snaps.

“Huh,” Sienna taps her lip with her finger. “That must be why no one likes you guys.”

The werewolf makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “That- that’s not even close to-”

“It depends,” the vampire says, looking like he’s about to give the werewolf a quick, playful wack. “Sometimes people wander in looking for something, oftentimes something that is attached to one of us. Monster bits are coveted among all circles, so to take a vampire’s fang or a werewolf’s ear would buy someone a whole house.”

“Oh,” Sienna says, suddenly focused on the way that she walks. “So when I fell in, you probably thought I was here for, um, that.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why y’all were so cranky.”

“Cranky,” the vampire laughs, “sure, that’s a good word for it.”

“That’s really awful,” Sienna says, cringing at how obvious it is. “Random humans just hop through the barrier near the gates to hunt? Aren’t the guards supposed to find contraband from anyone who comes through? That’s what they tell you.”

“What’s five thousand dollars for a bribe when you’re about to make a hundred and fifty thousand?”

“The guards are all bribed?” This might not be the first time she’s heard it suggested, but its definitely the only time it’s ever been officially confirmed by someone with an insider’s view on the goings-on. “That’s- that’s terrible.”

“A farm,” the werewolf hisses, “this place is a farm for human use. They let us breed and live until they need to cut down on the population, then they harvest what they need and sell the pieces of our brothers and sisters to the highest bidder.”

“Luca, we’ve spoken about this,” the vampire says in a tired tone, “none of that is proven to be true. It’s all most likely conspiracy theory bullshit.”

“Don’t talk to me like you wouldn’t put it past them,” the werewolf snaps, “and don’t even get me started on how this has been done before to anyone they find subhuman, even their own people have been furrowed away into camps and slums to be kept quiet and exploited.”

“He does make sense,” Sienna says, nodding in the werewolf’s direction. “Honestly, I would believe it.”

“See? Even the human girl thinks it’s true.” The werewolf glares over at her, though no longer with the same disgust as before. “It’s only a matter of time before they slip, Luca, then you’ll see.”

“Enough.” The vampire rolls his eyes, trying to show how ridiculous he thinks the whole situation is. “Only pleasant things will be spoken for the rest of the walk back, alright? We don’t need to discuss a criminal underground right now.”

The werewolf lets out an angry puff of breath, then stares straight ahead, making sure that he doesn’t look back to either Sienna or the vampire in a sort of silent treatment that only a petulant immortal can fully accomplish. Sienna doesn’t try pressing for any more information, she doesn’t want to get either the vampire or werewolf riled up into an altercation. But, thankfully, up ahead, there’s a decent looking structure that parts the barrier like a zipper, a triangular building of steel and cement. That’s the barrier gate, she realizes, even though they’re still a good mile out, so she can’t make out much more details than that.

The armed guards start, holding guns with enough energy output to put down an elephant- or werewolf, easily. Every single one they pass, straight spine, glasses covering part of their stern expression, tighten their grips on their weapons, turning their heads as Sienna walks by. They’re questioning why she’s there, she can tell even without the incubus shuffling through their minds, but not a single one of them lifts a finger to help her approach the gate, much less ask if she’s okay. Not that she needs it, obviously, with her posse of immortal mean girls™ to fend off anyone else wanting to munch on her body, but if she did? Would the sweetly painted soldiers in their camo run to her aid? Or watch as she gets devoured by the monsters so they can justifiably shoot them afterward?

Sienna walks with her arms crossed, head held high. If she has to face the uncaring faces of those who don’t seem to have any concern over the state of things, she’s going to do it with some goddamn dignity. Maybe she could hold the vampire’s hand or something in protest to their shitty policies, but Sienna believes that might be a step too far. The gate lies just ahead now, military vehicles overlooking a line of people trying to make their way out.

“You have your identification papers, right?” The vampire asks, suddenly tense.

Just to double-check, she rummages around in her pocket, finding the passport among her house keys and phone. “Right here-”

“Don’t take it out yet, wait until we’re at customs. Anyone might try taking the papers for themselves, to forge, or to sell.”

“Right,” Sienna says, shoving it back down into her pocket, her fist closed around it as though someone might try to snatch it away via telekinesis. Which is a thing.

Despite the ridiculousness of the line, it moves fairly quickly, and Sienna is right in front of the customs office before she’s even ready. She turns around, throwing her arms around the vampire who saved her skin. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Thank you for listening,” he says, patting her back.

Much to her surprise, the incubus seems alright with shaking her hand, and even the werewolf gives her a non-hateful nod of goodbye. With a smile, she waves at the three of them, stepping back through the cold, sterile building.

[mcgrathandwives]

Can I please have a mutant!R x Natasha you can decide the powers. R makes an entrance with Thor during the battle of Wakanda? Both R and Thor kick ass and maybe some soft resolve with R and Nat? Thanks

I planned on making this short but instead, it’s 1119 words.

To clarify once again. I’m not doing B!D day today, I’m dealing with some family stuff and need a distraction, not all asks will be answered just whatever ones strike any inspiration or are quick to write whilst on mobile.

---

You may have been a fighter, trained by some of the best in the world and currently dating the one and only, Black Widow- so that definitely helped keep you on your toes. You also carried the mutant gene. Your powers are under control now, well for the most part. When you’re stressed out they tend to be a little unpredictable. 

You have the ability to teleport anywhere in the world and as you would now learn anywhere in the nine realms, at any point in time. You found that out when you appeared on the Guardians ship, Thor saved your life. You had no idea what was going on or where you were, so your natural instinct was to follow your friend. He asked you how you ended up in space, you told him all you could remember.

You had gotten into some petty fight with Natasha not too long after the Avengers ‘broke up’ so to speak. You wanted some time off from the world, knowing you could go anywhere and be gone in seconds was a little more ideal than constantly running back and forth on a quinjet. Nat however, wanted absolutely nothing more, but it was too risky. If she wanted a life with you it’d have to be like this for a while, but being stubborn like you were you couldn’t just agree to have a life on the run, the reality of it was too much.

All you wanted was to be back on Earth, wrap in Nat’s arms. 

You tried, you really did. Every time you landed somewhere and regained your strength you’d try again but like every attempt before, you failed. Thor told you that you needed more than a few hours of rest, after all, you’re on a completely different planet. He promised to get you home, after all, he had a bone to pick with Thanos. You watched beside Groot as Thor took the brunt of a star, again promising to get you back to Earth. It was painful to watch, but Thor was always full of surprises.

When he came back, you begged him not to leave, he made a promise to you and he was never one to break them. Eitri was trying to find a handle for the weapon, whilst Groot literally became one, you watched as it flickered with small bursts of lightning. 

The next thing you knew, Thor wrapped an arm around you and then you were back on Earth. Casting a glance behind you, you caught a glimpse of Nat, relief washing over you, before running into action with Thor, Rocket, and Groot. You had to fight your way out of this and you’d be damned if you died before speaking with Nat.

The battlefield was bloody, mudded and chewed up by destruction. Making your way closer to Natasha you got snagged by one of Thanos’ alien creatures- it was far from ideal but right now it was the least of your worries. Wanda was now in sight, using her powers to protect Nat and Okoye. She effectively took out a small portion of her surrounding too. 

You’d be proud if it wasn’t for the burn that slowly crept over your body. You pushed yourself harder, running closer to your girlfriend, taking out threats along the way. Wanda was at least two yards out from you, just before you could call out her name she was knocked to the ground by Proxima- one of Thanos’ ‘children’. 

“He’ll die alone, as will you.”

Natasha and Okoye had made their way into the pit by now. More than ready to fight. “She’s not alone.”

Proxima had been a strong opponent for them both, taking each hit and dishing out more with some extra strength. It wasn’t long before you got involved, shortly after her foot collided with Nat’s face. Throwing yourself into action, trying to give the others just, enough time to recover. Thankfully it had. Nat was back on her feet, both of you working as a team. Before you were caught on your injured side, falling to the ground, watching in horror as your girlfriend was overpowered. You tried to push yourself up, but the burning sensation was spreading. Wanda took care of it, then turned her attention to you.

Your girlfriend took over, running her fingers through your hair. "Where did you go? You ran and I couldn't-"

"I couldn't get back to you. I tried and just couldn't get home." 

It wasn't exactly the most ideal place to apologize or explain yourself, nor was it place to pull her into you- with the ongoing battle and all. But you couldn't help yourself, it'd been days- well to you it had only been days to everyone else it'd been a year maybe longer- resting your palm against her cheek, "I love you." Leaning down, she kissed you for the first time since your disappearance. "I love you too. But we're not dead yet, so get up, brush yourself off and let's go kick some ass."

The four of you reunited with Steve and Vision, ready to fight with whatever came next. A portal of sorts opened up revealing Thanos, sharing a glance with Nat before you watched the Titan make light work of your team. "I'll follow you anywhere Nat, I hope you know that."

Rhodey fell from the sky before you took of running, the ground shook with every step, you watched Avengers fall, one by one before you fell too, encased in rubble.

The only sight you could see was Wanda, single-handedly holding back Thanos. When Vision's stone exploded it created enough power to break the rubble surrounding you, giving you a moment of freedom. Crawling out, you tried to pull yourself up, but there was no way you could do it yourself.

Once Thanos snapped his fingers, he vanished and others started to turn to dust. The snap created a light, bright enough to blind you. With blurry vision you watched as Bucky turned to dust, Wanda was next to go. Thor helped you to your feet, the minute you got yourself stable, you started crying out for Natasha, every breath burned, but you didn't care. You couldn't find her. She wasn't in sight. You pleaded with yourself, your voice becoming more watery with every shout.

A riddle came from the tall grass, the blonde hair of your girlfriend came into view, she had been calling out for you too. As soon as your eyes connected you threw yourself into her. "You're okay."

"I'm here. Shh, it's okay. I've got you."

Her arms wrapped tighter around you, trying her best to avoid your wound she pulled you closer.

[haydenbarnes]

Terminus | Self Paragraph

TRIGGER WARNING: MURDER

In the half light of the alley, Hayden’s body casts disfigured patterns on the grey walls. The only change in them is his chest rising and falling, and his hands that he hadn’t even realized were shaking so badly. His jaw stung, he could taste the metallic blood that dripped from his nose. His right eye was barely able to stay open but it had to because he couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t stop himself from staring as the blood matted itself into his hair or leaked out onto the ground. Hayden knew he should be running right now, he should be getting to a car and driving south never stopping for anything but gas. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move. 

“I’m just going down to the 7/11, Riss, you need anything?” Hayden shouted as he sat on the browning, beat-up, second-hand couch and tied the laces of his boots. Since the fire, Hayden and Marissa had started to put patches over the last few years. They’d talked things out properly and had come to a mutual understanding with each other to let things die; to turn to a new chapter. It was refreshing having his best friend back. But, he was worried about her mental state, and after Scotty’s house party where she had been beaten up by some jumped up ex-business associates son he was worried about her safety too. He knew better than anyone how the past can come to haunt you. 

There was no reply to his question, he furrowed his brow. “Marissa?” He called out as he moved through the apartment towards the room she’d been staying in. His fist rattled the wood before slowly opening the door. “Riss--” he said gently as he put his head through the crack and then saw she wasn’t in. “Weird...”. He was sure he hadn’t heard the door open. Hayden went to the front and sure enough, her keys were gone. Not giving it too much more thought, he grabbed his own set and threw them in his pocket before heading out.

Phone in hand, Hayden texted whilst he was walking into the center of Dayton. Let me know if you want anything in for when you get home, I’ll be at the 7/11 in twenty minutes so you got until then. You good? He pressed send and slid his phone back into his pocket, replacing it with a cigarette and lighter. There was always a sense of satisfaction as his thumb rolled over the metal flint wheel and created a spark first time. It wasn’t as good as that first lung fill from the first drag, but it was a close second. 

For being in California, Dayton had an eery chill this late at night. The wind whipped around Hayden and caused him to pull his jacket tighter around his body as he jogged across the road onto the other sidewalk and turned the corner. He could hear the buzz of life ahead of him in the nightlife district. He looked down at his wrist; 11:09. It was the hour of the night that determined the following seven. Either you were calling it a day and heading home to bed, or you were committing to seeing the sunrise. There were no half measures in Dayton’s scene; all in or all out.

Hayden didn’t want any trouble, and he certainly didn’t want to be roped into staying out any longer than he had intended to be away from home for. He was trying to sober up a little bit, trying to stop taking the edge off every five hours which was the state he had got to before Marissa had moved in. So, he decided to take the back alley route through the club scene, a concrete maze he had worked his way around when escorting bloody, beaten and bruised patrons of The Labyrinth away from the business without drawing any untoward attention. 

He was just getting to the back of the business in question when his attention was taken away from his path by the backdoors flinging open followed by a young man being quite literally thrown out into the alley. “If you show your face in here again, you won’t be able to walk for a month! You’re being watched, dickhead.”. The venomous tones of one of Ainsley’s other henchmen spat before slamming the doors closed. The man stumbled up to his feet and staggered to the doors, smashing his fists on them. 

“I didn’t fucking cheat! Since when is being more clever than the dealer cheating?!” He shouted with pain, panic, and fear clear as day in his voice. 

Hayden sighed and shook his head, dropping his gaze and composing himself as he felt that guilt begin to flood through his body. He could deal with it when he was involved. When he was the one throwing the punches and making the decisions. When the adrenaline was coursing through his veins, causing a better high than any combination of cocaine and heroin. He could deal with it then. But, watching and hearing the aftermath of actions he too committed was almost too much. It pulled at his moral heartstrings. Especially today. The anniversary of his Father getting murdered for mistakes he made. 

“You’ll pay for this!” The guy carried on, clearly on some kind of adrenaline side effect where things were coming out like word vomit. “This whole place will pay for this! I-- I-- I’ll go to the press! Ainsley FUCKING Slater is going to be on every newspaper front page tomorrow!”

Hayden’s eyes flicked open, darkness flooded into his pupils. His chest dropped and his hands curled into fists. His jaw tensed, teeth clenched. Open the fucking doors. Bring him back in. Take him out of my reach. He prayed that if anyone was on the other side of those fire doors that they heard his threats, and would take him in for round two. Please.

“No-one fucks with a Weston and gets away with it!” 

Weston. 

Rage consumed Hayden, it was an amber that constantly burned in the pit of his stomach but the moment he heard that name it was like someone had doused it in oil and sent it blazing. His head snapped up and across to the sound of the voice and sure enough, there he was; Tate Weston, the red-head that beat up his best friend. The little brat who thought he could steal from his place of work. The fucking dead man walking who threatened Ainsley. 

“You think you’re so big and hard, don’t you?” Hayden yelled as came out of the shadows of the joining alleyway into the dimly lit backway of the casino. 

“I don’t think, I know. You think this place can stand up to the power my family has? This place won’t last a press campa--” Smack.

His fist smashed across Tate’s nose, the cracking sound of bone echoed in his ears. The red-head whelped in pain as crimson leaked from his nostrils. Hayden pulled his fist back and plowed it straight into Tate’s stomach like a hitting a train head-on. When Tate coughed, dark purple sprayed out over Hayden’s lower leg and his shoes. He staggered backward, holding a hand in the air like a white flag. “Okay, okay, okay, s-- st--” he coughed again, blood splattering up the side of a trashcan he used for support. “Stop--” Tate shallowly panted as he collected himself. 

Hayden’s hands were shaking as it began to physically hurt to hold himself back. “Is that what Marissa said to you?!” He yelled. “Is that what she begged after you hit her the first time?! What about the second?! What about when she was laying on the floor and you laid your foot into her ribs for good fucking measure!” Hayden’s powerful voice boomed off the metal in the passageway. “I should kill you!” He swallowed, taking another step to Tate. “I should fucking kill you!” 

Tate took a staggered breath before pushing himself up to his feet and squaring up against Hayden. “Yeah? Well th-- then why am I still alive?” He bit back through gritted teeth before making the last wrong decision of his life; fight back. Tate’s arm left his stomach and pulled backward before springing out to the others' cheek, sending Hayden’s head flying right. He staggered on the spot to keep himself from falling and after regaining his balance was able to get another hit on the bartender, cutting up through his jaw and eye socket. 

The darkness completely shrouded Hayden. It consumed and took over him like a deadly virus, attacking every last good morale in his body. His mistakes had already cost his Father his life; was letting this rich kid go free going to ruin another person he cared about? Yes. It was time he took his own action, wasn’t it? He needed to make sure he wouldn’t speak to the press; that he couldn’t speak to the press. The was a primal sound that came from deep within Hayden’s stomach, a growl that took him back to the dark ages. 

He grabbed hold of Tate’s collar. There was a rasp as the material ripped under the pressure of his grip. There was a ringing in Hayden’s head from the blows the ginger had managed, but that was all that was in there. Everything else was silent; focused on the task. There was no moral dilemma, no attempt to hold his thinking to account. He was going kill him. 

Tate must have been able to see that in his eyes because the man suddenly changed his tune. He started begging, but Hayden couldn’t hear what he was saying, it was like he was speaking underwater or through soundproof glass. Hayden pulled his fist back and delivered a strike. Then another, then another until he was pounding at Tate’s face, breaking every socket and bone structure it held. His own knuckles popped at the force, the pain coursing through his arm but never slowing him down until the collar he had been holding onto snapped and Tate’s lifeless body fell to the ground in a heap. Hayden’s foot slammed into his chest before he stumbled backward, eyes open wide.

                                                             Everything stopped.

In the half light of the alley, Hayden’s body casts disfigured patterns on the grey walls. The only change in them is his chest rising and falling, and his hands that he hadn’t even realized were shaking so badly. His jaw stung, he could taste the metallic blood that dripped from his nose. His right eye was barely able to stay open but it had to because he couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t stop himself from staring as the blood matted itself into his hair or leaked out onto the ground. Hayden knew he should be running right now, he should be getting to a car and driving south never stopping for anything but gas. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move.

“Move... C’mon... Move...” He finally snapped back to reality, dropping down beside Tate’s face and taking it in his hands. Hayden tried slapping his cheeks, he lifted as much of an eyelid as he could find among all the blood and swelling. There was nothing. No movement, no pupil dilation. Hayden grabbed hold of his arm, his heart smashing against his ribcage as his fingers wrapped around his wrist. “C’mon, c’mon-- you bastard, c’mon,” he muttered as he tried to move his fingers around to find a pulse. 

                                                                   Nothing.

Hayden swallowed but there was nothing but blood to go down. His mouth was dry. His skin faded color and-- Fuck, he was going to be sick. His feet stumbled over themselves as he made his way quickly to a nearby trash can, pushed the lid off and threw up into it. What the fuck had he done? What the fuck was he going to do? He can’t go back to prison. He can’t go back to the East coast ‘cause he’ll end up like fucking Tate. Think. Think... Ainsley... This is her place, right? She could-- she could do something, right? Anything? Dylan... Dylan knew the streets, she knew Dayton, she knew the cops... 

He nodded to himself as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and fumbled over the keys. He pressed Ainsley’s name and put the phone to his ear as the dialing tone came on. He paced. He made the mistake of looking back to the lifeless body and almost threw up again. Fuck. FUCK.  

“Ainsley?” He practically whispered when the woman picked up the phone. “I need you-- I need you to fucking get Dylan, and-- Ainsley, just fucking listen to me! I need you to come to the back of the casino. I-- Ainsley, he’s fucking dead.”  

                                                                                            He’s fucking dead.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 19

Well this came as surprise to me. Literally, the whole idea came to me before I was going to bed so I wrote it the next morning, and here we are. Features some Aladdin quotes, see if you can spot them. Enjoy! 

“And then Icarus, what a guy, he is so convincing as Hades, Pain and Panic start following him!” Calix hooted.

“No way, man that didn’t actually happen.” Jay challenged Calix’s story.

“No, no I’ve heard Icarus’ Hades impression, he’s good.” Aziz confirmed, “Hey, remember Icarus’ Hades impression after three drinks at Dionysus’ bacchanal?”

Calix gulped back the drink Circe had left in their shared room and where he, Aziz, and Jay were passing the time sharing stories while waiting around for Uma and Jordan’s arrival.

It had been a pretty placid three days since Jordan reversed Jay’s hypnosis for Malik’s last wish. At first there was a panic when they realized how suspicious it would be if Jay was no longer under Jafar’s thrall but they fixed that with Jordan giving him glowing red contacts. Allowing them to have another infiltrator at the Coven meetings besides Jade, Calix and Uma.

The door opened and Jordan slipped into the room, gingerly cradling her lamp in her hands. But no Uma behind her.

These three placid days had driven Uma to distraction since they were laying around on their asses and not doing anything so she arranged for this new meeting so they’d find something else to do besides eavesdrop for news of what was happening at next week’s Summer Solstice.

But even though this meeting was so important that she felt the need to threaten them with slow, graphic strangulation with her tentacles while Harry used his hook to disembowel him, apparently their leader was late.

“Where’s Jade?” Calix asked, throwing back another shot. It was a fair question since Jordan’s lamp was still technically under Jade’s possession. Or so the Coven thought.

“Showing makeup techniques to Lala and Malik.” Jordan answered.

“Oh right, Lala mentioned that to me this morning.” Aziz warily eyed the fifth shot Calix gulped down.

“Oh, she did? You talk about things other than the plan?” Jordan smoothly slid between him and Calix, her voice was suspiciously too nonchalant.

“Yeah, conversations spawn into different topics. That’s what happens when two people hang out with each other.” Aziz said a little testily with how Jordan was scanning his face like she was searching for some secret that he’d be careless enough to slip.

“Oh you and Lala hanging out together.” Jordan pursed her lips lightly, sounding way too similar to a disapproving aunt, “Can we have a private conversation in my lamp.”

Before Aziz could suss out whatever she was trying to pull and where this was coming from, Jordan had transported them into her lamp.

“Do you have a crush on Lala?” She blurted out accusingly.

Aziz decided to go for a joke, “I-I don’t know about me crushing her, bu-but I can’t blame her if the reverse is true. I mean, look at me.”

Jordan stared with an unamused raised eyebrow.

“Aziz, I know you.” She started, as if that explained why she was so sure she found the romance of the century after two innocent sentences, “I've seen you go through this before. You’re just hanging out with a girl but then you start talking about every topic under the sun. And then you get a crush and you’re all like “She's smart and fun, she’s got these eyes that just...and her hair wow! And her smile!”

“Then you go on a date that doesn’t really go anywhere for whatever reason and get pushed aside. Remember, Lonnie, and Ruby, and Alexandria and Alfonsa, and Arabella, and her twin sisters, woah! Now that I list them out, you date a lot of Triton’s granddaughters.”

“What is your point? What does that have to do with me and Lala? Not that there is anything happening.” Aziz felt himself gulping back the nervousness that he knew exactly what she was talking about even as he denied it.

“Oh please, you’re half smiling while you say her name!”

“I’m not!” Aziz unmanly squawked and cleared his throat into a deeper contralto, “I do not.”

“My point is it’s one thing to date an Ak. You get your heart broken. But a Vk? She’ll try to steal your throne and break your heart.” Jordan said.

“Steals your throne and breaks your heart. Sounds the title of a sex tape. Do you want dibs or can I have it?” Aziz took a shot in the dark to try joking his way out of this again.  “Now is not the time to joke about the title of our sex tapes. This is serious!”  “You’re still hung up on, “Can your friend do this?” It’s a bit obvious.” Aziz pointed out. 

“Oh, you wanted to call your first sex tape, “A whole new world,” like that’s original.” Jordan shot back.  “And the “Welcome to the Cave of Wonders” piece you did with Calix was a unique one?” Aziz retorted. 

“For your information, I couldn’t choose any title but that because.. wait wait wait? Now is not the time.”

“Aziz Ali iban Aladdin, explain yourself right now.” Jordan crossed her arms.  “Jordan, we’ve been over this. You’re not my mom.” Aziz huffed at the use of his full name.  “You’re right, I’m not. Your mom doesn’t know about what happened in Odiferous during spring break. Now I have a phone and I have video. So tell me about your feelings for Lala.”  

“You’re jumping to conclusions.” Aziz said exasperatedly which was no use since she was ignoring anything that came out of his mouth.

“When did you first feel something more?” Jordan demanded.

“Rarw. Rrrawr. Meow? Are you understanding me at all?” Aziz asked the stony faced leopard man.

Aziz had to admit some of his attempts to talk to the leopard-men was out of boredom. He was starting to get a bit stir crazy being stuck in the castle all day pretending to be Jade or Lala’s slave boy. He could understand why Uncle Genie hated being in the lamp. It was so boring, having to wait for permission to do things and the things you were allowed to do was stuck inside. No running around the corridors and flipping off roofs with wind rushing through your hair or the pit in your stomach when you almost break your neck.

He missed it.

And although Lala was pretty focused in studying the Atlantean texts her mother laid out for her, even she seemed to be getting bored because at random moments, she would angrily shut her book and demand to hear Aziz talk about Agrabah.

He had to admit that if he had a choice, he’d rather be with Jordan and the others trying to make a plan to escape or at least go outside. Talking about Agrabah was getting to be the highlight of his day.

He had started with daring adventure stories about the things his parents used to get into before the Great Uniting like when they had to fight a landshark or the time his dad literally lost his head to the decapitated wizard, Caliph Kapok, and they had to get body and head back together again. He had lots of those stories, Genie often said they could create their own tv series, possibly an animated one for kids to enjoy.

And then, upon Lala’s numerous aside questions, he started describing Agrabah with its alluring spices, chests of gold and diverse and eccentric cast of merchants and travelers that lived in the Seven Deserts. He described the bad like the previous-rampant poverty that seemed similar to the Isle albeit with more head chopping from fellow humans than from a bitter decapitated wizard. It was embarrassing but one time he looked at the ornate diamond-encrusted sand-dial and saw that he had passed over an hour talking about his home. He hadn’t meant to but it just came out. He loved his home so much and describing it felt like he was back there on the dunes for a little while.

He had never talked to anyone about his home before. Jordan already knew what it was like obviously, and no one at Auradon Prep cared beyond the merchandise they could buy at the kazbah. It was so much more than that to him. Living there was an experience, an adventure. You never knew where the smell of spices could lead you or what the secret nooks and crannies would reveal.

The thing was Lala seemed just as enthralled with the place as he was. Usually when he discussed his home, people would shudder in horror at the thought of being accidentally turned into a rat due magic gone wrong and seeing the world from down below or cringed at the thought of getting sand in uncomfortable places after intense competitions of sand surfing.

But Lala looked at him with a sparkle of excitement in her eye and would occasionally point out fun variations to try like horse racing only instead of across the desert, race under the desert, jumping to the few dry spots that were present in the muddy underbelly.

He hoped that if they succeeded in defeating the Coven, Lala would visit Agrabah one day. He had a feeling that the adventures they’d get into together would be amazing. Potentially life threatening. But fun nonetheless. He’d love to watch her go against Fashoom. Or better yet, back to back against the giant scorpions guarding kanz quadim. With his wits and knowledge and her skill and cunning, they’d be an unbeatable team. It’d be fun to go with someone who wanted to be there. 

Normally, he went with Jordan but she said it was only because it was her obligation to keep him from breaking his neck and/or all the bones in his body. Her words.  And his few Agrabah friends who would be game to go, were commoners who had to work during the day and it would be unfair for him to ask them to ditch just because he wanted some fun. 

Yeah, it’d be fun to explore the hidden valleys of the Seven Deserts with her. He looked back to the white-haired girl where she was still bent over a book of indecipherable Atlantean words and figures, so he turned back to Kaj II, Usulan II and Muviro II. Lala’s leopard men she had named after people she knew would annoy her mother.

Aziz growled with two purrs spaced between like he had heard Raj do but the leopard men looked at him like he was an idiot. He wasn’t sure he was even speaking cat-language but it was better than accidentally challenging him to a fight so he’d take it.

“Will you stop with the ridiculous sounds, you’re not speaking leopard. Better stick to monkeys.” Lala cut through his attempts at conversing.

“How would you know? You said you don’t speak leopard.” Aziz shot back, happy that there was some element of human conversation. How the hell she lived in a jungle for days on end without human interaction was beyond his capabilities. “True. However, I know what a leopard sounds like and you don’t sound like a leopard. More like a sick alley cat.”

“Excuse me, priestess” Aziz rolled his eyes, and made another purr-growly sound at the leopards just to be contrary.

When could he go outside? When? When? When?

No, it was stupid. He couldn’t go outside and risk looking like he was escaping and ruin the whole damn mission requiring the others to get his ass out of the dungeon again.

He shuddered, gingerly touching the cheek where Staqauit had struck him numerous times, the malicious laughter of the cat twins taunting him about his impending death.

He needed to do something. Being stuck here with just his thoughts was going to drive him insane.

“Hello?”

“Huh what?”

“I said,'' Lala cleared her throat, “If you want to sound more leopard-like, start with a growl in your throat while meowing and add like you’re going to scream.” She demonstrated her leopard yowl which did get  the leopard men’s attention as they looked around for sign of attack or danger.

Aziz tried to mimic what Lala did with her instructions but failed part way through as a tickle caught in his nose before his attempted scream and he fell into a coughing fit, painfully hacking his throat.

Aziz panted, catching his breath while Lala had the grace to look back at her book and pretend not to be amused, “Okay maybe talking to cats is not my thing. But you got a leg up me with your feline self.”

“Feline self?” Lala cocked her head curiously, bringing once again to Aziz’s mind, “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“You know, your eyes, the leopards, the-” 

“You think I was born with these eyes? You think I’m part cat?” Lala questioned. “Nooo,” Aziz hedged, already seeing he was going to be wrong, “Not anymore. It’s just your mom has the same eyes so I-”

“It’s spell.” Lala explained, “My mom did it when she got her staff. She did it to me when magic got through to the Isle. It helps me understand the leopards and for them to understand my orders, and it helps my reflexes. There is always a way to improve. Not that I needed improving, but I’ll admit some leopard senses are better than human’s. Like smell. Now I can smell everyone’s scent a mile away.”  .

“Scent?” “Yes, your natural scent. You smell like all that baklav Jordan’s been giving you.” She sniffed the air around him again, “Sand. Jasmine. Musk.”

“What does Jordan smell like?” Aziz asked curiously, and a little relieved that he didn’t smell worse like blood and sweat and general stink from not showering for two weeks.

“Hmm I can’t get a clear smell. You know, not objects per say. But she smells like pheromones, sometimes like fire, sand and wind. Mainly reeks of desperation.”

“Well we’re all in desperate straits here.” Aziz chuckled even though it wasn’t really that funny. Well sort of. Jordan absolutely hated not being in control. Or at least looking like she wasn’t in control. She’d freak if she knew that she quote unquote “reeked of desperation.”

“What about Jay?”

“Sweat, oil, grease, brass, musk, dirt. Something else I can’t tell which usually means someone’s hiding something or lying. Not a surprise there. He’s lucky no one else can smell him, the stench of oil and deceit is unbearable on him.”

“Yeah, good thing. I doubt he’d have a lot of admirers around him if he did.” Aziz said, feeling his mind wander off to too familiar but inevitable train of envious thought. 

“Admirers? He has admirers in Auradon? I thought you people didn’t like thieves and bad guys. Why is he popular?”

“He’s good now.” Aziz reminded her, but couldn’t stop the bitterness creeping into his voice as he thought of the crowds praising Jay as he scored yet another goal. All the girls and some guys ooing at him and being utterly charmed as he showed off that he stole their wallets. Or if he executed a pretty decent backflip. The guy looked so cool and attractive no matter what he did. And that bad boy act made him even cooler in everyone’s eyes.

“He’s a good thief like Aladdin,” he remembered hearing someone say and Aziz had burned. Good thief?! Jay wasn’t a good thief! Jay wasn’t stealing things in Auradon because he was hungry or wanted to give to the poor. He stole because he was greedy. Aziz could steal too, Dad taught him the tricks, but when he showed off, he got no applause. They thought he was being inappropriate for a prince of his station.

Or now that Jay was here, it was a second-rate kind of steal. He could steal a watch from someone, but Jay could steal a person’s computer and lunch bag. He got the bigger score.

“People love him and his parkor and stupid tourney goals.” Aziz genuinely growled. He felt his blood pump at how everyone were magnets drawn to his presence while he waited in the wings of the tourney field. They did all the same activities, but Jay was better. People were saying he was equal to Aladdin.

If he was forgettable before Jay came around, now he was just invisible.

And honestly useless compared to Jay. He knew Jordan invited him on this mission because she trusted him and it would be breaking unofficial rule that if one of them went on a life changing save the world adventure, the other had to come too, that was just how things were done. But had he really done anything useful?

No, he had gotten captured. They all had gotten captured but he was the only one who had almost died. Because he was mortal, untrained and weak.

The thoughts came again. Had really been less than a week since he had been in the dungeon? Less than a week but at times he still could feel it as if it had been hours ago.

He could remember it all, some of it was blurred darkness. The only thing registering was that he was in pain. But he remembered the beginning.

Staqauit wasted no time grabbing his throat with one hand and choking him, Chimera and Illusion wrapped their arms around him almost as if they were giving a comforting hug. The thought was quickly diminished as their claws tore through his shirt and dug into his skin, he could feel it, feel the slight curve of their sharpness like a hook that wouldn’t be able to get out. And they didn’t no matter how he fruitlessly thrashed.

But it was only the beginning…

Just as he saw the world fuzz around the edges Staqauit threw him to the ground with Chimera and Illusion still stuck to him.

“Squish” Aziz wanted to scream at the pain that entered his torso and at the sickening sound of his blood squirting out. It felt his insides were dipped into boiling water.  

But he didn’t, he stubbornly refused to cry out. He was supposed to be a hero, he would not admit weakness like this. He would use his wits to get out of it.

But he had barely time to think up a clever escape as he vainly scrambled to stop the blood from gushing out more. He didn’t recall any of the princes or his father ever being stabbed mid-battle.

Chimera and Illusion extricated themselves from him, their low voices purring contentedly at the pain wrought.

Aziz tried to get up but he couldn’t. He felt the stabbing pain even though he wasn’t being hit anymore. He couldn’t concentrate. He just felt the agony. He struggled to his feet but the muscles in his legs gave out as he slipped on the puddle of his own blood that was seeping the floor.

“Ah ah ah, you think I’m done with you?” Staqauit’s accented voice sneered, “That was only a minor surface wound.”

Aziz didn’t look at the man. He was too concerned with trying to stand up straight again, but that was for naught when he felt the scraping cement of what seemed to be a boulder dropped on his back.

“Carry this to the other side of the room. Double time.” Staqauit ordered, his rapier scraping the ground in front of Aziz’s face.

Aziz didn’t know why he thought it was a good idea. Perhaps because he truly couldn’t think of what else to do. He rationalized to himself in some irrational way that if he did this, maybe Staqauit would get bored. Maybe he’d survive.  So he did as Staqauit ordered. He tried to lift the boulder.

He felt his hands bleed as they scraped and tensed to keep the boulder steady on his back. Bent down so low that his knees touched his chest. Pressing hard on the wound.

“At least it’s stopped bleeding,” was the sole hysterical thought in his mind. His lungs felt they were burning and just pounding his chest as if to get out of his body. Blood rushed in his ears and the slow smack of Staqauit’s whip on the floor, keeping time, sounded like gunshots to his ears.

He wasn’t breathing right. He knew that. Aziz felt like he had been running for miles. His throat felt the need for oxygen and his eyes watered. But he managed to get one foot forward, his thoughts running wild.

Where were the others? When was Jordan going to come back? For he knew Jordan would come to him the moment she could as she had since he was 4. What if that ruined the mission? That she failed because he was too weak to save himself?

Then his mind took a turn to what he had been suppressing the moment Staqauit got hold of this throat. What if this was it? What if this was how he was going to die?

His knees buckled at the thought and he fell to the ground, allowing the boulder to drop from his back to feel the sting of the whip. This time he didn’t hold back the scream.

That scream was like a whistle for them as Chimera and Illusion pounced, their punches, scratches and kicks indistinguishable from one another.

And there was more…. he remembered the water boarding vaguely but he was glad he mostly blacked out of that, the boulder and the choking was enough for him.

But when he woke up and saw Lala, all he felt was shame that he had to be rescued. 

Like every fight, he thought of what he should have done after the confrontation was over. When Staqauit was choking him, he should have kicked him back in the stomach. The stomach area was always a quick disable to an opponent. Staqauit would have let him go and then he could have parkored and fought his way out with the weapons that were stationed around the dungeon.

But he hadn’t done that. He had thrashed and took the assault and hadn’t been able to think up anything on the sly like he knew Jay was infamous for.

With that thought, some defeated admittance slithered into his voice. Not that it was much of a defeat. It was barely a competition when Jay was naturally better and Aziz could never match no matter how hard he tried. “People love him, he’s strong and fast.. everyone wants him or to be like him…..I wish I could be like him too.”

He hated how much it was true.

“Why?” Lala scrunched her nose in confusion.

Aziz sighed, wishing his explanation didn’t sound so pathetic, “I’m forgettable in Auradon. I’m the third in line for the throne so I’m not inheriting the kingdom like all the other guys in my class. And I’m not that talkative. Believe me, in Auradon that is not a good thing if you want people to notice you. Or at least not be forgettable, and Jay can...” he trailed off. He didn’t want to get into the time in the dungeon. She had been there, she knew he was weak.

“And how does Jay fit into this?”

“He’s like me, I guess. Only better in everything. Better thief, better at tourney, more witty, better at flirting. I just blend in...I don’t want that anymore it sucks.”

“Blending in is a good thing. It allows you to skulk and learn your enemies’ tactics so you can ambush them.” Lala said.

“Great. But that’s in the wild. I’m not willing to move to the jungle just so my introvertedness can be an asset.”

“Okay maybe the ambush thing isn’t important but it is still applicable. It’s good that you’re not as outgoing like the others. Look at those people bragging and flirting and trying to garner attention onto themselves, they’re annoying. It’s always them, them, flash and boasts. They would never survive in life because they are always thinking of themselves. They don’t observe their surroundings, they miss the details that could help in the future. Like- like? I know-A fool who does not observe will fail. They will fail and try again and fail and try again. But a person who does take in their surroundings will learn the lesson once and remember it.”

“You don’t dominate the conversation but when you do, it is sensible and important. You don’t waste words. Same with your actions. You don’t talk the talk, you let your actions show how you get things done. I wouldn’t trust those extroverted people with my life. They’re too bold and impulsive and think with their fists. I ca-People can respect you. Trust you. You are genuine, and witty because you think so much, you will be successful later on.”

“I guess so.” Aziz smudged the dirt-packed floor with his foot, watching the sight of a small mealworm that had been habitating there, crawl out, “But it sucks. I get being successful later in life but what about now? In Auradon, no one takes a second look at me. You have to be a really sociable or talented person like Jay to get noticed. I can’t do that. I try but I- And, and what about in the dungeon, my observation skills gave me nothing! If I act a little more like Jay maybe I wouldn’t be the weak link needing to be rescued.”  Aziz blurted out.

Lala didn’t speak and Aziz cringed, staring at the ground. But the silence was growing so long he had to look back to gauge her reaction and saw Lala was waiting for him to look at her. 

Then she spoke, “You didn’t escape but you did survive. That takes a special inner strength especially when your enemies wish to demoralize and destroy you. And it is useless to ponder what others would have done when they weren’t been in the situation. You did what you could, and if you are so concerned about your aptitude, I’ll teach you. You have the strength, you need to practice better technique. Stop the self pity it’s a disgusting habit.”

Aziz tried to protest, but felt himself only mouthing the words as a damn nervous blush starting crawling up his neck. He still felt like he should have done better but he appreciated Lala’s words. He knew she held herself and almost everyone else on the standard of their physical skill and made it known when she thought someone was weak. For her to claim that he was strong even after she healed him, rescued him and saw him beaten bloody and battered, it meant something. 

And what she was about to say earlier? That little slip-up. She respected him. He hadn’t thought earning her respect was something he had wanted, but as she said it.. he felt so good that he did.

“As for the others, fuck them.” Lala interrupted, “Isn’t Auradon a place  where you’re not supposed to be shallow? See beyond first impressions and get to know them? If they don’t do that, fuck them. You shouldn’t even be complaining that people don’t notice you because it means to ones who do, actually care. You’re less outgoing than others. It’s not your fault that they don’t try to see beyond.”

Lala was still talking but Aziz stopped listening. What she said, “It’s not your fault” hit him like a sandstorm. The images of his attempts to try to be better. More funny. More entertaining. More talented. More outgoing. Things that people would want to talk to him like they gathered around his father or around Chad and the other royals.

Yet he was outshone by someone better. His constant overthinking working against him as he talked, praying that he didn’t look like he was trying too hard as he was. Praying that he wasn’t going to be forgettable to people. He failed. He wondered what was so wrong with him that made him invisible. He wondered how people like Lonnie and Jordan could insist he was so fun to be around when he couldn’t make his presence known when he was in the room with the likes of Jay.

But it wasn’t entirely his fault. He was born to be more of a listener than a doer. He preferred being one on one with people. He couldn’t change that. But he could accept it. He could accept that he was never going to be the star of the room and that people may not give him a second glance.

If so, then fuck them. Because it was true. If they could write him off as just forgettable, then he didn’t need their attention anyway.

His shoulder moved and he snapped back to realize he had zoned out in front of Lala. He felt a blush crawl up his neck, making him flush more. He hated how obviously red it was against his olive skin. “Sorry I- I was listening. You really.. I realized..I mean. You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Lala. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that. Thank you.” He leaned forward to hug her but held back. Touchy-feely was not the norm on the Isle, but he felt so grateful for her words that it felt wrong just to say thanks. So he settled for leaning close and smiling. He was pretty sure it was the smile of an idiot but he did it anyway. The nice thing was Lala gave a small-closed lip smile in return and roughly booped his nose.

“I know you needed it. Anyone who is considering to act more like Jay needs to be talked off the deep end.”

Feeling a bit more generous now that he was coming around to accepting he didn’t need to be as cool as Jay to be noticed, Aziz snapped back into psychologist mode, trying to see his observances of Jay through a more objective, less jealous lens.

Not that he had much time to observe Jay since he got hypnotized which was surely a traumatic betrayal on its own since it came from his father’s snake staff. Which spoke to how uncaring and domineering Jafar must be as a father if he felt the need to control his son.

“I don’t know. I think Jay is more than the impulsive idiot you take him for. I believe it's just a facade he puts up.” Aziz mused “To annoy people? It works.” Lala rolled her eyes.

“What went down between you that you hate him so much?” Aziz asked.

“I don’t hate him, I dislike him. He’s annoying. He stole my spears for himself, he thinks he’s so great he tries to fight Mabaya on his own and almost gets both of us killed because again, he took my weapons and then broke them! What idiot tries to chuck a spear out a charging elephant? It does nothing. If he had to throw the spear, he should have aimed at a vital joint or his eye at least. I can’t respect such idiocy.” Lala huffed.

“I understand but he was a bit out of his element in the jungle and it is his fall-back to try to boast and impress. Usually people who do that are trying to hide something.” Aziz said. Then he thought of a saying of his mother. It was a bit of what Vks called, sentimental Auradon crap, but he felt it should be said, “Sometimes we only see how people are different from us. But if you look hard enough, you can see how we are all like.”

“Whatever.” Lala yawned.

“What happened to not judging people? Look beyond the surface.” Aziz teased.

“That was for you. I’m a bad person, I don’t need to follow that rule.” Lala sniffed haughtily.

It would have been so easy to take that as another little joke in their back and forth, but his observing skills struck again. She sounded haughty but her eyes were downcast, and considering what she said that she was too like her mother… she felt it was true.

“You’re not exactly like your mother, you know. I don’t think so at least” Aziz said softly in case Lala didn’t want to broach the subject and could pretend to ignore him.

“I know I’m not exactly like her. I’m only as close to her as she allows me to be. She’s always one step ahead.” Lala muttered, not looking at him. “If I was like her she’d have me be the princess of Opar. But I’m not good enough for that. Not like Tarzan’s children.” “I don’t know Tarzan’s children that well but I don’t think Queen La would find them worthy heirs. I never saw Kerchak swing from a tree or pick up a sharp object in my life. And Victoria-”

“No. Not Tarzan and Jane’s children. Tarzan and my mom’s. The ones she’s planning to have in the future. They don’t even exist and I’m not as good as them according to her because I got one stupid scar and I’m claustrophobic.” Lala scowled, smacking the ground in anger of her own weaknesses.

“You seem to be handling your claustrophobia.” Aziz encouraged. 

“As long as I don’t think about it. That’s why I study so hard. It’s because it takes my mind off where I am, not because it requires my intense study. Trust me. But at night…” Lala inhaled deeply and tensed, “I hate this place. I miss the fresh air and space. Every time someone closes the door, I feel like it's going to be lock with this air that-” She inhaled deeply again.

“Let’s go to a window,” Aziz suggested motioning to leave the room. Lala took the offer eagerly and they bounded up the stairs to Lala’s room, the leopard men obediently behind them.

Lala threw open the windows to the balcony and breathed deeply. A blissful smile enveloped her features as her body relaxed. The wind was out today, and unlike Auradon, this wasn’t a refreshing light breeze. On the Isle, when the wind blew, it blew like a gust and Aziz was impressed that Lala stood straight without bending to its battering assult. But it fit her. Lala was the person who could stand strong against natural forces. Her face perfectly serene as the wind whipped her white braid about and ruffled her long sleeves.

Aziz stood next to her, keeping a hand to the side of his face as the gusts constantly pushed his bangs into his eyes and mouth and became a general nuisance. “I don’t think you’re exactly like your mom. Not just because you can’t live to her caliber.  You’re not shallow considering you speak to a guy who hasn’t rung any animal by his neck. Despite your wish for a kingdom, I don’t think, at least I’m guessing, you don’t have a real desire to lord over others like a tyrant.” 

“From what I’ve observed, and I’m a pretty good observer if I say so myself. You’re reserved because you know that’s the way to survive. But I also think it speaks to how genuine you are. You don’t deal with bullshit, if you respect a person you show it, if you don’t, you don’t. A little blunt but honesty is better than fakery. You seem to actually like learning and challenging yourself with the Atlantean magic. You laughed at my jokes which shows you have a brilliant sense of humor... And despite what you say, you did care about your siblings. You can’t live up to her mom and her imaginary children? Then fuck her. You’re pretty formidable by yourself. You’d be successful as a warrior or a priestess or whatever. You’d have awesome adventures no matter what you do because you’re a badass warrior princess.``

Although she wasn’t looking at him, he could tell she was listening. He could see the corner of her mouth twitching up and down, fighting a smile. So he decided to return the favor and nose boop her to get her attention.

She batted his hand away but a small laugh escaped her lips. “Badass warrior princess. Hmm you observed me very well.”

“Eh little observations here and there, some is just gut instinct. Some people may think a person’s reserve is them being stuck up but I get your’s is more than that.” Aziz coughed as a piece of his hair blew into his mouth.

“People may think you’re forgettable, but I understand you’re more of an observer.” Lala pursed her lips, catching her braid as it flew to hit Aziz’s cheek.

Aziz rubbed his cheek, his mother’s saying popping into his head again. He shrugged, feeling oddly self-conscious and nervous about repeating the quote. Which was weird because he said it about Jay just a few minutes before. But saying it, to Lala, seemed more..more meaningful somehow.

No, he was overthinking all of this again so Aziz ignored it, “Sometimes we only see how people are different from us. But if you look hard enough, you can see how we are all like.”

Lala smiled at him and there was something.. a something in the air. Energy, a vibe, he wasn’t sure but it made the fact that even though they were in the blustery air, he felt as if he were enclosed in a small world between the two of them.  Time to change the subject then!  “So speaking of observing, I haven’t really had the chance to do it around here much, but isn’t it fascinating to watch the people here?” Aziz asked. People watching was his go to subject for most conversations. Not that many people had much to contribute. People watching was not a thing most people engaged in which he thought was a shame. It was the most fun ever! People  had such weird idiosyncrasies even when they did a normal thing like walking past whether it was an odd head bop or having feet pointed in first position or the like.  Lala shrugged and Aziz nodded understandingly. He knew the topic wouldn’t probably go anywhere but then...“What's people watching?”  “Oh it’s this thing where you just sit and watch random people. You know observe their habits, stuff that they do.” Aziz sighed. It was a lot more interesting action than in explanation.  “Oooh!” Lala nodded understandingly, “Like observing your prey and enemies. I’ve done that lots of times. It’s entertaining.”  Aziz’s eyes widened, “You think it’s fun too!” 

Lala looked at him as if he was crazy for suggesting otherwise, “Yes. It’s a useful skill and people do such weird stuff.” 

“Such weird stuff!” Aziz said at the same time, and then he tried to dial down the enthusiasm in his voice when Lala made the “calm down” sign, snorting at his excitement.  “Remember when we were at Gaston’s bar and that Hun guy was fighting Stanley? I noticed in other fights that he does this thing with his head.. ugh I can’t describe it. But like he’d almost twist his...”  ———————————————————————————————

That had been three days ago and they almost talked for an hour when Kaj II growled his warning that Queen La was arriving and Aziz had to swing off the balcony and climb against the wall to the correct balcony that would lead to Jade’s room. 

Not that he had realized it but in hindsight, that might have been the moment he developed a crush on the warrior princess. Ever since then, he just… he just wanted to be around her a little more compared to the others. He wanted to hear more about her opinions or stories or anything she had to say.

And whenever she smiled at his jokes even if she rolled her eyes because it was corny, he felt like he won a tourney victory or something. And she was so..so graceful. Not cat-like graceful but beautiful, every move she makes was stunning.

Not that he allowed himself to think about it too much. There were more important things at stake like saving the world, and if he thought about how he had a crush on Lala then he’d get self-conscious and nervous and he didn’t want that. Their friendship was just fine for him. He was even teaching her monkey. 

Not that it was any of Jordan’s business.

“It’s not important.” Aziz said.

“It better not be. You can try to deny it but I can see that “Can you feel the love tonight” nonsense from a mile away. Why don’t you just forget crushing on mermaids and.. and maybe a nice girl from Agrabah. Or a nice boy. You had such a good time with Mena, remember.” 

“Mena was...Honestly Mena was the only guy I.. I can’t. I keep comparing other men to him which is— Can we not talk about him?” Aziz growled, partly from the memory of his sole boyfriend who had used him for the status of dating a prince and had been cheated on him the whole time, and partly because Jordan was bringing him up even though she knew it was a touchy subject. 

“I know he didn’t work out but it’s like you told me, you can’t give up on the whole male population because of one cheating boyfriend. Cheating would be nothing compared to this. This crush is a mistake.” Jordan huffed.

“Why is it a mistake exactly?” Aziz raised an eyebrow at Jordan’s judgemental attitude. Usually she was all for Aziz meeting someone and start planning their dates even though her tastes were a bit extravagant like setting off fireworks when he leaned in for a kiss.  

“I get the appeal, really. She was a mysterious stranger swinging on a vine. But she’s the same stranger who broke Calix’s arm! He’s lucky that he has magic on his side and could heal the arm that she broke. If he was mortal, he’d be doomed. There’s no hospitals here, we’d have to cut it off.”

“That’s not how unattended broken arms work, Jordan.” Aziz rubbed his temples at her wildly dramatic reasons why having a crush on Lala would be bad, “It doesn’t matter, I’m not going to do anything when there are more important things at stake.”

“I know. I’m just saying you shouldn’t even pursue this when we get back to Auradon. Think about, Aziz. Really think about it. Imagine what would happen if you even got together? She’s the daughter of Queen La. Allah knows that if she got jealous, she’d murder the other person and kill you for looking a for wandering eyes.” Jordan said.

“Then I guess you both have something in common.” Aziz said sarcastically, “Like when you sent your ex a box of scorpions when you found him cheating on you.”

“That’s completely different! He deserved it! You don’t deserve to feel pain. I’m telling you it’s not good to act on love at first sight.”

“Love at first sight?” Aziz scoffed. Did she not even know him? They always joked about people who thought they fell in love at first sight. 

Sure, for some it was true. Auradon was practically built on it but more often than not it could lead to a very difficult marriage. That’s why Snow White took that job as a reporter so she wouldn’t be around King Florian so much.

Jordan should know him better, he may get a crush at first glance, but he wouldn’t act on it unless he was sure there was more.

“I’m not in love with her. I’m not doing anything with her.”

“You’re hanging out with her!” Jordan cried.

“I’m also hanging out with Jade. With your logic, I could be crushing on her. She’s clever, she’s daring, we have things in common, we can do parkour together. Plus she’s the daughter of one of our families’ enemies. Star crossed lovers and all that. It’s a perfect fairytale romance.” Aziz breathlessly mocked.

“Jade is not… she wouldn’t use you like Lala.”

“She’s a Vk, who says Jade wouldn’t.” Aziz pointed out.

“Jade’s like you and me.” Jordan defended lamely.

“How? What? Because she’s descended from Agrabahians?” Aziz cried. He knew she could be judgemental and superficial but really? This?

“No. I mean technically yeah but no. She and Jay. She cares about him. They’re like us.” Jordan said meaningfully, grasping his hands and looking lovingly in his eyes in a way that made Aziz feel small and childish.

He hated it when she got like this. Acting like she was so much more worldly and knowing because she was a genie. She had a duty to protect him, the poor sheltered mortal prince who didn’t know any better or understand the morally grey areas of life. He survived torture in the damn dungeon!

Which now that he thought about it, beyond the hug Jordan hadn’t asked him a single thing about the incident. It seemed to have completely slipped her mind. Yeah, she cared about his safety. But for all the wrong reasons.  

“So? If that was true then why don’t you trust Jay if his bond with Jade is so much like our bond.” Aziz asked, pointing out the hole in her little argument.

“Well um I, Jay’s Jay’s complicated and I mean I don’t distrust him, it’s just after he said that thing about me giving..”

The epiphany dawned on Aziz before Jordan finished her sentence. How could he not have realized it before? It was all Jordan ever worried about.

“It’s because Jade hasn’t asked you for wishes and Lala has. That’s it.”

“She probably figured out that I’d back out of my promise so she’s trying to use you so you could convince me to give her wishes!” Jordan cried like a detective solving a case with her convoluted logic.

“And you think she’s going to seduce me to do that? Do you have so little trust in me?” Aziz used the calm steely tone that he knew would annoy her most. Not only did she act like he was a sheltered, naive mortal but a weak willed one too.

“NO no I do trust you! I know you would never intentionally do that to me. But I don’t want you to get hurt just because she’s manipulating you to get to me!” Jordan screamed, stamping her foot childishly that he was not giving into her.

“How self-absorbed can you get? Jordan, the world doesn’t revolve around you and your powers. Is it such a crazy thought that she might actually fall for me?” Aziz matched his volume to hers.

“Why wouldn’t she want me? I have phenomenal cosmic power and convenience for everyone. A lamp that forces me to obey their desires. You can’t offer her that. You’re just..you.”

Aziz stared at her, the sentence hitting him like a gut punch. He couldn’t believe Jordan of all people was saying this to him. She was the one who always helped him out on dates and assured him that anyone would fall in love with him after

….Maybe all that helping out wasn’t just from the goodness of her heart? It was because she secretly thought he couldn't get a girl on his own. Why would he with his so few talents? He wasn’t debenoir or charming enough like Jay. He wasn’t going to inherit the throne like other princes. What did he have to offer that the other boys at Auradon Prep couldn’t offer or even top? All he had was a genie friend who’d make “a whole new world”  dates.

Moreover, it hurt. His best friend in the world also thought that he wasn’t good enough on his own. She thought he needed her to survive through life and love and all those trials.

Now he was glad he told Lala how he felt ignored. Clearly his so-called “best friend/wingwoman/sister” was too oblivious and selfish to comfort him. Not even that. She secretly shared everyone else’s opinion that he was forgettable!

“Me? What does that-“ Aziz snarled.

“I-I just don’t want you to spend so much time with her.” Jordan seemed to sense his anger and began backtracking, “You know I don’t have a lot of people to hang out with. So many people just want me for my wishes. You-you don’t want to use me. You’re my best friend. That’s why I need you. After everything I’ve done for you, all I’m asking is for you to be my friend.” Aziz heard her but didn't listen, her hurtful words still ringing in his ears. Besides that was completely unbelievable. She was afraid of losing him? That was a ridiculous idea and she knew that. If she was going to lie to his face, she could try to make it believable! 

And what? It wasn’t like he owed her for everything she had done for him. That wasn’t how friendship worked! He didn’t ask her to do things and join adventures. She did it herself because she was his friend. 

Or he had thought it was because they were sibling/friends. Apparently it was because she believed he needed her. 

“You need me around forever to sooth your constant paranoid insecurity. I get it.” Aziz rolled his eyes sarcastically. 

“It’s not a paranoid insecurity. It’s a fact.” Jordan claimed.

“Jordan, have you ever thought, maybe the reason people will only look at you for your wishes is because your general personality is unbearable to deal with. That’s why no one wants to be your friend. There’s nothing likable to be friends with but thank Allah, at least if they hang around long enough they’ll get wishes out of you.” Aziz snapped.

Jordan froze, clearly hurt by the sound of the crack in her voice, “Do you feel that way too?”

Aziz didn’t give himself time to think. She didn’t deserve any amount of comfort from him after what she just said. She didn’t need to act like she knew everything about life and treat him like an incapable, forgettable mortal. That was what he was to her, a mortal. And he knew from all their talks together just how little she respected mortals. And apparently he was no exception. 

“Yes, sometimes I do.”

For a brief eerie moment, the wind was sucked out of the room and silence reigned. Oppressive, weighty silence that he could literally feel pressing against his chest and head and the rest of his body. He began to wonder if he should try to escape, that Jordan was about to do something they’d both regret.

“GET OUT!!” Jordan screamed.

“I can’t get out. You control your lamp.” Aziz hissed through his teeth to keep from yelling again. 

“Fuck you.” The sight of Jordan giving him the finger was his last vision before pink smoke and sand fogged up his view and he rudely fell to the floor.

He glared at the lamp, imagining its arrogant, selfish, all knowing, cosmic occupant pacing the floor, creating a mini sand storm in her anger. Fine.

“Fuck you too.”

[wilhelmjfink]

The Great Divide - Chapter 13

Riley had returned to her barracks, beaten, exhausted and filthy, greeted by Lidia who was on her way out the door to head to her own miserable job.

She’d gasped at the sight of Riley and when she’d asked what they’d done to her, she responded by bursting into tears that she simply couldn’t contain anymore.

The stress, both physical and mental, hovered over her ruthlessly as she slowly made her way back to her cot, limping against the destroyed skin on her feet but ignoring the torn flesh on her shin that stood out drastically against the dull aching she felt over every single inch of her body. She’d been told she could go back to her cot and rest until the following morning, when” The Reaping” required all of the slaves to gather in the town square. But until then, she would crawl under the stiff sheet and cradle herself for warmth and affection and comfort, and cry about everything that had happened to her over the course of the last week. How much she missed Daryl, mostly. The rest of her friends and family weighed heavily on her mind and heart. And the events of that day held her tightly as well in the form of hot, itchy skin and throbbing wounds and horrible memories she tried to forget.

Lidia hadn’t pried anymore as she tended to Riley’s wounds, washing the reddened skin on her leg gently with a worn cloth and dirty drinking water, and even cleaning her feet before wrapping them both in thick adhesive ace bandages, shielding them from anymore harm, at least for a little while. And Riley had lay still as she scrubbed the warm water against her flushed skin, removing the layer of dirt and smog that had clung to her and made her feel more than disgusting and filthy. The sensation had her slowly succumbing to the lingering exhaustion, her eyelids heavy as lead and fluttering shut peacefully.

“You’re strong, Riley.”

She barely heard the words, eyes closed in a half slumber happily being taken over by unconsciousness. “I believe in you, honey, and... I’m so very, very sorry.”

Riley was far too tired to question what she was apologizing for.

When she awoke next it was to bells ringing loudly, the high pitched vibrations feeling close enough to be inside her head. She thought she’d dreamt them, picturing the bronze bell at the top of her school that rung out every hour and a half between periods and finally once more at the end of the day, signaling her time to leave. But the visions didn’t feel real and Riley knew she was only dreaming -- she’d gotten very accustomed to the foggy world between her unconscious and reality.

So she pried her eyes open, lids stuck together from a lack of sleep. The few hours she’d been able to doze off let her bones rest so then her entire body ached with every minuscule movement, from cracking her toes to forcing herself upright and trying to stretch with a pained whimper.

The others around her were already bustling, throwing their clothing on and heading out the door rapidly and Riley assumed that she should probably follow them.

Her feet were still bandaged, thanks to Lidia, and she silently shared her gratitude again for the help, even though the older lady was nowhere in sight.

It was never easy to tell what time of day it was at The Divide on account of the perpetual layer of smog and smoke that lingered and turned the atmosphere far too dark to tell where the sun was shining. Following the line of workers in front of her she wrapped her arms around herself for  at least some sense of security, feeling exceptionally vulnerable and unsafe out in the crowd of hectic people running all around her. Women, children, and eventually as she wandered deeper into town, the men trickled in. People were everywhere, whispers and hushes all around her mixed with averted gazes and wide, scared eyes.

The crowd stopped around an old fountain, the concrete bone dry and splotches of it stained a dark red from either running rust or blood or a combination of both. Cracks ran up the side and she found her way over to one solid spot, leaning against it to get off of her aching feet.

“Well, well, well, it’s already that time again!”

A voice came through a megaphone or speakers somewhere and Riley craned her neck to see over the sea of heads in front of her. She could hardly make out a man up on the balcony of what looked like an old hotel, almost like he was a pope addressing his fucking disciples. It disgusted her at first, but she quickly curbed her attitude to match the fear and silence around her as every single worker in her sight dropped down to one knee and bowed to him.

It had to be ‘Asher’; the feared dictator that everyone had whispered about.

Trying to remain invisible she joined the crowd in their bows, wincing as her bones cracked and her injured knee stung against the asphalt beneath her.

“Productivity has been at an all time high. And I am...  pleased with the way things are going right now. Very pleased, indeed, to say the least”

His words were drawn out and accentuated and she could almost guarantee that he was some sort of actor or historical reinactor before the world turned, his dramatic complex irritating her instantly. But she supposed that was how he got to the top in the first place -- a smooth talking, charismatic, deceiving asshole that stepped on every single person he came across until he was in control. Mussolini, Adolf Hitler -- fuck, that all seemed like it was millenniums ago.

She wondered if they would be reading about Asher in a history book a hundred years from that moment.

“Morale needs a little improvement,” he chuckled dryly. “But, we’re working on that. And so brings us to today -- the day of our twenty-forth Reaping.”

That’s right -- Riley was told that they were due for a ‘Reaping’ at any day. One of the workers would be chosen to fight one of Asher’s toughest soldiers for a chance at leaving behind the shitty worker life and becoming a soldier themself. It reminded her of The Hunger Games, her favorite series when she was a freshman in high school. She’d always been able to see the world turning into a cruel, sick game just like that story, but never in her lifetime. It had her feeling like she was living a nightmare, watching life go by while she stood idly by unable to do anything about it.

“Each month, one brave worker chosen by their peers will go into the Pit with one of The Divide’s strongest fighters, battling each other in a unarmed brawl, one-on-one, until one of them goes down or forfeits, to determine the stronger of the two, and bring forth our bravest and toughest fighters to The Divide Army, and prepare generations to come to be valuable soldiers as we rebuild society.”

Earlier she’d been told that it was a volunteer that went up. Did that mean they would remain there until somebody eventually offered themselves up? Or did the slaves really choose them? She couldn’t help but feel as though that was a lie made up as a scare tactic, but she had no idea.

“The last six that went up against Raul failed miserably,” he continued. Well, at least there were winners in the relatively recent past, so it couldn’t be that bad. Right? “Hopefully this month’s fighter won’t disappoint. Lidia, the stage, please.”

Riley’s heart dropped and her head snapped up -- Lidia? Christ, she wasn’t the one having to fight, was she? If she was, Riley would have to volunteer in her spot -- she would literally have to. She simply could not let that woman subject herself to all of that, not at her age and condition, and by the looks of Raul who stood boldly beside Asher... fuck, he was a big dude.

Lidia stepped quietly up to the microphone, clearing her throat, but holding her head up high as if she’d done this a hundred times before. Was she announcing the lucky worker who got chosen? It was cruel to make her call them; the workers all thought so highly of her.

“On behalf of The Divide workers, for the twenty fourth Reaping,” she was reading from a little note card and though she stood strong, her voice was wavering just enough for Riley to tell she was at least a little bit nervous. “We offer Riley Herrington to fight Sir Asher’s soldier.”

Wait. She didn’t understand at first. Offer? Wasn't it supposed to be a volunteer basis? Riley didn’t remember agreeing to anything. How did she get picked out of everybody? It had to be rigged. There was no other explanation.

Unless...

“Oh, dear Lidia, always offering us the newbies,” she could hear the smile in Asher’s voice. “Miss Herrington? Come forth, please!”

But her feet were rooted to the ground, cinder blocks tied to her legs. She didn’t even get a chance to stand herself upright before hands came from all around to pull her up and before she knew it she was being dragged before she could even register what was going on.

The crowd of workers that surrounded her seemed oddly comfortable making eye contact with her then, all of them watching her as she was pulled by two Slavemasters up front, some looking sorry for her, others looking relaxed and calm, and relieved that they weren’t in her shoes -- shit, she didn’t even have any fucking shoes on.

“W...What?” She finally stammered something out, her brain lagging slowly behind reality as it slowly caught up with the situation at hand. “Wait...”

...always offering us the newbies...

No... There was no fucking way.

But Asher, seemingly reading her mind, continued his spiel. “Thank you, Lidia! Hopefully your choice will not disappoint this time...”

Riley knew then what had happened. It was in the back of her mind, deep down, and the realization was heavy, settling like a rock in her gut. Lidia had offered her up. The one woman that shown her any hint of kindness and warmth from the moment she’d gotten there days ago, had offered her up to fight to the death against a man that was easily twice her size and strength and she hardly seemed bothered that she had to do so.

“You fucking bitch!” Riley finally snapped, shooting daggers at Lidia who stared blankly at her as she was drug by. “You miserable fucking cunt -- you...”

“Ooh, this one is feisty!” Asher’s voice interrupted her tantrum and Riley fought the urge to start screaming at him, too, “I have a good feeling about this one!”

No wonder Lidia was so unfazed by anything. No wonder she coped with the misery The Divide held for her so well. There was some sort of agreement, some secret plan that Riley had clearly not been in on. And now she was fucked. She’d tried so fucking hard -- so hard! She’d worked so hard the day before, she’d confided in Lidia and heeded her advice and her warnings -- were those even legitimate? Or had it been part of her elaborate plan all along?

Riley was livid, tears of frustration burning in her eyes as she was dragged through the double doors of the old hotel, away from the crowd and away from Lidia. She didn’t even know what exactly it was she was shouting at her, but none of the curses or screams seemed to quell the anger and betrayal she was feeling.

Once again, she had to pay the price for trusting so fucking easily.

Riley was still screaming at Lidia when they’d shut the doors behind her, closing off the outside world and locking her into what she was certain was not going to be good.

“Quit yer bitchin’!” The guy that held onto her twisted his grip on her arm, shutting almost her up while she fell backward into him just to prevent him from snapping her arm in half. “Fuck’s sake, lady! Jeez...”

Now that Riley had accepted her fate, she decided that there was nothing left that was preventing her from at least trying to escape, right?

She smashed her head backwards into his with another yell; the sound of crunching bone and cartilage churned her stomach, but she still managed successfully broke herself free from his grasp.

After she shook him off she got maybe four or five steps before there were two other guards on her before she could even blink and they harshly tackled her down to the ground.

She hit the ground hard, grunting as it knocked the wind out of her, and struggled against the two men that wrestled with her, her arms flailing and legs trashing as she tried to escape. Her tired muscles screamed underneath the two men and they quickly overpowered her, and she known it was pointless; she’d lasted just a few seconds before they had her face down with strong hands holding her feet and her head, crushing her face into the dirty old carpet. Then they handcuffed her, like she was being detained.

She was so mad, so furious, felt so betrayed and so wronged. So hurt.

“Quit your fucking squirming!” The authoritative, booming voice had her stilled in half of a second, suddenly more terrified of the people around her than she’d been before. It was not a doped-up raider like the others out there were. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but she knew that she didn’t want to fuck with him. And apparently, she needed to learn to start trusting her gut better.

“Pick her up.”

She was pulled roughly to her feet and faced a broad man, tall and strong, standing before her. Wearing the standard armor she’d seen of most of the Slavemasters but decorated with what she assumed were some sort of military-esque ribbons and medals he oozed confidence — too much of if, she thought immediately though it looked to be well deserved. He reminded her of a drill sergeant or an army general by the way he carried himself. He was definitely in charge... and pretty ruggedly handsome, she had to admit.

Though his sculpted jaw line and dark olive skin did little to alleviate the fear she had brewing inside of her at that moment, having regretted her precious decisions to lash out.

He had a bronze name plate on his chest: ASHER.

He continued to stare at her in a painful silence, eyeing her up and down in consideration as if he was purchasing a vehicle. Or better yet, cattle, as she so often felt herself being treated as.

“Tonight will be very interesting,” he finally said, not taking his dark hazel eyes off of her body. She felt incredibly vulnerable underneath his gaze, naked almost, and when he smiled, she quickly knew how he’d worked his way to the top. The type of sinister, maniacal person that he was, it was written all over his character.

She lip quirked up into a snarl, like a cornered feral dog, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end with a chill that went down her spine.

He merely chuckled at her demeanor. “If I were you, I would save that energy for this evening. You’re going to need it.”

[notoriousjae]

The 72 Rules of Cat Grant || Supercat (8/?)

Chapter Title: Diving 

Pairing: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

“I like this side of you.” Cat decides, throat bobbing as she swallows the offering.

“Of course you do. Because you’re so certain that it’s all your fault.” The tease causes another laugh and when Cat reaches across the desk, Kara runs fingers along her palm until she can hear her heartbeat ease into the softest staccato among the constant fluttering of pens outside this closed-off office of glass.

Note: Finally mostly up-to-date with all this jazz. 

Chapter 1: AO3 Link | FF.Net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 2: A03 Link | FF.net Link | Tumblr

Chapter 3: AO3 Link | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 4: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 5: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 6: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 7: AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr

Chapter 8: AO3 | FF.Net | Below:

It’s day five (and a half) by the time Kara feels her whole life flash before her eyes. Fortunately, the majority of it (where she had a fitful sleep for twenty-four years or so, waking up every few minutes or hours or years to gasp until the life support systems would guide her back into oblivion) is lost in favor of remembering the way Alex had looked when she took her flying the first time, mixed with a murky memory of how Catherine’s smile can catch sunlight. Kara doesn’t have much time to think, at all, and those two images seem to be the best her mind can come up with when her body is thrown through a concrete barrier, fingers scratching at cement to catch her before she can plummet into the murky waters below.

This is officially not her most graceful fight.

The overwhelming taste of green and copper is nauseating-- this is what nausea feels like--and when Kara spits, red spews like paint splatter against the dirty canvas of a life-stained bridge, stumbling to shaky knees when unfocused blue eyes spot the sight of her cousin towering over heaving shoulders of the man in front of her.

This isn’t the first time they’ve met. It’s the fourth, in fact.

It’s the same man, Kara realizes with a sinking dread, that had tried to kill Lena Luthor a few hours before--who had nearly killed her sister a few moments later --and the rage is displayed by another mouthful of something else when he rushes forward, fingers curling around a swallowing neck like an iron vice as she spits what blood she has into his face in defiance.

He merely wipes it away with a rumbling chuckle, the coldness of it seeping far deeper than the Kryptonite does. Which is saying something, because the green is slowly slithering up her spine like a venomous snake and breath is becoming ragged against a swelling tongue.

Powerless.

Kal-El rushes to stop him, but the Kryptonite seems to seep into his bones when Metallo (that’s apparently his name, he likes to throw it around like a trademark) blasts him in the chest, her cousin’s body skittering across the bridge like a lifeless ragdoll and Supergirl struggles against hands made of steel she can’t bend as the glow of green overtakes her, body raising limply into the air as her bending throat creaks like a rusty metal door underneath the weight of his hand.

Definitely not her most graceful fight.

There’s countless flashes from the few spattered civilians brave enough to remain on the bridge and when one throws something at Metallo's head to distract him, Kara lets out a rasping--

“ Don’t --”

--even as the action causes a deathgrip to ease, just a little, because the last thing she wants is for them to die defending her.

Kara really doesn’t want anyone to die, actually. Herself and Kal-El included. Because this shouldn’t be it--it shouldn’t be today--not the day when she’d left Winn asleep on his couch to go stop a robbery. Not the day she hasn’t seen James at all. She hasn’t written Lois. She hasn’t laid out her letters. She’d left a cup of coffee on Cat’s desk with no explanation, this morning and hadn't been the person to leave her lover's third, and had left her relationship with Alex in tatters over a very ill-executed suggestion of Metropolis in her apartment, and they haven’t made it to lunch with Eliza , yet, who is probably making the best sandwiches on any coast, and Kal-El--

Kal-El is stumbling towards them, as powerless as she is from the Kryptonite, and the last daughter of the House of El lets out a quiet, frustrated curse of an apology in Kryptonian, before shoving her hand as hard as she can into the green, glowing pit where a heart should be in this man’s chest with a groan of agony to draw his attention towards her.

Before doing what’s probably the stupidest thing she can think of, but the best option for getting him off this bridge and away from Kal-El--away from the people who are now rushing to help her--

A gasp as fingers claw, memories of a green ring and determined eyes and her sister--her sister--

Kara throws all of her body weight just like her sister had taught her, hand curling in this green abyss (this must feel like what shoving a human’s entire arm into a spreading, growing lava would be) feeling the tendrils of it spreading from her wrist to her arm to her neck. She inhales and exhales and suddenly her breath is green and her eyes are green and her world, weak and small and powerless, is green--

Her leg sweeps underneath his thigh and her nails dig in and pull him closer, not further away--

And she throws them both off the edge of the bridge with a pained gasp, the only thing she can manage, the man’s grunt of surprise in her ear overtaken by a string of very british-sounding curses.

Because only one of them can fly.

It’s halfway through their descent, however, that Kara realizes neither one of them can fly and swallows, eyes closing as she feels the wind rush through her hair and the sound of screams in her ears, and has just enough time to fish out the bracelet in her breast, bringing it up to her lips with a faint apology, holding it with what strength she still has.

Today should not be the day for this.

She didn’t say goodbye.

--

The sun is high and bright and beautiful and Kara’s shoulders almost lazily sag underneath the weight of it as she leans against Catherine’s desk, a takeout box settled on wood and a coffee settled very, very close to her chest. A few moments after depositing them, she decides to plop knowingly--easily--into the chair, instead, and it's a testament to how distracted the CEO must be because there isn't even a half-hearted chide dancing along the office walls, dripping with forced insult and barely-concealed amusement.

“Doesn’t it ever grow tiring, Kara?” Cat quietly asks, eyes settled on a clock and Kara has the most ridiculous urge to skim her lover’s fingers along the edge of gold around her wrist, instead. “Knowing I’ll be here at exactly the same time, every morning. Putting out the same fires with different names. Arguing over semantics. Doesn’t a young girl like you find it tedious dealing with the boring, repeatable minutiae of life?”

“I never get tired of seeing you at 7:05 on the dot, Cat. I actually love minutiae.” Kara shakes her head, coming forward with curled fingers at her lap to keep from running them along the lines of a brow that shouldn’t crinkle quite so deeply. Trying to follow the look in her eyes feels like chasing the tail end of a comet through the stars, something she’ll never be quick enough to wrap her fingers around, and when Cat lets a quiet sigh between the gap of her teeth, she feels succinctly like she’s said the wrong thing. “But I…”

“Of course you don’t, Kara. You haven’t been stuck in an endless Groundhog Day cycle of trying to turn around incompetence, doing the same thing for two decades.” Cat cuts her off, focusing back down on the paper underneath her and a small laugh bubbles up, unbidden, on Kara’s lips, trying to cover it with her hand. It rumbles between them and a singular eyebrow arches over the silver frame of glasses in unimpressed question. “I wasn’t aware my problems amused you. I suppose that’s what I get for paying Lucy van Pelt the 5 cents. Hell, you’ve barely even been alive for two decades, you’re like a perky little goldfish floating around, seeing everything for the first time and then forgetting five seconds later.”

Seeing the tension on Cat’s face, Kara tries to take the insult in stride because the moment she’d walked into a building she currently (for a few more hours) isn’t employed at, she could feel the heat off of Cat’s shoulders. And watch the after-effects of it, given the scurrying employees that told her to run while she could the moment she stepped on the 40th floor.

“Okay, forgetting the fact that you just called me a goldfish, I’m only laughing because I…” Eyes flick behind them and she scoots a chair closer to the desk, uninvited, and ignores the sigh she can practically feel bubbling up on familiar shoulders. “It was the word choice, Cat. I literally spent two decades in space. And I mean literally. Twenty-four years of floating around. Doing the same thing.”

It’s a rare treat to see surprise barely widen those eyes and Kara shakes her head.

“...that’s new information.” Cat’s careful with her word choice and Kara still sees that journalist in the corner of her eyes--squinting and quiet--even as she sees the lover in her clearer and clearer each day, in the way her finger so carefully squeezes the edge of her pen.

“It’s boring information.” The last thing she needs in this week is to see mockups on James’ desk referencing her twenty-four year casting as Sleeping (not) Beauty. She’s trying her best to keep Supergirl out of the news this week. She’s been in it enough, with Metallo. “I wasn’t kidding about the floating. But either way, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Cat hums, dipping back in her chair, eyes ever assessing, and Kara leans forward to chase that comet, wrists resting on a desk, “There’s a quote I always think of when I think of you, Catherine--”

“You do realize a person who relies on quotes so often usually does so because they don’t have original thoughts?”

Kara’s eyes barely slit, finger raising, “Okay, that’s the second time. I’m letting you slide because I know you’re obviously stressed and it’s rare for you to talk to me about anything so you’re vulnerable and...and grumpy and I do not want to accidentally get Eve fired so I’m keeping my mouth shut,” She straightens her blouse a little, shoulders tightening as her finger wags, voice even and pointed because sometimes Catherine needs a bit of a push back, “But it’s technically not my job to get you coffee, anymore, and I swear I won’t do it if you keep this up, Ms. Grant. Because this one? This coffee’s mine, and I won’t share.”

Okay, it’s not her best threat.

“Oh, you won’t get me coffee ,” Cat drawls, calling her on it, “My world is ending. It’s almost like I don’t have a thousand nameless employees all perfectly capable of doing menial--”

“ Cat .” Kara’s jaw clenches and her voice sounds every bit as strong as the House of El and, amazingly, she watches fingers pinch at the bridge of a nose before they slowly slide off glasses, a hint of remorse settling in a familiar gaze even if her tone is intentionally--it must be intentionally--bored.

“I’m sorry , whatever.” But dark eyes flick towards the balcony and a small sigh lowers shoulders, quieter--barely a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Kara takes that as her cue to slowly stand, shutting the office door and lowering the blinds--it’s not an uncommon occurrence mid-day for Cat to need a moment, another migraine tucking at the back of her throat--and a softness tips up lips when she sees a familiar hand splayed over the desk like Cat hasn’t expected her to turn around, at all. At the sight of a frown and a down-turned chin, Kara rushes to assure against such a nonsensical fear, voice the same humming volume of the background news coverage she clicks off (an earlier fight between the superheroes and Metallo) when she promises: “I wasn’t leaving, Cat.”

Catherine lets out a slow, slow breath, fingers rubbing at her temples, and Kara leans against a desk--lowers hands with a teasing, knowing bat to an older pair--and lovingly does it for her, hands smoothing against skin underneath the tight line of perfectly-styled hair that falls between them.

“If you scared me off with a couple of mood swings, I wouldn’t have made it past my first hour of working here. Definitely not the morning after we were together the second time.” There’s a faint, almost fond chuckle at the memory of it, “Or maybe I just forget,” It’s sing-song--beaming, “Because I’m a goldfish.”

Cat sags into her hands, a hint of a warm laugh breaking against her wrists, and lips brush over a tilted forehead in a soft gesture--a gentle forgiveness and quiet hello--a hint of gratitude, even, for being able to be right here for her. It’s the equivalent, Kara knows, of not going onto that balcony alone, and she won’t forsake it.

“I should have stuck with golden retriever.” Fingers curl around Kara’s wrist, nose turning into a palm, and when carefully-blackened eyelashes flutter, Kara can see an ocean of open green in Catherine’s eyes.

“Goldfish is fine. I think I like it. Mainly because, normally when people call me a dog, they’re using another word for it and they’re usually very loud.” A sage nod, “ Very angry. And it’s usually? When I’m helping put them in handcuffs.” Her nose wrinkles and Cat laughs and just like that, the day is a little brighter.

“Well the handcuffs could be arranged.” That’s a decidedly lower drawl and Kara flushes from it--crosses her leg on the edge of the desk--bites the edge of her lip underneath the faintest hint of a blush as she leans forward, a breath above Cat’s knowing eyes.

“Well, if you like being tied up, I have a cape that doesn’t fray.” It’s out of her mouth before she realizes she’s even said it and her cheeks turn the same shade as said cape at the image, clearing her throat a little, unused to being so brazen underneath the warmth of the sun but not shying away from it, fingers lowering from temples to skim along a cheek, a moment later hopping up and dutifully retrieving two pills and a glass of water before resuming her perch, those eyes heating skin far better than the sun ever has as she does.

“I like this side of you.” Cat decides, throat bobbing as she swallows the offering.

“Of course you do. Because you’re so certain that it’s all your fault.” The tease causes another laugh and when Cat reaches across the desk, Kara runs fingers along her palm until she can hear her heartbeat ease into the softest staccato among the constant fluttering of pens outside this closed-off office of glass, “If you haven’t the strength to impose your own terms upon life. You must accept the terms it offers you.”

“That’s the quote?” A thoughtful hum, but Cat doesn’t pull away, taking another drag of water as elegantly as a socialite might a glass a wine. “That sounds...familiar.”

“T.S. Eliot,” Kara supplies, “ The Confidential Clerk .”

“Of course, everything you could have possibly quoted by T.S. Eliot and some obscure play marks the top of the list.” The glass sets down on the edge of a desk, a reflection of Cat’s quirking lips caught along the edge of it like how stars catch in the glass of her bedroom window, at night.

“ I’m not the one that likes to drop Superfluous Man into the middle of a conversation.” Kara challenges and Cat leans fully back in her chair, fingers idly twining in a familiar pair, so casual and thoughtless that it makes a young smile soften.

“Oh, I really like this side of you.” A nail skims along the inside of Kara’s index finger and she laughs, raising it up to smiling lips.

“My point,” Kara tries because she’s hardly as motivational as the woman she’s attempting to motivate, “Is that you’re a strong woman, Cat, and in anything I’ve ever seen you do--anything you’ve ever done? You’re the one making the terms. You didn’t like that journalism was male-dominated--had no place for women, at all--so you one-upped the scene. You created every form of media sensation possible with, yes, a whole lot of work, you never stop telling any of us about the work, but you did it. Journalism, news, TV, radio. I’m sure people told you you couldn’t be a single mother and a CEO and CatCo is better than ever. And Carter is the smartest, most talented, brilliant kid I’ve ever met.”

Cat hums, a hint of pride flashing over a wistful smile at mention of her son, “That’s certainly true.”

“Even in the hard things, when you gave up your son,” Kara gently reminds, “Society says you can’t have it both ways, and you’re making things with Adam work--and before you blame me for any of that,” Kara raises her free hand, “This relationship with him? It’s all you. It’s on both of your terms, not what anyone else thinks of it.”

A slow, almost shaking breath straightens shoulders, “Also insightful, in a very odd way.”

A beat, "This isn't about the dinner with Adam, right?" 

Thankfully, Cat smiles, "No." So Kara continues, thankful and glad (and thinking that she should really go check that Facebook message).

“You paved the way, Cat. For women. You paved the way for all of us to be taken seriously without having to dress like men , either. Which, you know, is nice. Please no comments about my wardrobe.” That's a hasty addition, flushing and barreling on before Cat can get a word in edge-wise, “You’re a mother and successful. You have a portfolio that your accountant says is so well-rounded you could have your own gravitational field.” Kara shakes her head, pressing, “Even our relationship, Cat,” It’s gentler, voice dipping the same moment Cat’s eyelashes do, “We’re against all odds here, but instead of giving up, you created the terms. We both did. We’re making it work so far, aren’t we?”

“It’s been a few days , Kara.” Kara can hear it. She can hear Catherine’s breath catch against the edge of teeth--can feel her pulse barely quicken--but the almost shy smile that tucks up the edges of curving lips, amused and fond, is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“It’s been five months, Catherine. Almost six.” It’s an argument she’ll never give up and the fact that Cat doesn’t even try is more than telling, “And we’ve survived. We’re forging new relationship territory, remember? You’re...you’re a woman who changes the world without changing herself to fit it. I’m in awe of it, sometimes, Cat. It’s hard not to be. But it’s just who you are. So why...why would this be any different? You’re talking about CatCo, right? About being unhappy here?”

A grousing hum is all the answer Kara needs, because this is a subject they've broached only in the darkest mist of night.

“Because it’s my entire company, Kara. It’s…” Cat sucks in a breath, frustration quickly overwhelming any traces of her smile, “I’ve spent so long building this empire. This image. My family and--”

“And the things you love, that you throw your whole heart into, aren't as disposable as you want to think.” Kara boldly notes, watching the way Cat's fingers barely flex and leaning closer before she can pull away, voice quiet, because she doesn’t think this is about them, she knows it’s about Cat. Cat’s happiness. And to Kara, that's more important than them. “I don't know what you're thinking of, Cat. I just know... you're not happy with the way things are here, anymore. I get it. And I know you could never leave CatCo or anything,” She laughs at the ridiculous thought and looks curiously at the profile of a woman who suddenly seems content to look through the windows to a balcony overlooking her city--content to look anywhere but Kara. “I know we talk a lot about duty and...that people depend on us.” Kara doesn’t like the way Cat seems to be caught outside, reaching forward to gently tuck up a chin--to bring a gaze up to meet her own away from the city they’ve sworn to protect. “But there's so many ways to help the world, aren't there? And if the way CatCo is doing it isn't what you want anymore...then I don't think anyone on this planet--on any planet, and I've been to a lot of them--is more capable of changing the terms of the world to fit how she thinks the world should be. If you’re not happy, you’ll change it.”

“You...really mean that, don't you? You really think it could just be that easy. Just change the world.” Cat scoffs a little, but there's something so hopeful in her eyes, Kara's words a near tipping point in a game of dominoes. Kara doesn't know what she's done, and likely never will. “You’re so young.”

“Maybe.” Kara concedes, “On this subject you’re definitely the mentor.” Her smile turns sheepish, “Okay, on most subjects you’re my mentor. In fact, I’ve spent a long time studying you, Cat--I'm still adamant that that was part of my job description--so you should be able to take my word for why I believe it’s possible. It’s because you’ve already done it. Your whole life. If you're not happy, and I think you deserve to be happy--you deserve...so much. To be happy,” It’s cold when she drops fingers from a chin, offering a supportive smile, instead, “Then you'll find a way. And if there's anything I can do at all, to help…”

A hand waves towards herself--hopeful and eager and honest--not understanding the hint of conflict settling so deeply, however brief, on Cat's features.

It’s only a moment--a flicker of vulnerability--but she’ll never forget it, the faint flicker of something dark casting shadows over the bright light of Catherine’s lips. It makes Kara stumble a little over the words, enamored by it:

“You should focus on it. The being happy part, remember?”

Kara thinks it must be the weight of figuring out what to do with CatCo--even feels a naive, righteous sense of warmth in her chest from having helped in even the smallest ways--and she'll never quite understand the look in Cat's eyes.

Because that’s the thing with those small, hidden moments before everything changes, it’s impossible to recognize them as lasts until they’re gone. Kara has pockets full of moments just like this one stuffed in a hidden compartment by her heart--her mother’s fingers skimming along the edge of a necklace as she explains love; her father’s eyes brightening as he taps knuckles along a sculpture; Astra’s lips in a dream brushing over her forehead; and this, this moment of Cat’s eyes haunted and conflicted, holding onto something like a planet that’s turning green from the inside out, determined to take the galaxy with it.

Kara towers over Catherine and watches green eyes catch in the sun, the memory burnt on the back of eyelids with a unforgiving sting of a fountain pen. There’s a breath that tumbles from Catherine’s parted lips that means something in its indefinite silence--that hints towards a lifetime of possibilities unsaid--and Catherine almost says something--maybe almost says everything --and this small, simple little exchange is what will play on repeat for months.

Kara Danvers will play it over and over and over again like nails desperately scratching at a broken record. She'll replay the way Cat's hair falls in front of her eyes as her nose dips. The way that her eyes almost shine above those shadows of her cheeks. The way her breath rattles and quakes. The way those fingers curl nails in anxiety and promise.

The way Catherine's lips part and she...says nothing, at all.

What did you want to say?

Kara will beg her to say it. She’ll never scream--never fall to her knees in rage and loss--she’ll never argue or even actually ask anyone but a figment of a ghost of someone she swore not to love--she’ll beg an empty corner of her bed that’s no longer cold, and that’s worse, somehow.

But right now, happy and light and carefree, Kara doesn't notice, instead drumming her fingers on the edge of a desk with a light shrug, too busy trying to pull Cat out of her own head to dive into it, instead. Because that’s her job, these days, she feels, even when she doesn’t exactly have one--to keep Catherine from collapsing in on herself like a singularity with hope and love, alone.

“I was only kidding about not getting you coffee.” Kara smiles and Cat's eyelashes flutter as she lets out that almost quivering breath, nails curling into her desk. It must be nerves or exhaustion but Kara is determined to help cure either, promising, “Let me go grab it for you. Before you can tell me it's not my job, I want to.” A genuine smile, “The little things. I won’t be able to come back here today, anyways, so I’d...like to.”

A foot turns on a heel, intent on walking away and she makes it to the door, fingers curling around warm metal but knowing better to raise the blinds until Cat is ready. Something else she'll have to inform Eve and she's so focused on mentally running through the list in her desk--distracted by the thought of making sure that Ms. Grant has the best replacement possible (did she miss telling Eve anything, while she's here?)--that she almost misses the way Cat's voice quakes when she barely whispers her name.

“Kara?”

Another turn on her heel with a soft hum of question, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of a nose. The sun has settled in Golden hair and showcases the shadows underneath eyes and for one of the few times Kara will ever see it, Catherine Grant visibly hesitates.

Her mouth stills--words halt--and her lips press a thin line. The smile that follows is forced but genuine, something deep cemented in resolution in the depth of her lover's eyes as she jokes:

“My hero.” There’s a quiver at the edge of her lips--a shine to that endless, painting of eyes before Cat’s looking back down. Back to work. “Scalding hot, please.”

But there sounds like there's truth in it--like Cat believes she's a hero through and through--and it makes Kara beam, turning around to get that third latte of the day.

“Anything for you, Ms. Grant.”

Her phone dings at Noonan’s ten minutes later, a freeze-frame of stolen pictures and smiling eyes there to greet smiling eyes.

Thank you.

Teeth tuck at lips and when her phone buzzes again, blue soften and for a second the latte she’s grabbed might actually feel warm against her open hand.

“Boyfriend?” Eve’s tired voice--Kara sympathizes because boy does she still remember her first day, even if this is technically Eve's second--calls around her shoulder, light and kind and knowing and she quickly tucks away her phone, shrugging a shoulder.

“Just a nice text for a nice day.” She offers, instead, eyes flicking down to the mug before raising it up, “Think you’re ready to deliver this one on your own?”

Eve looks terrified.

“Oh, come on, I promise, it won’t be that bad. You’ve done it twice and she hasn’t killed you, right?”

Kara takes another look at her phone, wise enough to hide her smile, this time.

I’m sorry.

A quick reply hidden by her hip--

I’m sticking by the goldfish. It’s forgotten. Really. We’re more than ok Cat. Eve’s bringing you your caffeine fix so please be nice.

Adding for good measure--

Please be nice *Ms. Grant*. Typo?

Even better measure:

Ms. Grant, who has the right to fire anyone she wants but should be nice anyways. ;) Gosh, look at those typos.

She can hear Cat’s indulgent, annoyed sigh forty floors down. The blinds are back up and Kara smiles over Eve’s shoulder the entire time when Cat shoots her a knowing look but wordlessly takes the latte and that’s enough of a victory for Kara. It should be a simple moment, lost and forgotten, moving about her day with no clue--no idea.

“You don’t work here, anymore, Kiera.” Cat calls to her with a glance at a watch, “Seven hours.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant. Consider me not here.”

“Like anyone could shield their eyes, you're like a walking Forever 21 ad.” But Catherine’s smiling now with a flick of a dismissive hand, Eve looking after her like she’s awaiting a nuclear bombing.

Kara’s decidedly not a goldfish. She doesn’t forget.

She sighs in a big, white, empty office, fingers running along stuffed-away pictures, sagging onto a table as she drums fingers along her desk and frowns.

Idly, she plans to get a picture made of the one of Cat on her phone--plans to gently tuck it in a safe place right next to J’onn--and leaves before she can think anymore about a ticking clock, sipping on her own coffee, not bothering to heat it.

Lena’s name lights up the screen of her phone and Kara shoots up into the sky a few minutes later, unable to shake the look on Cat’s face, leaning over a desk, a thousand words left unsaid, and Kara isn’t sure why.

It's the beginning of an end--such simple things usually are--and anytime Kara ever thinks back on it, she'll cry.

--

The last thing she sees is Kal-El, stumbling and just as powerless as her, diving after her over the edge of the bridge, whatever words croaking out of his lips lost to the sound of the wind.

khap zhalish

The last thing she hears is the sound of Metallo hitting the water and going silent.

--

“Alex, I’m not saying I’m going to Metropolis, I’m just--”

“Leaving? What is that like our family motto? Did you ever stop to think that I’ve changed my whole life --”

--

The last thing she does is smile up at Kal-El, trying to assure him as best she can, despite the fear that slowly settles in the pit of her stomach. Falling, at least, feels a lot like flying.

--

“J’onn?” Kara whispers, fingers tenting over a knee as her chin falls down to it, eyes flicking over towards the familiar, somber face. He hums in acknowledgment, the afternoon sun painting the shining floors of the new DEO building in a way Kara is still getting used to. Everything is so...shiny now. Not all...rock-lair, cave-motif.

“Supergirl?” His voice is gruff as always and she wonders if he would understand what it’s like to not sleep for nearly six days, because she’s certain he sounds like he’s never slept, at all.

“Do you think we can ever be happy? I mean, sure we can, right? Saving the world...” She trails off, chin tipping back as she searches the lines of an exposed ceiling, the words to her question lost on her tongue, unsure how to phrase it outside of her mind, “I know we’ll stop Cadmus--I mean, who comes up with a name like that, anyways? What does that even mean--and we’ll stop whoever comes after that, and I know that the world is full of rules . Especially for people like us. But one of those rules...one of those rules has to be that we should be happy, right?”

“I think…” Kara doesn’t look at his face, but his voice sounds so calm--so confident--so steady as his fingers curl around her shoulder, “If there’s anyone that deserves to find out, it’s you and your cousin.”

“You think?”

“I know , Ms. Danvers.” She turns to take in his smile, then, and she leans into his hand before the squeeze becomes a pat. “You’re still not sure which job--”

“No.” Kara sighs, “It's not that. I think I know, I just...I wonder some days if--I mean, between Alex and Kal-El and Cat--”

“J’onn!” A voice calls around the corner, “We’ve got reports of a jumper on--”

--

The last thing she thinks before the impact of the ocean engulfing her like an unwanted gift, the pain rattling like a broken baby’s toy through her shattering bones, is that Eliza? Alex?

Catherine?

They’re going to kill her if she dies.

The water soaks through her suit, ice and lifeless, staining the white of a list until it crumples so that when it’s unfolded, for the rest of its life, it will never unfold the same way, again. Like the thin line of glass that can never be repaired to its first form, an uncompleted list will crumple at the edges and fold in uneven lines, some of the ink running at the edges.

It will change--break and mend--just like a heart can.

--

Rule #72….

--

Life isn’t as dramatic as the movies--as the books she spent years pouring over bent knees devouring--and maybe hurtling herself and a man bent on destroying dozens of people (herself and her cousin, included) off of a bridge is maybe a little dramatic by nature, but waking up from it isn’t.

She wakes up to an empty room, the heat of a sunlamp staining the rise and fall of her chest with life.

She wakes to a dozen voicemails and one text, in particular, that makes her swallow--she wakes to Kal-El’s smiling, cut face as they both heal--she wakes having not really slept, at all, five and a half days lacking it settling down her healing bones underneath a false Sol just as much as the Kryptonite had.

She wakes up to J'onn's nervous eyes and Alex gone and doesn’t let herself heal and Kal-El doesn’t ask her to. She wakes to her sun having set and the world tasting like cold and green and she tucks a bracelet back in her pocket, not having let go of it for a moment--a breath--the entire time she laid there.

Kara wakes up, maybe, but she doesn't feel awake.

Kara tears apart the city to find her sister and doesn’t let her go when she does, a murmured apology in her ear that’s doubled ten-fold against her neck.

She wakes and heals and saves and a few hours later, all four of them--J’onn, Kal-El, Alex, and Kara--are once again in two separate cities, determined to protect the people within them, moonlight at their backs.

Death doesn’t stop them, and neither does Metallo. She rips out his heart and barely keeps from crushing it beneath her palm.

Kara doesn’t remember being in the water--doesn’t remember much save for falling--but she’ll see the headlines of the image of Superman cradling her body against his chest as he stumbles out of the ocean like a beacon as he holds her , a bracelet limply hanging from her fingers as the sun settles on his shoulders and dances shadows on her bruised, barely recognizable features. Both of their forms cut and bruised and hanging on the edge of life, war-torn and martyrs.

She’ll see the picture hung on the edge of what was once Catherine Grant’s wall, along with their other highest-selling covers--right next to the one of them both healing, scraped and bruised, towering over Metallo--for months every time she walks into the office and feels a chill hang over her features.

She doesn’t remember, but she’ll see that picture and will shatter a breath against her teeth and understand why Cat couldn’t bear to look at it, at all.

The whole night is spent tracking Cadmus with little to show for it and, eventually, in the early hours of the morning--day 6 because being in some kind of coma or something does not count as sleeping--Kara hugs Kal-El tighter than anyone else could, feeling Alex’s fingers on her shoulder, and tells him that she’s staying.

She’s staying. That’s a decision she knows how to make. She’s not going to Metropolis. She’s never going to Metropolis, not as long as Alex is here.

So Kara watches him shoot off into the twilight sky, taking a piece of herself with him--thankfully taking the last of the Kryptonite, as well--before she kisses her sister’s cheek and shoots off, herself.

It’s nearly five in the morning when she sets down on a familiar balcony and wonders why she isn’t surprised to see Cat leaning on the edge of it, swirling a glass in her palm. Either she stayed here the entire night--unlikely, given Carter--or just started early, but the circles unhidden, silhoutting the features of familiar eyes is telling, enough, and Kara has to swallow down more than breath when she comes closer.

Without a word, bruised fingers gently untuck a bracelet from a suit, a little squeezed but since cleaned (haphazardly cleaned in a DEO sink by her cousin at Kara’s pleading, pleading look, and then feverishly cleaned the moment Kara could stand on trembling knees an hour later) and offers it palm up to the woman next to her as their shoulders brush, settling next to her on the balcony.

It’s not unusual that Kara doesn’t know the right words to say--it’s a daily occurrence--so when Catherine takes a long, long drag of the liquid before reaching forward, nails almost reverently skimming along the expensive, bent bracelet, Kara doesn’t bother trying. Instead, she just holds the bracelet up as Cat becomes reacquainted with it--dips fingers underneath the shine of it--and when her lover’s breath finally rattles into the night, Kara doesn’t mention the wet sheen to dark eyes, clear even so high above the city, lights dim and quiet. She just gently unhooks the bracelet and slides it around Cat’s wrist, raising it up to her lips and kissing it in silent apology, just as she had before plummeting into the ocean. Not that she would tell Catherine she’d done that, at all.

That doesn't seem like knowledge that would help.

At least this time, she feels a heartbeat flutter underneath her touch.

And Catherine’s so slow about it, the way her wrist turns and so carefully cups Kara’s cheek in a trembling palm, thumb brushing over the high rise, underneath the worst of her still-healing cuts, that Kara wouldn’t know the words even if she tried to stumble over them.

“That is not what I meant by diving. You certainly like causing a spectacle of yourself, don’t you?” It’s a dry whisper--like a barrel full of whiskey, a burning match hovering above it--and Kara just leans into her. It’s been a long day and there’s familiarity in it, a hint of a laugh flushing cool cheeks.

“Someone likes to tell me I like being difficult.” Kara swallows because the thin smile Cat’s attempted gives way to something else, leaning down to slot their foreheads together and the quaking anger does little to overrun the hint of something far worse on her lover’s tongue.

“We have nearly three dozen witness testimonies regarding your idiotic heroics, and none of them understood the gravity of what happened in front of them. Pictures showing you bleeding before you practically backflipped off of the bridge. You could have--”

“I came home to you.” It’s gentle and loving and a little desperate, lips brushing over a forehead and Cat’s fingers tangle so tightly in her suit that she can barely breathe. “Catherine--”

“You’re still bleeding.” It’s a searing breath that curls up in pain at the end, Cat’s fingers tracing the wound below a bloodshot eye and Kara catches her wrist with a faint wince as that jaw lines itself with steel and features contort in something indistinguishable before Catherine pulls away altogether. Voice far colder: “You missed your deadline--”

Kara selfishly kisses her like her life depends on it--like she can’t catch Catherine with fingers or words, so she tries chasing her with this, instead--pressing her up against glass with a withering, breaking sigh against parting lips. Fingers tangle in her hair and the sound of a bracelet clattering to the floor is lost underneath the scratch of heels, because Kara had forgotten to re-clasp it.

“I don’t care about my deadline.” Kara kisses her again because the further and further Kal-El shoots into the sky, the further the green seeps out of her bones and she knows she can keep Cat here against her with super-strength, but she’d rather keep her with something far darker in the pit of her chest. Almost accusing: “You came up here to wait for me.”

“I wouldn’t--” Catherine practically hisses , a frustrated breath on the edge of her tongue rolling like a locomotive up her lungs, her hands cupping cheeks and tugging her close. “ Yes . I had to see you with my own eyes.”

“I’m right here.” Kara promises, pulling away so that Cat’s fingers can trace every single line of her face like her thumbs are far more knowing than her eyes. And they might be. She sucks in a sharp breath when a thumb swipes underneath that same cut, surprised when Cat tugs her down and gently brushes lips underneath the puckered edge of healing skin.

Catherine kisses her again, consuming and rough, and Kara’s knees shake before she's suddenly pushed her away, again, just as rough and just as consuming, jaw setting.

“We’re crashing the cover.”

“You’re--” Kara blinks because it’s five AM and she doesn’t know how she missed the noise--the life in the building--because her ears are still full of Kryptonite and her lungs might still be full of water, “Oh.”

“You don’t work here, anymore.” Cat straightens her hair--her blouse--sets aside her drink and stands taller than Kara knows how to, shoulders wilting and something quaking pushing through parted lips.

“...oh.” A hint of a desperate laugh, wishing she at least had the bracelet to hold onto because suddenly she feels very, very cold, surprised when fingers gently tuck up her chin and she comes face to face with Catherine’s determined, unwavering gaze. There’s something sad there, now--something Kara’s well aware she’s put there--and it makes her swallow feel like glass. But still she can’t stomach the thought of Metropolis, not now. Not after holding Alex’s trembling hands and not after seeing the look in Cat’s eyes. “I’ll--”

“I extended your deadline.” Cat whispers and Kara blinks.

“You--” Another blink, unable to help the surprise. A third blink because-- “Really?”

“Kara, I’m tough, not cruel.” Her voice is quieter, then, fingers falling from a chin and Kara boldly catches them.

“I don’t think you’re cruel, I just--”

“Thought that I was going to fire you for trying to save someone’s life on the off-chance that you were stupid enough to die?” Cat supplies and Kara swallows.

“Well, I--no? Not exactly...that. Maybe fired me to make a poi--”

“Stop talking before you dig yourself into a hole superstrength wouldn’t get you out of. I’m well aware of what people think of me, I don’t need to add what your pedaling little thoughts are to the--”

Kara reaches up to cup her cheeks in a way that makes Cat visibly tense, words dying out before she smiles, “You don’t want to hear that I think the world of you? I know it’s a little too cheesy for your tastes.”

“You really have to stop talking.” Cat warns but there’s a hint of a smile there, now, and lips brush over a forehead, holding the smaller form against her chest for as long as she’s allowed. Which is longer than expected, long fingers gently raising to spread out over a heart as a nose slots against a neck. Kara can feel the heat of the sun--faint and faraway, but there--on her back by the time Cat untangles herself, a rough sigh sliding past her lips. She bends down and clasps the bracelet properly on her wrist, now.

“Catherine,” Kara murmurs before she can go too far, kissing the rise of knuckles before letting her lover go, completely, “I’m not saying that I think what I did was...okay. I’m not trying to make you feel better, but I...did. Come home to you. I’ll always come home to you, if I can. You’re--you’re what gave me the strength to--”

Cat raises a hand up in-between them, stopping Kara in her tracks, and the look on her face, however brief, is pained enough that Kara feels regret over saying anything at all. The bracelet jangles as the hand lowers and the CEO of CatCo looks back towards her lit office, shoulders straightening and heels clicking, a discarded drink on the nearby balcony table.

“You have until Friday afternoon, 4 O’clock, not a moment later. You’re not stepping foot here in any form of professional capacity until then.”

“Okay.” Kara breathes--nods--looks back up and clears her throat at the straight line of shoulders she wishes she could spend hours easing the knots out of with well-intentioned fingers. Knots she caused. And she thinks Catherine was right, this weekend--she does have to learn how to live with affecting her. “Thank you...Ms. Grant.”

Cat nods and leaves and the balcony feels colder for it.

As cold as the city seems without Kal-El--without Kryptonite, even--and Supergirl turns to tower over her city for a few more minutes before falling down to the street, to the corner around the corner, leaning against the wall by Noonan’s.

She strips off her suit and slowly pulls up jeans--a shirt--and looks down at glasses, cracked along an edge she’ll need to fix, cupped in her palm as the sun starts to rise. She listens to the city wake and the life paint the streets in gold and red and green and with a suit tucked in her bag, a cut slowly healing underneath her eye, Kara Danvers starts the long walk home to an empty apartment across the city.

Alive and exhausted and cold, she doesn't really feel like flying. 

 --

 **Kryptonian Translations, Mythos, and other DC shenanigans** Source(s) Language **Zhalish: Pardon, excuse, absolve, disregard, exonerate. Another way of saying "I'm sorry". verb P: [n̩.ʒæ.liʃ]; Kryptonian: :ZAliS

[wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey]

I need more batman media but I don't know what to watch or where to watch it and Netflix took off Young Justice and Justice League :(:( do you have any fic recs or fun facts

A.  Blogsto follow if you haven’t already followed them, the first three write FREAKINGAMAZING fanfic and the fourth creates THE BEST fanart I have literally sat and scrolled through these blogs for hours

@camsthisky (good GOSH I love her she writes so much about Dick Grayson)

@audreycritter

@preciousthingsareprecious

@laquilasse

B.  RandomFics to Read (and honestly there are so many more, I just can’t think of themat the moment):

1. TheAcrobat Series 

by fishfingersandjellybabies http://archiveofourown.org/works/4079917

Look anytime anyone talks about how much Dick loveshis family they’ve won my heart and soul. I especially like the Kori section.

2.  Mori Shej 

bydickiegayson  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12298375/1/Mori-Shej

OH MY GOSH.  Ilove this story so freaking much.  Ok,imagine if Jason Todd, after coming back from the dead and going through allthat stuff with the Lazarus Pit and training, goes after Dick Grayson to gethis revenge on Bruce.  Except when heshows up at Dick’s apartment, ready to kill the Golden Son, he finds somethingcompletely unexpected.  Jason has a lotof issues, Dick has a lot of issues (courtesy of the Blockbuster incident).  I have read and reread this story countlesstimes, and I can never not cry because I love my broken sons so much.  There is a lot of anger, some cursing, muchregret, and brothers being brothers.  And Dick is the sweetest most protective [redacted because spoiler] and Jason has a mushy heart after all.  Itcan stand as complete but I think the author is writing more?  Also, either before or after, or both, go to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqeNxdyp5CEand listen to the song.  It is my newfavorite song and CAN YOU IMAGINE DICK SINGING IT OH MY GOSH

3.  the roadwill only be wide (the rain will never stop falling) 

by weird_bird (2weird4) http://archiveofourown.org/works/8610391/chapters/19743343

A collection of Dick and Damian moments.  So very beautiful.

4.  The RobinsUnited Series, first story is Bird by Bird 

by laceymcbain  http://archiveofourown.org/works/2656487/chapters/5936243

…some hurt/comfort, Jason doesn’t know what the hellto do with his family, and they all insist on calling him brother.  *shrugs* family feels are my drug of choice

5.  Penny Lane 

by @jerseydevious  http://archiveofourown.org/works/11757690

Damian wants a horse, and drat I’m crying?  (tbh I cry very easily over my sons…but still)

6.  Sun Spot 

byDawn’sEternalLight (@preciousthingsareprecious) http://archiveofourown.org/works/11748606

This fic is a quiet moment of beauty and rest for Dickand Damian.  Damian draws, and Dickwatches his talented little bro.  Thereis sunlight.  You skin will clear andyour crops will grow and any heartache you have ever had will be healed likemagic!

C.  Abunch of fics by Kieron_O’Duibhir

1.  TheTill-Then From the Ever-Since http://archiveofourown.org/works/3506603/chapters/7707866  

There is a problem in the Batcave, as in, youngerversions of the Batfam keep turning up. It’s absolutely fantastic, and one of my favorite things is youngerJason being SO done with his older self and calling him out on stuff and being all protective of his brothers.  It gets better and better with every chapter.

2.  But a Walking Shadow http://archiveofourown.org/works/4259511/chapters/9641367

 Sothis story is not finished yet and the author takes waaay long to post updateson it but she has promised not to abandon it soo…It is Nightwing-centric, witha whole mess of comic Teen Titans making appearances.  The author has written a lot of stories abouta world where Dick became a Talon, and in this tale Talon-on-the-run winds upon Earth-1 and Nightwing is trying to figure out who this apparent clone of hisis.  Talon Dick has always intrigued me,and it is interesting seeing him and Nightwing face off.

3.  All the Roofs of Uncertainty http://archiveofourown.org/works/2273208/chapters/4994631

HOLY HECK this is one of my favorite Jason Todd fanfics EVER.  I love the description by the author “The onewhere Dick bleeds a lot and Jason argues with everybody.”  Jason is in the wrong spot at the wrong time,ie. He finds Dick bleeding to death and is forced to save him.  Tim and Damian make appearances.  Jason has anger issues.  That doesn’t stop him from caring.  Bruce and Jason hash things out in the mostbeautiful (painful) way.

4.  Wheel and Blade 

http://archiveofourown.org/works/2492957

 Inwhich Dick confronts Damian about his practice of taking weapons to school, andalso gets slightly distracted by the idea of living in a vardo.  I love this story because it shows the bestway to parent Damian—not by telling him no “because I said so” but byexplaining and debating things like he is smart and capable.  

5.  I Pass the Night Watchman on His Beat http://archiveofourown.org/works/2326226

Thisis a cool one-shot of Dick and Amy, his partner on the Bludhaven police force.  I freaking love Dick being a cop.

D.  Okay now if you want something towatch:

 1.     Nightwing—TheSeries 

by ismahawk https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o297A1wmys0

This is THE BEST Nightwing fan film I haveever seen.  I love the Dick Grayson in it—he’sgot acrobatics, sounds like Jesse McCartney (Robin/Nightwing’s VA in YJ), and is quite handsome.  He fights, gets the stuffing beat out of himand keeps getting back up, has a bit of a temper, loves Barbara—perfection.  Watch it, you won’t regret it.  (Also Jason is there yay!  I will take him in any capacity I can get. And I kinda really like the actor for Bruce?)

2.     RedHood: The Series—Episode One “Homecoming” 

by tenshunn https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BdVSgshgFA&t=136s

My favorite Jason Toddfanfilm!!!  Heavily featuring TimDrake!  Look this adaption is fab, I lovethe actors and the dialogue and the fight between Jason and Tim (spoiler?)  As far as I know they are trying to puttogether a second episode.  Watch thevideo where Jason Todd tries to get people to donate money for it, itsHILARIOUS

3.      Batman The Animated Series is on Netflix tillSeptember 1st.  I’m in thesecond season and love it a lot…Alfred is so freaking sassy!  

4.     DamianWayne: Robins Fly at Night

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tS30bYjVmL4

 It’s just five minutesand doesn’t have any dialogue, and it doesn’t come close to deserving an Oscar, but dang it it’s hard to find Damian stuff…and also seeing a littlekid running around in the Robin costume made me realize that there is nothing Iwant more than to see Damian Wayne on the big screen, being all angry assassinkid, and Dick Grayson capturing him in a hug…

5. Gotham on Netflix

I am pretty sure you already watch this? But if not, DO!  It is AMAZING.  I love it so much, especially Bruce and Alfred and Selina Kyle

E.  Some things from Batman: Dark Victory

Okay I know he is a talented young acrobat and all but how the FUDGE did Dick get up on that chandelier?!  the kid can truly fly (yeah yeah, the stairs probably lead up to a hallway floor/balcony that Dick leapt off of but still) I wonder how many grey hairs the kid gave Alfred in those first weeks alone

On dark days I like to remember the time bby birb Dick Grayson caved in the Joker’s cheek with a well-placed kick.  My nine or ten year old son then proceeded to smash in the Joker’s teeth with a stick a few minutes later and it was amazing

You think I lied??  Nah my son Dick Grayson was cracking teeth and bones and witty puns from Day 1.  Go Robin!!!

Okay so just look at this picture.  Bby Dick is SO FREAKING TINY!!!  also very intense. OMG Batman’s fists are as big as his first son’s head!  *cue a very many feels in my heart*

F.  Random things I am including because I feel like it, and they all revolve around Dick Grayson mostly because he is my fave so…

1. Apparently some official websites say that Nightwing’s martial arts specialty is Aikido.  I do not think that word means what they think it means

2. “I close my eyes now for a few moments and I can see my parents riding the air current with me. Forever young. Forever strong. Their faces wide with excitement, big smiles on their faces, enjoying the adrenaline surge even more than I do. And there is one thing I am sure of … my parents would be proud of my life.” (Nightwing, Nightwing #141, 2008)  

3.  [Talking about Blüdhaven] “It’s a hopeless case. A lost cause. A town so mired in corruption and sin that it’s drowning … When Batman sent me here, I thought I’d solve one case and book. But then I realized … if I could make a difference here – well, that’d be something. This filthy old town needs me…. Surrounded by a dozen of my worst enemies. No way out. Nowhere to hide. The little brat was right. I do love it. (Nightwing, Nightwing Secret Files #1, 1999)

4.  There once was a dumb writer who thought killing Nightwing for real would be a good idea, and he tried writing toward that end, but everybody else was like hahahaha NO

5.  I used to hate when fic writers would shorten Damian’s name to Dami (kind of like how I majorly dislike when people shorten Sirius Black’s name to Siri, he is not an iPhone gosh).  But then I read a post on tumblr that said something about Dami actually meaning something in Arabic, something like blood or life-blood or heart blood…I can’t exactly remember what and maybe it isn’t even true but I choose to believe it is and that Dick knows exactly what it means and he calls Damian Dami as a way to show how special he is, how much Dick loves him.  Because Damian is his little brother/son and means the absolute world to Dick.  And Damian, though he pretends to despise all nicknames, absolutely LOVES that Dick calls him this

[potatowitch]

this has been sitting in my drafts for literal months but uh ... I'm still like. writing this into actual fic BUT hawke chronic pain headcanons, bc i am in chronic pain and i love to Project (this got long i'm sorry lmao)

hawke has some pretty gnarly scars going from her upper right arm, up her neck and just over her jaw from the fight with that big fuckoff dragon in the bone pit in act 3, and bc of the placement of the injury and the fact that anders was prolly too busy making sure everyone was at least breathing to worry about healing it neatly, there's a lot of thick scar tissue and muscle damage that restricts the movement of her staff arm. it hurts to twirl her staff around the way she does, but she still does it out of habit (and being a blood mage she's used to there always being an undercurrent of pain during battle anyway, so she largely ignores it when she's fighting)

she pays for it after a fight tho. it's not immediate - usually she'll go to bed that night and wake up at 3am in a lot of pain. her and merrill do what they can to deal with it in the moment, but they're both garbage at actual healing (in game merrill doesn't even have access to the creation tree iirc) so it's mainly just chugging a potion and using heat to ease some of the tension until hawke can get to anders' clinic in the morning

after they all go their separate ways following the run from kirkwall, hawke doesn't have her favourite healer readily available to help her with her arm, so she just deals with it the best she can. the sensible thing would be to try and limit the amount of fighting she does so as not to strain herself, but hawke has never been sensible, so she just deals with it

that is, until inquisiton, when they get to the western approach. they're fighting those possessed wardens at the ruined temple and of course, hawke is flinging and twirling her staff around dramatically like she always has, and afterwards she groans and squeezes her eyes shut and has to sit down, and varric puts a hand on her knee and goes "shoulder again?" and she just grunts and nods, fully prepared to chug a health potion, apply heat and get absolutely wasted at camp tonight to deal with it

...except solas notices. and i know there's no actual healing spells in inquisition, but i headcanon that solas is pretty damn good at healing. he's no spirit healer, but he knows what he's doing. and he goes "i could help with that, if you'd like" and hawke's first instinct is to make a joke and tell him not to worry about it - lavellan's got a bruise on her cheekbone, deal with that first - but varric gives her a look and she acquiesces. and it's the first time in two? three years? that her arm hasn't ached and stiffened after a battle

and when they return to skyhold, hawke drops into the rotunda to thank solas, and then while she's there, she looks up at his veilfire brazier and his frescoes and at the books of elven lore on his desk and she just. launches into questions. and he is so surprised, because from what he'd seen out in the field (and read in varric's books) he honestly didn't expect her to be so eager to learn. he's lowkey impressed. dorian overhears from the library and joins them

come nightfall lavellan walks in to see the three of them huddled together, books strewn over the desk, diagrams scribbled on parchment, and they're casting spells and jabbering to each other excitedly. for some reason hawke's shoes are off. they don't notice her, so she can slip out and find varric and go "hey, come see this" and when he walks in he gets this big rush of deja vu from all the times he'd walk into hawke's mansion and see her on the floor with merrill and anders as they pooled their different knowledge together to experiment (usually resulting in hawke setting something on fire) and varric feels all kinds of warm and fuzzy

anyway. hawke. under all her bluster and shitty jokes and feigned irreverence, she's in a shitload of pain all the time (emotional and physical) and she tries her best to ignore it and carry on (because to her there's never been another option. also vulnerability is scary and she will avoid it by making dick jokes). also she's a giant magic nerd (don't try and make her read books on it tho. she learns by doing). i love her to pieces