#so we met in the middle he was politely allowed to strike out and then he used the rest of his impulsive points on like

[spherekuriboh]

lrt but about my own tags: sometimes my characters are off the goddamn wall and sometimes andy wants to flirt with a girl he just met and has no earthly way of knowing she's a taken lesbian and most of the time its situationally between those two things

[dailyanarchistposts]

Technology

Technology Today

The neutrality of science and technology is a myth. Science is used to legitimate power, technology to justify social control. The myth is wheeled out when technology comes under fire e.g. for causing industrial pollution or traffic congestion. Inadequate policies or under-developed technology are blamed rather than the technology itself. The solution is a “technical fix” — more of the same. The ideology of industrialisation is that modernisation, technological development and social development are the same. It is used to justify the pursuit of economic growth, with the emphasis on wealth generation rather than its distribution.

This ideology is used to suppress the potential for individualsocial emancipation offered by particular machines such as wind power technology (i.e. small scale, for local use, and community controlled), and to legitimise their use in ways that are socially and environmentally exploitative (large scale wind farms under state/private control supplying the National Grid). Technological innovation is used politically, but presented in neutral technical/scientific terms such as “increased efficiency”. A modern example might be the introduction of assembly line production techniques into the construction industry; or a ‘technical solution’ to social needs such as the development of a new transport system; or as the economic ‘rationalisation’ of out of date technologies, for instance the introduction of new print technology by Rupert Murdoch at Wapping which led to the printers’ strike of 1986/7. ‘Work improvement’ schemes such as job enrichment allow workers a say in minor decisions to divert them from key areas such as pay and productivity. Innovation is used as a threat to blackmail sections of the workforce into particular tasks: employers often threaten female machine workers that if their demands for equal pay with men are met, they will be replaced by machines.

Science has prostituted itself to its paymaster, big business, and is a dangerous partner in change. In the 1880’s Frederick Winslow Taylor invented ‘scientific management’ (now known as Taylorism). He believed all productive processes could be broken down into hundreds of individual tasks and each made more efficient through rigorous management and the use of controlling technology. A prime example is the assembly line and it is no coincidence that the great ‘success’ of Henry Ford was based on the application of Taylor’s principles to mass automobile production. What is surprising is that during the Russian Revolution, the Bolsheviks enthusiastically took up Taylorism. Lenin described it as “a combination of the refined brutality of bourgeois exploitation and a number of the greatest scientific achievements in the field of analysing the mechanical motions of work; we must systematically try it out and adapt it to our own ends.” A belief in the neutrality of technology, and that it could be controlled by the scientific and managerial elites of the ‘workers’ state, was one of the factors leading to the corruption and eventual destruction of the Russian Revolution. But Taylor’s research has since been shown to be wholly unscientific. His timed study tasks were made on an atypical worker chosen for his large size, great strength, and general stupidity. Taylorism has largely been superseded by ideas about ‘job enrichment’ at work; unfortunately, such ideas are equally unscientific.

The objectivity of the scientific method is used to mask the problems created by advanced technology and to legitimise the policies of the ruling class. The Roskill Commission was set up in 1969 to look at the siting of a third London airport. The masses of ‘expert evidence’ showed that it was less socially damaging to fly loud aircraft over working class rather than middle class areas because of the different effects on property values. Technological programmes are presented as outside the area of political debate, so only technical objections are allowed. Official enquiries into the location of motorways and nuclear power stations can discuss where they will cause the least environmental and social disturbance but not whether they are needed in the first place or whose interests they serve. Similarly, the trend is to present politics as a purely technical or managerial activity, with policies assigned measurable ‘performance targets’ but which ignore other social consequences.

[ryosmne]

Three brats??

Dad!Sukuna x f!reader

So this is basically a comfort fic, featuring dad! Sukuna because the brainrot was too much. Ok so, the reader and Sukuna have a son together, yes their son is Yuuji, I know this is usually the single father Sukuna trope, but I wanted to give it a go, feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for brainrotting with me @likeab-o-s-s cause this is the reason this exists. That's all from me enjoy reading.

Warnings: none really, just family, heartwarming fluff.

The air was crisp and fresh, unusually refreshing for the beginning of summer. Parents were already gathered outside the daycare, Yuuji, y/n's and Sukuna's son attended, patiently waiting for their kids to run in their arms again.

Sukuna arrived a couple of minutes before the final bell on his motorcycle, he took off his helmet, leaned back on his bike and waited for the familiar little pink head of hair to come wobling to him.

The three mothers next to him, scooted a bit closer to him to get a better look nothing he's unfamiliar with and no one can blame them, Sukuna is a sight for sore eyes. Leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up, extenuating his board shoulders, exposing his tattoo covered skin, v neck white t shirt, allowing his toned chest and even more of his tattoos to show and a simple black pair of pants hugging his muscular thighs in the best of ways.

In the past some of the bolder ones had mustered the courage and asked him if he was a single father since they had never seen his son's mother, but with a laugh Sukuna brushed them off telling them how his lovely wife was a working parent and her schedule just didn't match the daycares. Maybe the very unconventional wedding rings they got weren't the best idea in this situation, even though they were extremely beautiful and unique.

"I really admire the work you put in the little guy" Sukuna's gaze met a woman who attempted to strike a conversation, oblivious to what she had meant by her statement he replied, maybe these three minutes would pass faster talking about normal things and not stressing about work.

"Don't we all put work on our kids?" He spoke calmly with a slight smile that he always wore when talking about Yuuji.

"Yeah, we do, but it still must be hard I can't imagine what you're going through" Sukuna's mind went to the worst scenario. Was Yuuji a trouble maker at school? He is a very well behaved child, both him and y/n made sure to teach him proper manners and how to be polite, that couldn't be it right?

The bell rung, and kids made their way out of the daycare, Yuuji in the blink of an eye was hugging his father's leg, exited to see him after the hours he was gone. In a swift motion Sukuna put Yuuji's little backpack on his own back and scooped the boy up in his arm.

"Yuuji's a pretty good kid, hes never been difficult" Sukuna smilled again resuming in the short conversation with the woman next to him. "Single father's like you don't get the credit they deserve". She spoke again smiling sadly down to the little pink haired boy who seemed too fixated on the earrings his father was wearing.

Sukuna finally understanding what this whole thing was about, chuckled, this had happened before after all, he should've known.

"I'm not a single parent, speaking of that your mom said she has a big surprise for you after dinner" he said directing his attention to his son again, the woman next to him quickly fumbled an apology for missundertanding, to which Sukuna replied to with a simple 'dont worry about it'. He placed Yuuji on his bike, put on both his and his boys helmet and drove off.

Y/n was still stuck at work, thankfully her husband would cook dinner tonight cause overtime was killing both her and her mood, good thing she finally had a day off tomorrow.

Y/n checked her phone to see how close she was to going home only to find a text that Yuuji's teacher had send her that was obviously meant for her husband.

Hello Mr Itadori, this is Mrs Laura from the day care. I was wondering if you wanted to get launch with me after school tomorrow, you can bring little Yuuji too, I'm awaiting your response, have a nice night.

What the hell was that? Well y/n's number was in Yuuji's contact information, she chuckled at the words displayed on her screen but she couldn't really blame the teach, Sukuna was a walking temptation, she knew that first hand, hell she fell head over heels for the dangerous looking guy who hid a heart of gold under his hard exterior, but the teacher could at least check who the number belonged to.

Y/n run her last errands and made sure to pick up Yuuji's surprise before heading home, she even tipped Sukuna off so their son wouldn't know what hit him.

Y/n made her way inside the family house, tossing her keys somewhere on the living room couch.

Yuuji immediately after hearing her car in the driveway came rushing down the stairs, jumping around her like he always did when she came home.

"Mom, mom you're home." The happiness was evident in the boys face, his smile was wide when y/n dropped to his level to pick him up and spin him around

"Yes I am little devil, did you give your father hell like we agreed?" She spoke in the happiest of tones with Yuuji still in her arms. Another set of arms engulfed her frame making her halt on spinning the little boy.

"So you're telling him to be a little brat now huh?" Sukuna's breath tickled the side of her neck and ear as he rested his head on her shoulder and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. "Welcome home love" he spoke again giving her jaw a ghost of a kiss.

"Daddy is the food ready" Yuuji spoke from y/n's arms, Sukuna only laughed at his son's appetite, and directed both him and y/n to the kitchen where he had already set everything up.

"Mommy, what is a single dad?" Yuuji asked in the middle of dinner in typical fashion of his, any question he had from something he heard through the day would always come up during dinner.

"Well Yuuji, single fathers are the fathers who raise their kids alone." The young boy seemed to think about his mother's words before speaking again. "So its just a daddy ?" Yuuji asked again with his eyes growing a bit sadder, his mother nodded, and Yuuji's eyes started to water.

"Baby what's wrong?" y/n asked. "Hey buddy what's going on?" Sukuna was growing quite concerned too. Yuuji burst in tears leaving his seat, climbing up his dad and hugging him tightly. Sukuna was rubbing his back to comfort the young boy and y/n's hand was stroking the kids hair in an effort to calm him down. "B-but why did that lady c-call you that, is m-mommy l-leaving?" Everything seemed to click for Sukuna, y/n was still confused but in the calmest sweetest voice said "Yuuji, baby look at me, I'm not going anywhere ok?" And the boy left his father's arms and clung on to her like his life depended on it.

Sukuna cracked a few jokes and lightened Yuuji's mood so he could enjoy the rest of his dinner, which went pretty well, he was his smiling adorable self very soon after his parents reassured him that none of them were ever leaving his side and the boy was now drawing with crayons in the living room. He seemed to have completely forgotten about the surprise his father mentioned when he picked him up.

Y/n and Sukuna were doing the dishes in the kitchen, each one talking about their day, Sukuna explained the awkward conversation he had at the daycare that sparked Yuuji's sadness, y/n took a turn in talking about how her son's teacher, basically asked Sukuna out on a date but messed up and texted her. "How about you set up a date and you show up? I mean it's you she texted right?" Sukuna joked "Babe, that's cruel" y/n chuckled at her husband's mischievous nature.

"So you've got everything ready?" Sukuna asked. "yeah who'll bring him over?"

"You do it I'll keep Yuuji busy."

Sukuna joined Yuuji on the couch. "What are you drawing little brat?" Y/n heard him ask their boy in the usual sweet tone he had with him. She made her way down the basement, where she kept the surprise since she came home. Yuuji was going to love this, Sukuna was too, she knew she was already in love as well.

Y/n climbed the stairs quickly, and snuck up behind her son, who was occupied by his dad, she gently tapped the boys shoulder.

"A PUPPY" Yuuji announced exited making sure his voice was still soft not to scare the eager dog that his mom brought to his arms. Yuuji gently held the puppy that was licking his face as he was in a fit of laughter and excitement. Sukuna was as exited as his son and y/n had a huge smile on her face too. Their son had begged and begged for a dog ever since his best friend, Megumi got a black German shepherd puppy. Of course y/n and Sukuna wanted to comply to Yuuji's request right away, but they took time to teach little Yuuji everything there was about the responsibility of owning a dog. They took him to dog cafes and shelters, so he would be the perfect little dog owner, they taught him patience and responsibility beforehand. Sukuna visited the local shelter and decided with y/n on a white Shepard puppy that Yuuji always pointed out in your visits because 'he looks like Megumi's puppy they can be friends like we are' who can say no to that little adorable devil?

The puppy momentarily left Yuuji's arms to lick Sukuna's face. "Now we've got two little brats and a big one in our house." He laughed, enjoying the moment.

Y/n was admiring her son and husband as well as the newest member of the family with a smile plastered wide on her face, life was indeed beautiful.

The next day, both Sukuna and y/n were waiting for Yuuji to finish school, since y/n had the day off. Sukuna had his arm protectively around her because this time, others were staring at what was his, but he was proud to show her off to everyone, even in a place as mundane as his son's daycare.

[therealvinelle]

Hi, love your metas and your fic. I think you mentioned somwhere that at the end of BD Aro was trying to prevent the fight. What were his motives? According to Edward, the Volturi are cowards, but I didn't get this feeling. Caius was begging for a battle, the guard vocally proclaimed willingness to die for the cause... hell, Jane had to be restrained from running to Bella and punching her in the throat. And I find it unlikely that their leader is less brave than them. Explain Aro's brain pls

Thank you so much! That’s really nice of you to say. And sorry for the late answer.

And explain Aro’s brain, whew. That is a very big question with a very long answer and this post will be a manifesto by the time I’m done. But you wanted Aro’s brain explained so manifesto it is.

So, before we go anywhere I have to make the distinction between Aro of the books and Aro of the movies. Those two are different people.

Starting with appearance, because casting does a lot for me and if a big deviation is made it better be like Ruth Wilson as Marisa Coulter, which is to say it better fit the character. Also, disclaimer, I think most of Twilight was miscast, and especially the Volturi. I’m forever dying at Caius looking like Lucius Malfoy. However, this is an Aro post, so we’re highlighting Aro.

Aro of the books is a twenty-something Greek with skin that has petrified and eyes covered in a milky sort of film, which totals to him looking perfect, as all vampires do, yet frail. When he walks it looks like he’s gliding. This is an otherworldly, ancient, inhuman being. He’s energetic and excitable, yes, but if anything that should add to how very other he is. Casting Michael Sheen is a clear signal that the movies were going in a completely different direction with Aro. Sheen is a great actor who played what he was given perfectly, but what he was given was a very different character.

In New Moon the book, Aro first rejects Edward request because this is Carlisle’s gifted son, and more, this is not what the Volturi do. They are not hitmen. It’s just a big no all around.

Bella enters, and the Aro she meets is a very polite and gracious man who’s delighted to see the human still alive, and pleased Carlisle’s son won’t be suicidal anymore. However, Edward fully intended to step into the sunlight in the middle of Volterra, specifically to provoke the Volturi, and he has broken the law with Bella. Further, Edward makes it clear that he fully intends to walk out of Volterra with his human still human, and that she’ll die of old age if he gets his way. Edward’s contempt of the law could not be more clear. However, Alice shows Aro that Bella’s fate is sealed, she turns or she dies. The law will be upheld. Aro is glad to hear it, and lets the Cullens all go home.

All in all, it’s a very tense occasion where Edward has put Aro in a difficult position, because he’s trying to force him to kill his best friend’s son, and Aro goes “YES THANK GOD” when Alice finally gives him an out.

New Moon of the movies was not this. Starting with the flashback (because I’m being thorough), Aro executes a lowly criminal himself.  I object to that, I think that’s a menial task and Aro doing it himself made the Volturi look less regal, not more. Cut to the present day, Aro rejects Edward’s request because he doesn’t want to waste his gift. We get the whole meeting with Bella, and Aro… well I don’t know why he does any of the things he does. This guy never mentions his friendship to Carlisle, tries to kill our plucky heroes three times in the space of one minute (one, gives Felix the order to kill Bella, stopped by Edward. Two, moves to decapitate Edward, stopped by Bella. Three, he’s about to eat Bella, stopped by Alice), and when he lets them go it feels terribly convenient.

This was a guy written to be the villain of the series, and it showed.

Cut to Breaking Dawn part I’s ending scene, and while I love the song choice for the scene, and fully agree that Aro considers misspelling Carlisle’s name to be a capital offense, the scene itself… we are presented with a villainous, power-hungry megalomaniac who’s just waiting to strike against the Cullens.

We then get Breaking Dawn part II, and I haven’t seen that movie in years but I remember the fight scene well enough. Aro kills Carlisle with the biggest grin on his face, and gives the go-ahead to his Volturi to kill the surviving Cullens and their witnesses.

Contrast that with canon, where Aro’s first words to Carlisle are «Nothing would make me happier than preserving your life today». Now, he’s making it very clear that this meeting will most likely end with Carlisle’s death, but he’s not happy about it. He’s certainly not going to kill him with a smile on his face and laughter in his heart.

The movies needed a hammy villain, and that’s what Michael Sheen played. It is not who Aro is, at all. And he’s not the only character this happened to, but again, this is an Aro post so I’m not going to start raging like Don Corleone about what they did to my boys.

So, with the movies firmly expelled from the post, let’s look at the Twilight series from Aro’s point of view.

Or, rather, we’ll have to start earlier because Aro’s decisions throughout the series are pretty clearly motivated by Carlisle. And that means considering, “why is Carlisle so important, anyway?”

Consider these things: one, Aro is gifted with the power of knowing every single thought a person has ever had. He knows your soul. Two, Aro is the leader of the supernatural world, he has been for over a thousand years.

How many friends does a person with that power and in that position have?

Three, who does Aro even come into contact with?

Starting with number three, for Aro it’s going to be 1) criminals, 2) Volturi guard hopefuls, 3) Weirdos like Laurent who are wasting Aro’s time.

(“But what about the guard!” Well, while we observe close interpersonal relationships between Aro and Jane, and Aro and Renata, and one can assume Corin to be close to the wives, the distinction between Volturi coven and Volturi guard remains. The guards are servants, in some cases beloved servants, but servants nonetheless. It would be inappropriate and weird for Aro to start slumming it with Demetri and Felix)

So, Aro doesn’t get out much, which brings us to point two. The people he does meet, and who are willing to entertain a friendship with the Volturi leader, are going to be people who want something. And that might work for some rulers, Louis XIV built Versailles specifically to make his subjects do this for him, but he had something to gain politically from that. Aro does not, his power is supreme without a need to tolerate brown nosers. More, with his own and Marcus’ gifts, he’ll know right away that he’s being used for power. He would get nothing out of it.

Finally point one, Aro’s gift. Say that we have a vampire who’s not a weirdo and who thinks Aro’s a cool dude. Well, the question now is, who would ever want a person in their life who knows all there is to know about them? I wouldn't want anybody to know every thought I've ever had, I certainly would never seek out a person to know me that deeply when I could just go find normal people to be friends with instead. Not to mention how incredibly unequal such a friendship would be.

In short, I don’t think Aro has any friends.

Enter Carlisle a very amiable person who cherishes Aro for his personality, and doesn’t mind having his mind read. Aro just found a unicorn. Carlisle on his end likes Aro so much that he lives with him for decades. Even if you want to read their relationship as platonic, that’s still a very strong friendship.

Point being that Carlisle is unbelievably precious to Aro, and so very unique. Aro has lived for over three millennia, and never met anyone like this before. There won’t be another Carlisle.

This in turn makes him willing to stretch as far as he can to preserve that friendship and, as the plot thickens, keep Carlisle alive.

Fast forwards to 2006, and Aro is sitting in Volterra minding his own business when Carlisle’s son walks into town demanding his own execution. He has not committed any crimes. Not only is assisted suicide not something the Volturi even do, but this would ruin Aro’s friendship with Carlisle. Even if Carlisle was miraculously understanding of Aro killing his son (which I can’t imagine he would be), this would never leave the air between them. Carlisle could never be around him again after something like that.

So, Aro turns down Edward’s request. “Stupid Volturi man ruining my dramatic suicide, I’ll show him who’s boss!” Edward replies, and runs shirtless into the sunlight. I’m sure Aro was just dying, you had “The Sound of Silence” playing as he stared into nothingness because how is this happening to him. A whiplash of an hour later, Bella is alive again, Aro is happy, we can be done with this now, right? Right?!

No, Edward says, we cannot be done with this. He’s still refusing to turn Bella.

And so we get that whole New Moon exchange where Aro very tellingly shoves the part where Edward WALKED INTO THE SUNLIGHT IN VOLTERRA under the carpet and out of the conversation (for comparison: Irina is executed for false testimony and Bree for breaking a law she didn’t know existed), and he even allows Bella to leave human when he could easily have bitten her himself to keep the Cullens honest. This guy went out of his way to be lenient and show the Cullens good faith.

And then a few months later Irina walks into Volterra, bearing memories of what is unmistakably a Cullen immortal child.

Aro may care for Carlisle, but this is the guy who killed his baby sister so he’d still have Marcus’ gift. He will bend far, very far, for those he cares about, but he will not break. It’s duty above love, Volturi above Aro’s personal preferences. An immortal child is not an offense that can be tolerated, and so it’ll be Didyme 2: Aro Kills Someone He Loves Boogaloo.

By now I think it should be quite clear why I think Aro was trying to prevent the fight. Battle would have meant Carlisle’s certain death.

(And that’s even assuming the Volturi won the fight. With Bella there, there was a chance the Volturi wouldn’t prevail. But even before Bella started showing off, Aro was very much hoping this wouldn’t be another Didyme situation.)

[americancowgirl19]

Acceptance

Summary: You find the love of your life in the middle of a highway.

Warnings: violence, soulmate, fluff, angst?, implied smut

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,680

A/n: This was requested by @fyeahtaylorp​ : Could you please do a Bucky Barnes x plus size female reader imagine where you see black and white until you meet your soulmate and they meet during the winter solider when he’s not really him and he’s protective of her and she works along side Steve and she has weather manipulation powers and they meet again and he’s still protective and there is smut please. - I am so freaking sorry that it took me forever to get this written and published and I didn’t get to the smut, so sorry. I also changed it just a little bit so I hope you still like it! 

Masterlist

“Hey, are you Sam Wilson?” You question, standing on the man's front doorstep. He frowns his eyebrows, crosses his arms, and sizes you up. You know you don’t look like much, but your mother always said that looks were deceiving. “Can I come in?”

“And who are you?” He asks, standing tall in the doorway.

“She’s backup,” Natasha states, coming into view. You instantly send a smile her way. “We can trust her,” She reassures him. Sam presses his lips together but nods and moves to let you in.

“You look good... All things considered,” You compliment her. She looked like her naturally beautiful self with only a couple of scratches and bruises on her skin.

“It’s been a rough few days,” Natasha tells you. “We could use your help,” You smirk and cock your head to the side.

“That’s what I’m here for. Where’s Cap?” Once the question leaves your lips, the golden boy comes into the room. “Heard you were in a tight spot,” You state when he looks at you with arched eyebrows. His eyes move from you to Natasha, who gives an innocent shrug.

“We could use her help,” Natasha states. “We can trust her,” She vouches. Steve looks hesitant but nods before giving you a polite smile.

“Rough few days, huh?” You mutter, looking at Natasha, sensing that her words were a bit of an understatement. “What exactly are we up against?”

Natasha and Steve both begin to fill you and Sam in on what’s been going on. You weren’t surprised Shield had been compromised. You didn’t trust anybody outside your small group. You preferred being on your own in a secluded area.

However, Natasha is one of the select few that has your complete trust. Therefore, when she called, saying she needed help, you came without hesitation.

“So, the question is: who in Shield could launch a domestic missile strike?” Natasha questions.

“Pierce,” Steve realizes.

“Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” Natasha sighs.

“But he’s not working alone. Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star,”

“So was Jasper Sitwell,”

“So, the real question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a Shield officer in broad daylight?”

“The answer is: you don’t,” Sam states, dropping a military file on the table. Natasha pulls it toward her.

“What’s this?”

“Call it a resume,”

“Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you,” Natasha states. “You didn’t say he was a para-rescue,” She mumbles, looking at Steve.

“Is this Riley?” He asks, and Sam nods.

“I heard they couldn’t bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use, a stealth chute?”

“No. These,” Sam corrects Natasha. Steve flips through the file.

“I thought you said you were a pilot,”

“I never said pilot,” Sam smirks with a hint of smugness. It’s enough to get you grinning. You decide that you like him.

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason,”

“Dude, Captain America needs my help. There’s no better reason to get back in,”

“So, where can we get one of those?” You wonder, peaking at the pictures. “I don’t think Walmart has those in stock,”

“The last one is at Fort Meade,” Sam answers, an amused grin on his lips. “Behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall,”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Steve assures him.

“I’m assuming you have a plan?” You ask, Steve. “Or is this a wing-it kind of mission?” Natasha grins a bit before they start laying out the plan.

Your part of the plan was to keep them from dying, basically. Nobody knew that you were involved. You were to stay in the background and only intervene if needed. Knowing Natasha, you would need to step in sooner rather than later.

You watched them from a distance. You smirked when you saw Sam flying around with his wings. They were a cool contraption; you weren’t going to lie.

Borrowing someone’s car, you followed them from a distance. You watched for anyone suspicious. Everything seemed normal until someone caught your eye.

This, someone, was dressed in black, but he stood out from everything around you. Like everyone else who had yet to meet the one they’re destined to be with, the world is dull and colorless. Only after meeting and accepting your soulmate could you see the world the way it’s supposed to be seen, full of color.

So, while his attire is completely black, his pale skin and silver arm stand out. You knew this was the man, The Winter Soldier, that Natasha and Steve had warned you about. You knew you should have warned them, but you were frozen by the revelation.

When he leaped from the car he was on and onto the one with your friends, you snapped out of your daze. Cursing, you sped up to try and get to them, but by the time you were able to weave around traffic and catch up, their car had crashed.

“Some backup you are, Y/n,” You mutter to yourself. You slam on the breaks and put the car in park before climbing out. You race down the highway and toward the men shooting at Natasha and Sam.

You stop a few paces away from the shooters and begin to conjure fog to cover their escape. Before long, Natasha can get away, and the attention is on you instead of Sam.

Able to see through your fog clearly, your search for your soulmate. When you find him, you send a powerful gust of wind in his direction. The force sends him flying back and through a car. You wince, but at least he’s not within the fog’s grasp any longer.

You move around as bullets come flying your way. You had given up your position, but it had been necessary. Once you find a safer place to stand, you begin to manipulate the fog once more. Your breath is now visible as the air around you drops rapidly in temperature.

To add to the cold, you begin to make the air thinner in their area. You see them shivering, and some drop to the ground due to the lack of oxygen.

In the corner of your eye, you notice one of the men had escaped the fog’s perimeter. He aims his gun at you but forces the fog to become thicker as you slip into its protective cover. Within the fog, you notice that more than one man has escaped.

You huff in annoyance, but at least you have eliminated a couple of the problem people. You see a few people standing at the edge of the highway shooting down where you assume Natasha, Steve, and Sam are.

Before you deal with them, you turn to the one that continues to hunt you just outside of the fog. Giving him an annoyed glare, one he doesn’t see, you point your hand at him. Like Palpatine, you release streams of lightning from your fingertips.

The man screams in pain and drops to the floor. You continue your ministrations until his screams stop. By then, however, the fog has dissipated, allowing the others to see you. Their guns turn to you, but before you can defend yourself, a stream of bullets lodge into their heads.

Your eyes snap to the source and notice the Soldier standing there. You both stare at each other before he stalks to the edge of the bridge and jobs down to the lower level. You race to the edge to watch him stomp off a crushed car and continue onward as nothing happened.

“Oh, no, you’re not getting away that easily,” You mutter. Lifting your hands, you manipulate the air around yourself. It lifts you off the ground and gently sets you down beside the car the Soldier had crushed when he landed.

You run in the direction the Soldier had gone. You see him locked in a fight with Steve. It looks like Cap finally met his match.

A groan catches your attention. Your breath catches in your throat. You jog over to Natasha and inspect her bullet wound.

“This is gonna hurt,” You warn her. She looks at you before closing her eyes. When she nods, you place your hands on either side of her wounded shoulder. You conjure enough heat to cauterize the wound.

“I hate it when you do that,” She mumbles. You smile at her.

“Well, stop getting shot, and I won’t have to do it,” You wink at her. “You’ll be alright,” You assure her before standing up. You turn back toward the Soldier and Steve. For the first time, you see him without his mask.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He asks Steve before aiming a pistol at Steve. Your breath hitches again when Sam comes in and kicks the Soldier away from Steve. When he regains his footing, you notice Natasha aiming a grenade launcher at him.

“No!” You shout, shoving Natasha, forcing her to miss her target. When you look back, you notice the Soldier is gone. Before you can react, a collar is locked around your neck, preventing your mutation from working.

“It was him... He looked right at me like he didn’t even know me,” Steve mutters.

“How’s that even possible? It was like 70 years ago,” Sam states as Natasha stares at you intently. You avoid her gaze and continue to stare at Steve, wanting to know as much about him as possible.

“Zola. Bucky’s whole unit was captured n ‘43, Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him and...”

“None of that's your fault, Steve,” Natasha assures him.

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” Steve whispers.

Great, my soulmate is a ninety-something supersoldier that’s in Hydra. You think sarcastically. Although, if he doesn’t even know who he is, how can he willingly work for Hydra? He protected me from his own men. Hydra soldiers don’t do that. There’s hope for him.

“Oh, you’re on our side?” You ask when one of the masked persons beats the sit out of the other two. “Oh, hey Maria,” You greet when she takes her helmet off.

“Ah, that thing was squeezing my brain... Who’s this guy?”

After making the grand escape, you’re all lead towards a hideout. There you find Nick Fury, who’s apparently not dead. After an argument on how to go about things, you prepare to take on Shield/Hydra once again.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to start guessing?” Natasha questions. You glance up at her before looking back down at your feet.

“You’re smart, Nat... I’m sure you’ve already figured it out,” You whispers. Natasha doesn’t say anything for a minute. She then comes toward you and sits down.

“Can you stop him?” Nat asks. You meet her look.

“If I can... You won’t be seeing me for a while,” You tell her. She sends you a small smile.

“Do what you have to do... Just be careful,” She advises. You smile, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“You’re the one who should be careful... Once I find him, I’m going to get him to leave with me. You’ll be in the fight the whole time,” You remind her.

“I’ll be fine,’ Natasha whispers. “Just get him and go,” You smile and slowly nod.

With those words said, the two of you leave the room. You approach Shield with Steve and Sam. The two of them go their separate ways while you start your search for the Solider... For Bucky.

During your search, you take down as many Hydra agents as possible. You wanted to help the cause, but finding Bucky was more important.

It wasn’t long before you were officially labeled a major threat. This meant that their focus shifted toward you. Things were slowly getting out of hand, but you continue to literally take the air from their lungs and the warmth from their bodies until they died. You offered a foggy cover for the Shield agents that were your allies while shooting your enemies down with bolts of lightning.

When you began to get surrounded, someone came to your aid. He had found you before you found him. He didn’t waste ammo—a single bullet to the head of those around you.

You two shared another look. Instead of looking into sunglasses, this time, you were looking in his eyes. Everything around him would continue to be black and white until he accepted you. You wondered if he could see in color. Despite not knowing him and him working for Hydra, you accepted him. You wanted him. You hoped that he would trust you.

You got lost in the beautiful color of his eyes that you forgot what was happening around you. When he moved to leave you and continue with his mission, you shouted his name. He froze, and you moved a few steps closer.

“Look at me... please,” You whisper to him. He remains motionless. “Your name is Bucky. You were friends with Steve Rogers,” His head turns slightly to you. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, nor do I know what you’ve been through, but I can tell you that things don’t have to be like this. You don’t have to be their weapon, their machine,” You risk a few steps closer to him. “I’m your soulmate. I will never hurt you. I only want you to be happy... To keep you safe,”

He stays still for a moment. He’s so still it’s as if he’s a statue. Then, he moves forward as if the words you just said didn’t matter to him. They probably didn’t. You weren’t going to give up that easily.

“Bucky,” You say again, latching your hand around his wrist. He whips around and wraps your throat in his metallic hand. You tense but don’t move. He’s not cutting off your air; it’s a warning. Your free hand lifts and covers his metal wrist. I won’t hurt you... and I won’t ever let them hurt you again,” You promise him. “Who cares about what’s going on here? It’s not our fight,” You tell him. “Come with me,”

“They’ll find us,” He whispers. You smile brightly.

“They’ve been looking for me for over a decade and haven’t come close,” You tell him. “They couldn’t find me then, and they certainly won’t find us now,” You assure him. “Please, come with me,”

Miraculously, he listens. The two of your leave the battle fairly easily. Anybody who gets in your way ends up dead. You switch your methods between sucking the air from his lungs to overheating or sudden frostbite. Bucky, while amazed by your abilities, settles for a simple bullet to the head. You two work with each other fluently.

You both stay away from populated areas. It’s harder within the city, but once you borrow another car and head into the countryside, it gets easier. You tell Bucky to stay in the car while you quickly buy him some comfortable clothes. Then, you drive him to your home. With your abilities, it’s impossible for anybody else to find, let alone get into, your home.

There’s an intense fog almost a mile thick around your property. Within the fog are intense temperatures. Some temperatures are too high or too low for a human to survive. Outside the fog, everything is normal and up to mother nature.

“Welcome to my home,” You say before climbing out of the car. He hesitantly follows you. “Nobody can come in without my consent,” You tell him. You walk to the house before slowing and turning back to him. “If you really want to leave, let me know... You may be a super soldier, but I’d be surprised if you could survive out there,” Bucky looks at the woods. “Come on; you must be hungry,”

You and Bucky live in silence for a long time. He doesn’t want to talk, and you don’t make him. You try to fill the silence with your ramblings, but it doesn’t always work to make him relax. He has nightmares at night, during the day as well. You want to help, but it’s a complicated situation.

It doesn’t help that he continues to be the only thing in color. He hasn’t accepted you yet. It hurts, but you don’t give up on him.

It takes a month for him to start conversations. It takes him even longer to hold those conversations for more than a few seconds. At this point, he’s knows everything about you while he’s still a mystery. To be fair, he’s still a mystery to himself.

You introduce him to the internet. There he can research himself and Steve. He learns a lot, and you find him behind the screen more often than not.

Around the end of the second month, Bucky seems to be relaxing even more. He still has his nightmares, he still is trying to find himself, but at the same time, it’s like he knows he’s safe. He knows nothing can’t get to him while he’s here. Yet he still won’t let you in.

In an attempt to get him to accept you, you try to do more for him. The meals you cook get more complicated, and you try to be more romantic and supportive. He entertains you but still keeps his distance.

It isn’t until the fourth month you begin to lose hope. You’ve done everything you can to get him to accept you. You’ve given him space, you’ve set him free, you’ve protected him and supported him. You have given him clothes and home, yet still, you get nothing.

You sit on the front porch. You’re thinking through everything. You know, four months, in retrospect, isn’t that long. It’ll take years for Bucky to recover. You had just hoped that he would want you. He’s taken your help, but you wanted him to want you.

When he comes back from his midafternoon run, he pauses right before the porch. He can tell something is bothering you but hasn’t a clue what to do.

“Do you know what soulmates are?” You wonder. Bucky stares at you for a moment before slowly nodding his head. You get a bit frustrated. “Do you trust me?” He hesitates again but ultimately nods. “Do you not want me then?” You whisper. It’s subtle, but Bucky tenses. You read his posture wrong. “Alright,” You whisper, standing up.

“Wait,” He says, jumping up onto the porch. His hand grabs your wrist. You stop, look at his hand, and then up into his eyes. “You’re beautiful. You’re strong. You’re everything I could ever want,”

“Then why haven’t you accepted me?” You whisper. He sighs slowly. As if giving into a desire, he caresses your cheek with his hand.

“For decades, all I’ve known is fighting. I went from one to another. Before that, I never thought I’d see in color. Then you come out of nowhere and turn my world upside-down. As perfect as you are, that doesn’t change who I am. I’m haunted every day, and I know Hydra is hunting me. Just being here will endanger you, but I can’t find it in myself to leave. I don’t want to get to the point of no return. I don’t want you to get attached to me because one day I’ll have to leave, and I don’t know if I’ll come back,”

“That just won’t do for me,” You shake your head. “You see, Buck, I’m in this for life whether you accept me or not. If you leave, I’m just going to follow. Whether you go to Steve or Hydra or even Hell, I will follow you,” You tell him. “You distancing yourself is hurting us more than the potential of you leaving. I’m not going to let you go, Buck... You’ll realize that eventually.”

Things continued the same for a while as Bucky digested your words. Eventually, however, there was a change. It was a slow change, but it was progress nonetheless.

Bucky began to open up to you more. There were subtle touches and lingering gazes. He sat closer and spent more time with you. As the weeks passed, everything began to amplify. The subtle touches turned into handholding that eventually turned into cuddle sessions. The words exchanged turned into flirtatious whispers.

The day you could see everything in color was the day you pulled him into a kiss. You both were the happiest you’ve ever been. The kiss made you both feel as if you had been touch-starved. Neither of you could get enough of each other.

The kiss had started in the kitchen. You were making breakfast when everything turned from black and white to various vibrant colors. You whipped around to him. He had this lopsided grin on his face as he stared at you.

You marched up to him and kissed him without a second thought. He had been leaning on the wall the separated the kitchen from the living room, but he switched positions so that you were pressed between that wall and him.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers. You begin to smile even wider, your heart hammering in your chest. “You’re-”

“I love you too,” You whisper back to him before kissing him once more. Bucky smiles into the kiss and leans into you even more.

You breathe in deeply when he picks you up. He doesn’t hesitate to take you back to your room. The room he’s spent the last few nights cuddling you in. He lays you down on the bed with a tenderness that has your heart fluttering.

“I love you,” He whispers again. He would tell you that all night. He didn’t want to stop kissing you, stop touching, nor stop telling you how much you meant to him. You changed his world, and you became his world.

[dragon-kazansky]

Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 7

It had been a week since Zemo had visited you in hospital. You had been out of action for, what felt like, forever now. It wasn't until you weren't on duty any more that he really began to notice your absence.

It dawned on him that he was missing you. He couldn't work out why. Zemo was aware he was rude to you when you first arrived. He didn't think you had it in you to do your job, but you quickly proved him wrong.

He was glad about that.

As he sat in the hotel room, Clint standing by the door, his mind could only think of you. The TV he had turned on was long forgotten.

Any day now you should be released from the hospital and back on duty. Perhaps he could request to have you stationed with him more often. He could make it out to be that he wants to make it up to you.

But then you would be at risk again. He didn't want that.

It hadn't left his mind. Sometimes when he lay down at night he could still hear the gunshot. He would open his eyes and see you slumped over in the middle of the road again, cradling your shoulder as it bled.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Everytime he thought about it his heart would plummet and his stomach would churn. It made him feel so sick.

Yes, you had done your job, but he hated it. He hated how you got hurt protecting him. Yes, he had hired you for that purpose, but he hated it.

Helmut was aware something had changed in him. Maybe it was the bravery you showed that day. Maybe it was the way you had yelled at him, perhaps shaking some sense into him. Maybe it was the way that those bullets had been intended for him and you took the shots instead.

They wanted him dead and you had paid the price for it.

He sighs as he gazes at the clock. Every second felt like it had been stretched out. An hour felt like a day at this point.

Helmut was desperate to hear news of you.

He wanted to see you.

He missed you.

Your friends missed you. He could see it on their faces as they switched out with each other. They were all thinking of you.

He was thinking of you.

Actually, why was he spending so much time thinking about you? He couldn't understand why he was missing you so much.

He checked the clock again and continued to mentally scold himself.

When would they discharge you?

Would you need picking up?

It was safe for him to go out now, even if he did still have to be wary. Maybe he could pick you up?

Would you want him to?

He wanted to.

He was doing it again. He groaned, annoyed at himself for letting you stay on his mind so much. He should know better.

Clint stared at the Baron with furrowed brows. He spent the last half hour watching the man look at the clock, run a hand through his hair, groan in annoyance, sigh, and get angry over practically nothing.

He couldn't work the Baron out.

Steve knocked on the door. Clint turned his gaze away from the other man and opened the door, letting Steve in.

Helmut turned his head the moment he heard the knocking. For just a second he was filled with hope that it was you returning to work.

The empty feeling he felt when his eyes landed on Steve didn't go away.

"You can go, Clint, I'll take over for a bit."

Clint nods and leaves, probably to his room to take a break.

Zemo looks at Steve expectantly.

Steve takes up the position Clint had been in before by the door. He looks at the Baron and puts on a polite business smile.

"You'll be flown out back to Sokovia tonight. We will see to it you get home safely. Your plane is being prepared as we speak. You should gather your things so we may leave quickly."

Those weren't the words he had wanted to hear, but a part of him was glad he was going home after what happened.

He had been here longer than intended.

"Very well. Will your friend be meeting us at the airport, or are we fetching them along the way?"

He would at least see you on the plane.

"Well, neither, sir. You mean Y/N, yes? They are currently awaiting their flight to New York."

"Pardon?" He narrowed his gaze on Steve.

"Y/N was discharged this morning. A flight back to New York had been organised and they were clear to go. Y/N is returning to our headquarters."

"Whatever for?" He asks.

"They were removed from the assignment to allow time to heal at home. Our boss, Mr. Stark wishes to help them get back into the job with less dangerous assignments for a while," Steve explained, though not sure why he was doing so.

"And they agreed to this?"

"Yes."

Helmut's gaze falls to the floor. He was confused. He was... sad.

Was this because of the way he had treated you? Yes, that would make sense. Of course you wouldn't want to be around him.

He looks away from Steve.

In the blink of an eye, his previous cold and confident persona returns. He holds his head up and stands. He adjusts the cuffs of his shirt and turns back to Steve. He now looked more like the Baron he was that first day they met him in Sokovia.

"I'll get my things," his voice was cold.

Steve just nods and watches with his eyes as the Baron slips into his bedroom and gets his things.

Steve was confused. He updated the others on the Baron packing his things, and then he waited.

Behind the closed bedroom door, Zemo stood there for a moment.

Why did it hurt him to know you weren't coming back?

He glares at the wall ahead of him and takes a deep breath. It really shouldn't matter to him. He shouldn't care so much.

He marches over to his bed, grabs his suitcase and packs everything. He just wanted to go home at this point.

You would be off his mind in a few days, he was sure.

Meanwhile, you had just boarded your plane. You had a window seat. Your eyes cast out. The plane hadn't taken off yet. Somewhere in that city was the Baron. You felt proud of yourself for what you had done, but you had hoped for another chance to prove yourself. Though you think you may have done that successfully. He did visit you after all.

You sigh softly.

You weren't about to argue with your boss. Stark would be waiting to greet you back at headquarters. You would train up and take another, smaller, job. Even if leaving this one worried you.

The fact is that someone out there was leading a group of people who wanted the Baron dead. You had no idea why, or if they would stop. They had seen an opportunity and took it.

Not that you could do anything now.

The pilot made the announcement they were preparing for take off. The crew did all their final checks.

You gazed out of the window.

It was time to put the Baron out of your mind and move onto the next job.

If only it would be so easy.

Two hours later Helmut Zemo was boarding his plane. He had packed, checked out, and been driven to the airport. He had heard Steve confirm to the others you were airborne.

You were on your way back to New York.

He didn't care to acknowledge the others as he was escorted out of the hotel. His cold and rude persona returned, perhaps worse than before.

His mood was sour and he could only put it down to your absence. Even when you weren't here physically, you were irritating him. This only made him feel all the more bad because of how he treated you.

He looked out of the window at the cloud filled sky.

What he didn't know at this moment of time was that when he arrived in Sokovia, an idea would strike him. One that may allow him the chance to make it up to you, assuming you accept.

He just had to get home first.

Two planes currently in the air, going different directions to different destinations, but both containing people who were missing each other, though they didn't realise just how much yet.

They were going to be long trips.

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol @hb8301 @the-chaotic-cow

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (3) || atz

The first three days pass as uneventfully as the sea you are sailing on. Every three hours or so, the man who you now know to the quartermaster, Mingi, unties the ropes around your arms and allows you to take a short walk around the deck to stretch your limbs. 

You appreciate the thought, but you feel like a piece of meat in a sea of piranhas. Your ankle screams in pain every time you step on it, but you force your mouth shut. It's definitely twisted, but you can't afford to show weakness now. It throbs red and has swollen to twice its normal size, so you hide it with the hem of your trousers and pray that no one sees it.

What makes you even more worried than the twisted ankle is the musket wound on your arm. Even though the bleeding has scabbed over, much to your relief, the flesh around it is swollen and the surrounding skin is tight, angry red. Yellow pus is oozing from the wound and even though you’ve tried to wipe it away as discreetly as possible with your meagre water rations, the area feels tender and you feel your lips cracking faster than what should be normal. 

Your vision of the horizon sometimes splits into two and your head swims, but you cover the wound with the coat the best you can and will the pain away.

Thrice, Mingi has caught you stumbling, but he obviously thinks you’re simply unused to being on a seagoing vessel or that you simply haven’t had the chance to stand in a long time. Lucky for you, he doesn’t suspect a thing.

Who knows what they might do to you if they see any sign of frailty?

Even after Mingi has explicitly instructed no one to harm you, the crew obviously hold a very deep grudge against you for the broken nose you gave their quartermaster. Their faces sour whenever you so much as glance in their direction and some even flash bared teeth at you. When Mingi deems that you've taken enough of a walk, he ties you back to the main mast, and the next three hours are spent gazing at the endless stretch of sea, wondering when is the next time Mingi will return.

Seonghwa, the cook, comes to feed you every meal. He is kind at heart, you can see, when he does not strip away your dignity by offering to feed you, instead undoing your bonds and allowing you to feed yourself with a spoon. His voice is soft and polite, if a little guarded, and his hands warm and gentle. While you eat, he moves among the crewmen and distributes food and rum, listens to their troubles and rowdy jokes, laughs along with them and they're so happy together it makes your chest ache.

You can't join them. The voyage is long and your dizzy spells are getting longer, but you can’t give up now.

Meanwhile, you watch the crew at work.

The captain is rarely on deck. If he has orders to relay, his quartermaster and first mate does it for him, not that you mind (the sight of him terrifies you). You take the time to notice their little nuances, what they do on board.

Anything to distract you from your missing memories and the mounting pain your body is in.

The deck is never really empty, so at least you have a constant source of entertainment and distraction. They seem to still be recovering from the aftermath of their raid of the town, some pirates carrying out their duties with bandages tied over their arms or legs. They perform lighter duties, such as cleaning out the cannon barrels and sifting the gunpowder into bags, while their brethren pack heavy cannonshot and heave on the sails. At times, the lookout descends from his perch in the crow’s nest to lead them into a silly jig or song.

You recognise him.

Tall and lean with a mop of soft brown curls that match his lively, vibrant eyes, his smile is infectious, irresistible, almost. There’s a childlike nature to him, in the playful way he messes with the crew and they can only give him fond smiles, joking alongside him and teasing him back.

Yunho, you hear his name is.

He’s the one who met your eyes back in the town as you were fleeing to the harbor, the one with the massive oak spear in his hand. He mainly stays in the rigging, only coming down to stretch his legs and make conversation with the rest of the crew, but you feel his curious eyes on you even when he’s in his usual spot in the crow’s nest. You wish he would talk to you, that anyone would acknowledge your presence, but he has orders from his captain. No one would be foolish enough to disobey Hongjoong.

On the third evening, it rains.

When the first drops land on your cheeks, you immediately turn your face up to catch the precipitation falling from the sky. They feel so good against your burning cheeks, sliding down your body and dampening your clothes. You might just be having another dizzy spell again, but you swear you see the raindrops turn to steam after they touch your bare skin.

It’s not storming yet, even though the waves are slightly more choppy than usual. Seonghwa glances up at the rain in the middle of dinner and frowns, getting to his feet. From the quarterdeck you hear Mingi shout.

“Men, to sails! We’re heading to shore!”

There’s an unhappy mumbling as the crew drain the last drops of rum and shove the remaining scraps of salted fish into their mouths, but they rise to their feet and take their stations quickly. You hear a long, drawn out creak of wood as the water pushing against the rudder forces the ship to the left, heading towards a small cove in the stretch of sandy beach they have been travelling along since dawn broke this morning. The rocky cliffs will provide protection from the coming storm and the colour of the water is a deep blue, indicating that the cove is deep enough for the ship to lower the anchor without fear of getting beached.

The opening into the cove is a little narrow but the captain seems unfazed, steering the ship straight into the cove without fear or hesitation. The Treasure glides smoothly into the little cove, and Mingi relays his next orders.

“Furl the sails and drop the anchor!” You catch sight of the quartermaster descending the stairs of the quarterdeck. His nose is looking better already, but he wears a wooden splint on his nose bridge to realign the cartilage. “We have a free night of rest today, crew.”

There are cheers echoing all about you. When docked in a small cove such as this one, the constant pitching and rolling of the ship has slowed to a gentle rock, making it much easier for the crew to get deep, uninterrupted sleep below deck. It’s no wonder that they are overjoyed… but you’ll be left alone on the main deck.

The men secure the sails, coiling excess sheets and shrouds before bundling them with heavy wooden cleats. The yardarms on the three masts are lowered and the ship finally slows to a stop, bobbing up and down on the waves.

And not a moment too late, because all of a sudden, the sky splits open and a torrential storm strikes. For a moment, you wonder if you can drown from the amount of rainwater falling, the droplets the size of beans and the wind howls past your ear. You curl into yourself, grateful to the thick ropes that are keeping you warm but wishing you had something to cover your freezing feet. Once again, as if the heavens have heard you, Seonghwa approaches you with a piece of heavy sacking.

“Here.” Is the first word someone has said to you since Mingi tied you to the mast, and his hands are warm and impossibly gentle against you as he tucks the thick, coarse sacking around your shoulders and feet. You manage not to flinch as his fingers brush your ankle, and he straightens up with a frown on his face.

Please don’t leave me alone, you want to say.

He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, Seonghwa turns and strides away, following the rest of the crew who are descending below deck into the bunks. There’s a final thunk as the hatch slams closed with a resounding finality, and then you’re all alone.

It’s dark on the deck. The only light comes from behind you, where the captain’s cabin is located beneath the quarterdeck. It barely reaches you, faint and wavering, and the rain limits your visibility to just a few feet in front of you.

Seonghwa stops at the captain’s cabin for a moment, staring back in your direction, teeth worrying his bottom lip. While he’s lost in thought for a moment, the door swings open and someone pulls him inside.

“Dry yourself off.” Their navigator, Yeosang, passes him a towel, eyes soft and worried. “You don’t want to fall ill.”

“Thank you.” Seonghwa replies, ruffling his hair dry. The slightly built man returns to study the maps on the table in the middle of the cabin.

“If the storm stops by tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be able to reach Tortuga in another few days or so.” He declares, poring over the navigational maps. “But we should be careful, Hongjoong-hyung, the Royal Navy might ambush us the closer we get to the port.”

Seonghwa turns to see his captain lying back and swinging side to side in his hammock, strung up in the corner of the cabin next to an eyehole overlooking the ocean outside. But there’s nothing to be seen, it’s completely dark out there.

“I’m well aware of that.” Hongjoong replies, absentmindedly tossing one of his daggers in hand. Seonghwa bites back a fond smile.

“Captain, if you keep up that bad habit you might lose your fingers.” He chides and Hongjoong snorts in amusement, finally sitting up in the hammock to look straight at Seonghwa.

“And you need to stop calling me captain when we’re in close company, or I might use my authority to order you to.”

Yeosang lets out a chuckle as he jots down a few notes down in his rutter. “The two of you never change. Seonghwa-hyung, you should go to sleep and get as well rested as you can. It’s straight sailing for the next three days or so.”

At that Seonghwa pauses. He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hongjoong.

“Speak your mind, Seonghwa.” His captain’s gaze is serious and unwavering as the first day he met him. “You know I will not ignore what you say.”

At that, Seonghwa relaxes slightly. They’ve been a crew, a family for years, but Seonghwa still has worries about how Hongjoong might react to certain things. Especially the one he’s about to bring up.

“The prisoner we have on board…” He begins, and Yeosang makes a noise of recognition.

“Ah yes, the stowaway you found in the cargo hold who broke Mingi’s nose.” He comments as he starts to roll up the maps once more, stowing them in their tubes. “I’ve been charting our course for the next few days, so I haven’t seen him yet. Did he cause some kind of trouble?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “No, he hasn’t. In fact, he’s been surprisingly well behaved. There’s no rebellious behaviour in him, he doesn’t react to the crew antagonizing him, and he lets himself be tied up without a fight. He hasn’t even asked for more water or anything to cover himself with at night. Yunho says he remains quiet at all times and doesn’t speak a word.”

He remembers when he put the sackcloth around him earlier, how small and thin the young boy was, how sallow his cheeks were. But his eyes were sad, so sad and mournful, just like Wooyoung’s when he had first stepped aboard this ship trailing chains onto the deck. Eyes that had known only loneliness their whole lives.

A dark shadow flashes across his captain’s face.

“Might be a ploy to get us to lower our guard.” Hongjoong replies, his voice firm but Seonghwa can hear the mistrust in his words. “Things might be different the second we get close to Tortuga and he has a chance to escape.”

“I know.” Seonghwa swallows uncomfortably and exhales. “But didn’t he already mention that he can’t remember why he was at Raguza?” Raguza was the town they had raided just three days before.

“If that story was supposed to win my favor, it was sorely lacking.” Hongjoong leans back in his hammock, resuming fidgeting with his knife. His eye is dark, expression cold. “How unlucky can a person be, waking up without any recollection of how he came to be dressed in a Royal Navy coat, bound for the gallows when he should be an officer of high prestige and managing to escape onto the one ship in the harbor whose captain bears the most hatred towards the Royal Navy?”

“Him?” Seonghwa offers weakly, but Hongjoong gives him an exasperated glance and he shakes his head. “Your hatred towards the Navy might be clouding your judgement.”

“And your kindness yours.” His captain retorts, but there’s no real bite behind it. “If he does turn out to be a Royal Navy officer who thought this would be an opportune time to steal back their maps and escape at Tortuga, his suffering will be a lot worse than merely being tied to a mast.”

“But you cannot deny that there is a chance that he might be telling the truth.” Yeosang pipes up from shelving the very maps they were talking about, glancing at the two of them. When they don’t speak, he continues. “Temporary short term amnesia is a common symptom among those who have suffered blunt head injuries and the Royal Navy doesn’t treat its prisoners kindly.”

There’s a thoughtful pause, then Hongjoong laughs.

“Always the voice of reason, Yeosang-ie.” The captain sighs in amusement, shaking his head. “You’ve been spending too much time listening to San ramble on.”

Yeosang chuckles, but doesn’t deny it.

“I’ll think about it, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong reassures the cook, who reluctantly nods his head. “You should go to sleep. Worry about your own health instead of our stowaway's.”

That’s the most Seonghwa can do for the prisoner. “I trust you, captain. Goodnight, the two of you.”

Seonghwa turns to leave, and Hongjoong calls after him jokingly.

“Call me Hongjoong!”

Seonghwa steps out of the cabin with a chuckle. Yeosang pulls off his boots and lies down on the bed, putting his hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. Maybe he should take a look at the new prisoner soon.

He sees Hongjoong stand at the door that Seonghwa has just left, one eye staring out of the glass window onto the deck, where the prisoner is.

Yeosang gives a knowing smile and closes his eyes.

Your body slackens all at once. For three days, you’ve been hiding the throbbing tenderness of the wound on your shoulder, the agonizing pain in your ankle and the pounding in your head. You feel as if someone is knocking you repeatedly on the inside of your skull with a heavy stick, and all at once your stomach heaves.

You bite your cracked lips and force the food down. No, you can’t throw up. That is the only form of sustenance you have to last you, and the captain will surely be displeased if he catches you puking over his deck. Luckily, the nausea subsides and you rest the back of your head against the solid wood of the main mast.

It’s cold and hot all at once. Your body burns impossibly hot and your tongue is heavy, as if you haven’t drank a mouthful of water for weeks. But it’s cold, so frighteningly cold, ice creeping up your veins and the once comforting feeling of rainwater on your body is like torture. You burrow beneath the wet sackcloth, the only barrier between you and the elements, and let out a tiny whimper.

There’s no one here to see you break down. You are alone, you’re in pain, your memories are lost. You’re on a hostile pirate ship and even if they don’t kill you on suspicion of being a officer of the Royal Navy, what will you do once you reach Tortuga? You have nowhere to turn, no one to help you. You are alone all over again.

A tiny sob leaves your throat and you hiccup, pressing closer against the main mast. You try again, try to remember something, anything, but all you see is a sheet of white, the sound of ocean waves in your ears. Then pain lances down your head and the back of your neck and you give up your attempt on trying to remember. Remembering is about as easy as trying to catch smoke.

Before you can catch them, tears slip down your face and you bow your head, trying to hide it. But you can’t. It spills out of you again and again in waves of soft sobs and muffled whimpers, wracking your body.

The world sways beneath you. Is the sea getting too choppy? Will the waves rise over the sides of the ship? Are you going to die, here, before any life you have truly begins?

I will be with you every step of the way.

Your eyes finally fall shut, unable to bear the weight of the pain you carry.

But you don’t hear the footsteps behind you.

Hongjoong steps forward, unflinching against the rain that pelts his body and the wind that bites at his skin. He walks around the main mast, to where Mingi has tied you up.

He observes you silently. You’re small, compared to even him, tucked up in sackcloth and held upright only by the ropes that bind you to the mast. He doesn’t bother checking the knots, Mingi is more than capable of doing a perfect job.

Your eyes are closed, head lolling forward slightly, mouth a little ajar. You look so peaceful, so harmless that Hongjoong can almost bring himself to believe your story, but then he catches himself.

No. All too easy to fool him into letting his guard down around one of the Royal Navy. Looks are deceiving. You may seem harmless, but even the most adorable of animals have fangs.

The howling wind pulls away the corner of the sackcloth that was tucked behind your shoulder and you shiver in your sleep, curling up on yourself. Hongjoong frowns, and before he can stop himself, reaches out a hand to put it back.

And immediately jerks his hand away.

Hot. You’re boiling hot. You should be freezing cold from the rain, he was intending to allow you a warm bed the next day if you just told him the truth about your identity. He touches your neck once more and feels as if he’s just placed a hand on one of Seonghwa’s pots right after cooking.

He tears the sackcloth away from you with deft hands, noting how dry and cracked your lips are even though he’s instructed Seonghwa to give you water rations equal of that to the crew. His eye scans your body for any sign of what could be causing this, when he sees a bloody patch right beneath the rose emblem of the Royal Navy. He pauses in his tracks.

Does he really care if one of the Royal Navy lives or dies?

“But you cannot deny that there is a chance that he might be telling the truth.”

Hongjoong grunts at his indecisiveness. If you’re a Royal Navy officer, he can always kill you later. Focusing on the task at hand, he tugs the coat from your shoulder, revealing your black undershirt and an ugly gash on your upper arm. The skin around it is obviously swollen and thick, yellow pus is still oozing from the wound, but what is the most worrying are the tiny, red streaks he sees moving up from the wound.

It’s infection. He doesn’t even need San to tell him that. And from the distance the streaks have moved, it’s been infected the day you were tied up on board. A scowl tugs on his lips.

And you said nothing?

He hates that he admires your grit for one so young. Shaking the damp hair out of his eye, he raises a hand and lightly slaps the side of your face.

“Oi, officer, wake up.”

You groan a little, eyebrows furrowing, but by the slack muscles of your arms and legs, you’re as dead to the world as Yunho. Hongjoong curses under his breath and moves to the knots, undoing them with practiced ease. The ropes loosen and there’s a thump as you collapse to the deck in a heap. Hongjoong grabs you from under the shoulders.

“Get up, will you?” He mutters under his breath, supporting all your weight on your feet so he can drag you to the sickbay, but you let out a cry of agony and bury your face in the crook of his neck, much to his shock. He jumps at the contact and almost drops you, but catches you at the last moment, a longer, more vulgar curse leaving his lips when he catches sight of your ankle.

It’s swollen.

Hongjoong groans. Is he blind? Yunho’s never going to let him live this down if he finds out about this. How did he not notice?

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He cracks his knuckles and in one smooth motion lifts you up in his arms. You’re surprisingly light, as if you haven’t been eating enough for a few weeks already. He should get Seonghwa to cook you a hot meal after you recover.

Then he almost pulls away the hand under your shoulders to slap himself in the face. What is he saying? After you recover, it’s back to the main mast for you. He still can’t trust you, even if he grudgingly admires that you’re as tough as his crew members despite being the smallest person on board.

Why did you have to pick his ship?

Shaking away his thoughts, he turns towards to sickbay, feet thudding on wood as he sprints across the deck. Your breathing is shaky and uneven against his throat, and he grunts as he stops in front of the wooden door next to his cabin.

He raises a booted foot to kick on the door as hard as he can.

“San!

[silentprincess17]

A Proposal Gone Awry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

Summary: Link has been touring the breadth and width of Hyrule to clear out the remaining monster camps, and soon enough, he reaches Zora’s Domain. Mipha asks him to wait before he heads back to the castle, which he was intending on doing... but some mischievous children may have other plans.

Part 3

Mipha had completed her list of assignments for the day, and now she headed out to the Zora River, diving in on her way to Hyrule Castle. As she swam gracefully, swooping and twirling through the air as she breathed, before sinking back down into the water, she reflected on the day’s events. She’d attended the Zora General Council Meeting in the morning, where they discussed new refurbishments to be done around the Domain. Rather embarrassingly they’d decided to create a statue, depicting her, to be placed in the fountain at the centre of the Domain. She couldn’t say no, it would be disrespectful to the likes of Ledo, and Seggin, her Master, ordered the poor man to do it as well. Mipha personally didn’t really like the extravagance- she would much rather use the resources elsewhere. But, her father disagreed, stating she had become one of the Zora Greats, alongside Princess Ruto who was claimed to have been a Sage, in a time long past. It made her feel proud, at least, to be a Princess who had helped prevent such a disaster, and to know she’d helped Link in his endeavours made it all the sweeter.

At the thought of Link, her heart skipped a beat, and a shiver went down her fins. If only her plan that night had worked! She’d set everything up so carefully, so determined was she to profess what had truly driven her motivations to hold up the mantle of the Champion, how she wanted to protect him from any harm that could befall him… Sadly, under the influence of mischievous children he’d gotten hold of the armour she’d painstakingly made, and somehow deduced it was simply a practice run. For the love of the Goddesses, she couldn’t have anticipated such a turn of events.

One positive had come of the entire situation though, she’d found Kodah and it turns out Kodah’s head was truly filled with clouds: she was simply lusting after Link. Whilst Mipha could see the appeal, her feelings ran deeper. She didn’t just like the look of Link, she adored his very soul, and Kodah understood that and promised not to interfere. If anything, she looked sheepish and was ashamed about the whole affair. Mipha was quite glad that little piece of unpleasantness was over.

She sprouted from a gush of water, and she smiled. She always felt most at home in the waves, almost as though she and the river were one. It made her feel empowered, strong, but mostly comfortable. This was where her strength lay, in the powerful currents underneath her and how she wielded control over them.

Soon enough, the Castle came into view. Everything had mostly been fixed, people had settled back into Castle Town after their hurried evacuation, and Mipha was glad to see the people recuperating, already almost back to normal. She wondered, sometimes, what would have happened if Terrako hadn’t summoned the help from the future that they ended up relying so heavily on. What would have happened to her, if Sidon, her grown up, almost of courting-age brother hadn’t shown up to protect her. And Sidon’s presence had allowed enough time for Link to come and help defeat the Waterblight, and she blushed a little at the thought. Truly, he was her Hero. And to think Terrako hadn’t only sent help her way, but to the other three Champions as well… The small egg-shaped guardian had done so much for them, and she didn’t want to dwell on what might have been, had it not been there.

By the time Mipha arrived in the Sanctum, it was close to sunset, and she had spent some time drying herself to make sure she didn’t soak the carpet floors. And okay, she’d also spent some time roaming around the garrison, and the barracks but she hadn’t managed to spot Link.

She sighed, he was probably with the Princess, where he nearly always was.

Revali was the next to arrive, and he fluffed his feathers, brusquely adjusting his neckerchief, “Are the others not on time? How asinine. Although perhaps it’s too much to expect such high standards from them.”

Mipha sighed, much more discreetly this time. He had a rivalry with Link, and that could not be forgiven in her books. “Revali, we are, as of yet, early. Urbosa and Daruk are both travelling from-”

“Afar? Yes, I know, that’s no excuse though, Mipha, have you ever heard of leaving earlier? They also cannot fly to their detriment. Did you see Daruk’s paraglider break after using it a mere five times? Who told a Goron he could sail through the air? It’s just so unnatural!”

Urbosa walked in then, and Mipha left Revali alone for a few minutes. He briefly called to her though, as she turned away, although when she’d waited patiently for him to say something, all he’d done was glance down at her ornamental armour, before brushing off his feathers.

She shrugged, classing as typically strange Revali behaviour before she turned back to Urbosa. She wanted to ask if the Gerudo Champion had seen Princess Zelda, and by default Link. It pricked her a little, that she had to find the Princess first in order to locate Link, but he was her Knight after all.

Sadly, Urbosa hadn’t seen Princess Zelda. Apparently, she was getting ready in her room. Mipha could only assume Link was guarding her door. Shortly after that, Daruk had appeared and then the King had walked in, welcoming them to the Castle. They would have a private dinner, with a few select Sheikah, and Master Kohga to privately congratulate the group on their success and then move across to the Sanctum later on in the evening for the Ball in their honour. Hestu had decided to remain with the forest spirits, and Monk Maz Koshia had re-entered the Shrine of Resurrection, in his deep other-worldly tones saying he’d now wait for the next Hero. Mipha shuddered a little at the memory, wondering what the next Hero’s fate would be…

They walked with the King, who pulled out an apple to snack on whilst they trekked to the Dining room, where they would meet Princess Zelda, and Link. Her heart sped up a little in anticipation.

Impa, Purah, Robbie and Master Kohga were all waiting in the room, a single banana in the middle of the four of them and heated debate was clearly ongoing, but they stopped as soon as the King walked in and knelt. He bid them to rise, and they all sat, waiting for the Hero and the Princess to join.

And her heart rate did spike, as the Princess walked in, hand in Link’s elbow as he escorted her inside. His eyes never met hers, but Mipha didn’t allow that little fact to distract her, because oh, Link was in Royal Guard uniform and –

- Terrako bounded up, jumping up to Link’s waist, and he caught the egg, settling it on its own chair, and it beeped and booped, waving its little guardian legs at them. Mipha waved back, but really, she was trying to stifle her laughter as Impa gave the poor thing a good whack in return and it jostled into the air, pointing its little finger at her. Terrako truly was very cute, but Mipha was distracted again by Link coming closer still.

He looked radiant, polished, a perfect guard, his hair slicked back into that cap, the royal dark blue armour overlaid his muted red undershirt, and Mipha choked a little on the water she was sipping when she looked at his pristine white gloves and boots. Oh Goddesses, the gloves. He looked devastatingly handsome, and- wait. He held the chair for the Princess, as was expected for a guard, Mipha reassured herself, but he… smiled at her. A small smile, a classic Link smile if you will, but he smiled at her, and she smiled back, gently, tucking her hair behind her ear. Not for the first time in their presence, Mipha felt a dash of fear strike her, but it was quickly forgotten as Link sat down, and smiled the same smile, if a little less bright, towards each of them, until he reached Revali and then it was a nod. That made her chuckle a little, and the Rito just shrugged, instead turning to Zelda and inquiring about her health.

But Mipha was watching Link, and she didn’t miss his fingers tightening over his glass. Subtle, but she noticed still. And the fear pricked again. But he was just annoyed over Revali, right?

He turned to Daruk, who started talking about the newest iteration of Rock Roast, and Link sat up, paying earnest attention.

And Mipha let herself breathe. She was really overthinking this whole scenario to be fair.

Soon enough, the King lifted his champagne flute, and they all looked at him.

“Champions, I invited you all today to commemorate your success! Tonight, we feast, and make merry, for the Darkness has been Sealed and the light of Hylia shines upon us all. I would like to personally extend my thanks for your service in the name of Hyrule, and I pray that you all remain in the best of health, and achieve whatever you set your minds too, for those in the room today are amongst the brightest and most capable citizens of what is surely to be, a glorious future.”

Everyone politely clapped, and Mipha felt encouraged, she could do what she set her mind to, she could confess to Link, she could achieve the future she most wanted- to rule her Domain with him by her side.

Dinner passed by any further without incident, Mipha joked a little with Urbosa, who was in the middle of setting up a “girls-night only session” for the five of them. And Urbosa had done something very strange, she mentioned she wanted to host another catwalk, and then she had winked at Link, who had promptly blushed, pulling at his collar. Mipha wasn’t sure she understood the reference, it felt like an inside joke that she wasn’t privy to, but regardless, she was excited. A chance to bond with other girls her age who weren’t Zora was hard to do, enclosed as they were in the Domain. Then there was the whole ageing issue, because by the time everyone in this room had died, Mipha would actually still be in the Hyrulian equivalent of her thirties. But today was about celebrating their success, and she shouldn’t be thinking of something as morbid as death.

As soon as dessert was passed around, which unsurprisingly was fruitcake, Princess Zelda’s favourite, the group made to disband. She remained, thinking perhaps this would be the ideal time to snag Link for a few minutes, out on the walkway just outside the dining room before they headed to the Sanctum.

She walked very slowly to the door, and then remained just outside, intending on asking Link as he walked out with the Princess. She waited for a few seconds, and he hadn’t shown up yet, so she discreetly held her jewellery and poked her head back in, and she almost wished she hadn’t.

Because Link was using those same white gloves, the pair she had so loved on him, to gently wipe some of the frosting on Princess Zelda’s outer lip. And then. Oh. Mipha had to turn away. She hastily walked off, trying to think of an excuse but was unable too.

Why had he licked his finger clean?

Well, to be fair, they had all become friends over the time, some of them, such as Link and Zelda, had spent even more time together and so were likely to be even better friends. Frankly, they were together all the time, and this sort of behaviour was common between friends was it not? As a form of teasing? Yes, that was it.

She felt somewhat reassured once she was back in the Sanctum, she’d wait for her moment and she would seize it. She would do as she planned today.

*

The King made a similar rousing speech, once they were inside the Sanctum, and the ball began in earnest. Link and Princess Zelda appeared some fifteen minutes after Mipha had arrived, and she had taken a total of twelve minutes to walk across to reach the Sanctum so clearly, nothing else untoward had happened.

Or, well, anything that she could forcibly see.

The music started, as a sort of prelude for the first dance, and Terrako jumped up, pulling off a “spinning” dance move set on the floor, twirling and flying upside down as it gracefully pirouetted, and everyone was fawning over the little egg. It responded in kind with a series of beeps and boops, in sync with the music.

She tried to squeeze her way over to Link, to ask if he would like to, perhaps, dance, and then she’d guide him away mid-swirl and clarify the situation that arose last week.

But, lo and behold, there he was, dancing with the Princess. It was the first dance, and etiquette meant that it was almost expected for Princess Zelda to open up the dance with the Hero. Mipha was nothing if not patient, and she smiled graciously at the courtesan who asked for her hand to dance. She acquiesced, anything to keep her mind off how Link was probably holding the Princess a little closer than etiquette required, and how those piercing sapphire eyes never left the Princess’s own. Whilst she was trying to pay attention to what the courtesan was saying, she hadn’t even caught his name, poor fellow, but she couldn’t help but remain focussed on Link.

She gasped when he spun the Princess in a tight circle, and then dipped her, nearly to the floor, and how in sync they seemed to be, how seamless the whole thing was. It made her suspicious. Link was very graceful in a fight; he performed some of the hardest moves as though he was passing a knife through butter, but… dance was a considerably different type of elegance. And the way the Princess was smiling at him, almost encouraging him, made a small stone settle in her stomach as she came to the most likely conclusion.

He’d learnt to dance with her. They had practised together. And she fought down the burn of jealousy that threatened to escape her.

Of course Link would learn to dance with Princess Zelda, he was her Knight! She must have offered because she knew this ball was coming up, and Link likely had no experience, so she offered to teach him!

And they weren’t dancing as lovers!

Mipha excused herself, she was feeling all hot and bothered and it was just so unlike her to feel agitated. She just needed a few seconds of fresh air, ideally to jump in a lake for a few seconds just to cool down and recover her Grace.

She escaped down a corridor and went through the first door that opened out onto a balcony, taking a few deep breaths.

Within seconds she heard girlish giggling, followed by a deeper, richer laugh. She stiffened, moving to hide behind one of the tapestries, for some reason feeling self-conscious even though she had no reason to be. The pair passed by the door without pausing, and although she likely knew who it was, she wanted to verify it with her own eyes.

And yes, as she’d guessed, there was Princess Zelda, holding hands with Link. The laughter that she’d never heard before was from him. She didn’t have the heart to be upset anymore, because she realised something then.

He was happy.

In all the time she’d known him, he had only ever smiled and laughed as a child, as a four-year-old. Never had he laughed once he grew older, only smiling, and that too, small, limited smiles.

Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest; it was all too much. She had just wanted to take a minute's breather, but she could still do that! She could just- she flipped around and saw another winding corridor.

She hurried down it, keen to try to recompose herself a little. Clearly though, she had forgotten that the castle was indeed circular in shape, and the corridor she had started on in her haste, actually ended up being the very same one Link and Zelda were walking down now. Goddesses, her luck had run out today. It was too late to backtrack, in her panicked, and half-unfocused state she had somehow missed their laughter, and now from the sound of their voices, they had nearly reached the entrance. Thankfully, it was dark, and Mipha pressed herself into the shadows, behind what she could vaguely make out to be a column. She would just wait until they had left, and she would continue forwards to end up back at the ballroom.

But no, even then, she was doomed because Princess Zelda stopped, and moved to light a small lamp on the side. She held it up to what Mipha could make out was a portrait.

“This corridor, Link. Have you had a chance to come before?”

He shook his head.

“Well, I’d imagined so, because we never had much time, really. Always heading from one battle to the next… But I’d like to show you something, now that we’re no longer under such duress.”

He smiled, nodding. “Okay.”

Mipha was distracted from her discomfort at being trapped and unable to escape when she realised that Link spoke. Casually, almost. Like this wasn’t a rare thing. Mipha felt the stone in her gut grow a little.

“We call this the Hallway of Remembrance, to commemorate the Heroes and the Princesses of time past, where Ganon, or at least, some form of him, came to terrorise Hyrule.”

She held up the lamp closer to the first portrait, and Mipha, despite her misgivings, edged a little closer in curiosity. It was a painting of what seemed to be a land mass suspended in air, with the back of a boy that looked a lot like Link, and she had to hold in a gasp when she realised he was, in fact, holding the Master Sword. Next to him was a girl with flowing blonde hair, not unlike the Princess actually… and she was holding a harp.

“This one was commissioned by Father actually. No one truly knows what Hyrule was like back then, but apparently, it was all in the clouds… And they used to fly around on animals that are now very much extinct. So, this isn’t really a portrait from then, but it felt right to include, you know?”

Link paused. “I. I remember it, a little.” He glanced up; his brow furrowed. “I think it was called Skyloft, Zelda. And we flew on loftwings… I saved you then too, although I can’t remember much else.” Mipha’s jaw almost dropped to the ground. Wow. So much speech. And… she still didn't quite understand what was going on, but it was dawning on her now that they wouldn’t be moving down from this corridor for a while. From the way things were going, it seemed like a private conversation she shouldn’t be privy to, and she felt guilty for unintentionally overhearing them.

But she was stuck! She couldn’t move in front of them, or they’d know she was here, and she couldn’t move back down the corridor she came from because they’d also see. So, she was trapped behind this white marble column, indefinitely, until they moved past her.

Princess Zelda laughed. “Obviously you did. That is a recurring theme by the way.” She paused. “Wait, yours was a Crimson loftwing wasn’t it? The rare one?”

He nodded, and he looked so excited. “Yours was blue.”

Zelda’s hand glowed, the blood of Hylia running through her veins, although Mipha saw no Calamity, and wondered what exactly was going on. “Sleepyhead?”

Link laughed, and pulled her close, hugging her tightly. “You will always be… my Zelda.”

And the stone grew. And grew. Mipha fisted her fingers into the small crevices of her jewellery, a storm of guilt and embarrassment over illicitly being here, over watching them when they thought they were alone, over how at ease Link was, over what those words meant. She had to keep reciting that it wasn’t her fault she was trapped here, she would just have to hold it together until they hopefully decided to move on. She couldn’t help but gently pass her fingers over the gaping hole in her chest that she’d hidden with her ornamental silver clasp. She tried her hardest to blot it all out and think up a rational explanation. She was just overreading this. Okay, so just because one of their previous… selves (?) had ended up together, didn’t mean all of them followed the same pattern, right? And of course, you’d embrace someone whose soul you knew like this?

Zelda leaned away from him a little. “Come, I have more to show you.” She pulled him along, and he followed, as he always did, the last thought echoed bitterly in her mind. “Although, I’d like to think things were a little different for us, at least, in terms of the whole saving scenario.”

He nodded. “You’re right. It was different this time… We saved each other, Zelda. I wouldn’t have thought to even touch the sword, if it hadn’t responded to me wanting to protect you, because that’s all I wanted at that moment. And your powers…”

She nodded. “Yes. I, I didn’t want to lose you, Link.” Even from here, Mipha could see her blush. And she felt increasingly uncomfortable. She just- it was too much. Link, freely talked to the Princess. Freely laughed with her. Had a deeper bond with her that wasn’t just for this lifetime but for… all?

Zelda coughed, “A-anyway. The next is of the Hero of Time, and this Princess was rumoured to be a sage…”

Mipha shoved all her misgivings aside and perked up- perhaps they’d have a portrait of this Hero with Princess Ruto because she was also a sage right?

Link winced. “That’s when it all got complicated isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, “Never mind.”

And Mipha felt her hope dash as they walked past the portrait, no mention of any other sage.

Her heart rate increased, as they walked towards her hiding place, slowly but surely. She was thankfully hidden quite well behind the ornate marble columns that held up the walkway above, which meant she was unlikely to be caught. She held tight onto the thought that it would soon be over, that they would soon move on past this damned corridor, and she could finally leave. But no, instead they covered each and every portrait. Mipha slowly felt her hope dwindle, despair set in, and guilt seep through her scales at her continued encroachment on their privacy. She couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by what was being said as the duo continued through several iterations of the same Hero and Princess�� always together, never far apart. One was in Twilight, another in foreign country called Lorule, one in the sea, yet another in spirits…

At that one, it was a portrait of a train, with the Princess… in corporeal form? She was flying beside the boy that Mipha knew was Link. He looked so much like her Link, when he was younger. She watched as Link laughed, “That was a good journey, I remember that.”

Zelda quite literally pushed him. “HEY! I lost my body in that one!”

“Yeah, but you got to be my sidekick for once.” Link was smirking. Mipha had to rub her eyes once, twice and then three times for her to believe what she was seeing was true.

“YOU- I’ll have you know you were MY sidekick. I recruited you! I was the one to pick you to be my engineer!”

“The phantom armour was the best though, especially when you carried me like the Hero I was.”

“Yeah? Without me carrying you, we would have been stuck at level two in the Tower, because you couldn’t walk through lava, being Hylian and all! And then where would we be? And don’t think I don’t remember how long we spent at the Rabbit Sanctuary. You loved frolicking!”

“Hey, no need to call me out like that Princess.”

And so, it continued. For every single portrait. Mipha felt progressively smaller and smaller. She watched as Link held Princess Zelda’s hand, she watched as he leaned his head on her shoulder, so familiar and comfortable. She watched as they exchanged stories, joked with each other, things Link had remembered from the Master Sword, legends Zelda had learnt in the library and her own memories as Hylia’s chosen. As they progressed, Mipha increasingly felt like she was simply a side character, in a longer, and more detailed history than she ever could have imagined. She remained, frozen in place, as they last reached the penultimate portrait, just by her hiding place.

“Ah. This is a precious one Link. I only really remembered this one after unlocking my sealing power.”

It was Link. Sitting atop what was a weird… Mipha didn’t know how to describe it. It had two wheels, one at the front and another at the back, with a sort of seat in the middle. He was wearing a familiar blue tunic, much like the one made for him by the Princess, and Zelda was sitting in front, his arm wrapped around her, his face half-leaning against hers. They looked very comfortable with each other, and it lacked the seriousness that some of the other portraits had. Behind them, were the Divine Beasts, each with their Champion in the distance.

“This is… the legend we tried to recreate in our world, isn’t it? So, this is the direct predecessor to ours…”

“Yes…”

There was only one portrait left, just by her column. This portrait was the only one with a red cloth over it. Mipha didn’t dare breathe, but Goddesses, she was so thankful it was nearly the end. She would finally be able to leave… Finally able to ignore the gnawing fear that she had completely misunderstood Link which oozed through her skin and clung to her tighter than the armour she had painstakingly made.

“So, this is the special one!” She uncovered it, and Link laughed, clear and loud. Mipha pressed herself tighter into her column, making sure to remain silent, and she realised it was, in fact, two portraits. One was of all of the champions together, Link, Princess Zelda, Terrako, herself, Urbosa, Daruk, Revali, Master Kohga, Maz Koshia, Hestu and the King even, and the second… The second was of Princess Zelda in her royal blue gown, and Link in his Royal Guard uniform.

He gasped, poking her cheek. “So, this is why you wanted me to wear this uncomfortably tight uniform the other day and you took a photo on the slate!”

“Yes, silly. I wanted to commemorate us, too. We’ve also fought against Ganon, and now we will be preserved in history, as will all the other Heroes and Princesses that have come before us.”

He leaned closer, until his forehead rested on hers, his hands cupping her face and Mipha felt her heart stop. It felt like the final nail was hovering over her chest, about to shatter the fragile, tiny bud of hope she had left. “Thank you, Zelda. Not, not only for today, but for saving me, and for letting me live all our lives again.”

She stroked his cheek. “You’re welcome, Link. I’m so very happy to have found you again, sleepyhead.” She laughed, “Although, I’ve decided I don’t quite like this cap. I cannot run my fingers through your hair.” He instantaneously pulled it off, and leaned closer still, and she laughed, before her lips touched his.

And the nail sunk in. Hard and fast.

Mipha’s heart shattered.

She turned and left, and they didn’t notice.

How could they, when they were so lost in each other. Deep down, Mipha knew. She denied it to herself constantly, but she knew. And now, after seeing just how many generations they’ve passed through, tied to each other, she realised something else. They were soulmates. Their souls were forever bound to one another. And she could never compete against that.

But even then, even if she disregarded their history, there was no doubt left in her mind that Link very much liked, if not loved, Princess Zelda. And whilst it burned her like acid down her throat, or as if she’d stepped into the lava that surrounds Death Mountain, right now, she knew that she would be happy seeing him happy. And if his happiness lay with another Princess, then who was she to say otherwise.

But tonight, tonight she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity, for a love lost, for a love, that no matter how hard she might have wished it to be true, was doomed from the start to fail.

[smp-live]

Was scrolling through c!Wilbur crit blogs again and it got me thinking about why exactly I argue in favour of him so much so here’s a random ramble (that got long) about it:

Most c!Wilbur critics (at least, in the tag, not directly post-lore stream. The ones that do actual analysis on him) are like... really reasonable about it, actually, lmao. Like it’s mostly just calling him a bad person because of power hunger/manipulation/being a bad dad/whatever else. (Not talking about antis. I mean people who are really critical of him, but recognize that he’s a well-crafted character with nuance.)

Which I agree with! I consider myself an apologist, my writing and analysis leans really sympathetic, and I still agree that he’s a shitty rat bastard that I would run far away from irl. Even at the beginning of the story, he’s very morally grey, sometimes using underhanded persuasion tactics, doing ehh things like stealing, and it only gets worse from there.

But on the other hand, he’s... not that bad. Like I saw one person say about c!Dream, “My reaction to most critique of him is... so what?” and that’s how I feel about c!Wilbur, I suppose. Yeah, he tried to rig an election - but it was a last-ditch effort at not going full dictator, he didn’t follow through, and later on he - in part - decided to blow it up because they couldn’t get it back while being democratic. And yeah, he manipulated people - all in all, it wasn’t really really bad things, mostly to paint himself in a better light because of his insecurities, and people sometimes fall into manipulative language without even outwardly realizing that it’s a shitty thing to do. Of course, that shows a bigger underlying problem in their mindset and the way they interpret relationships and possession, but then that’s a different discussion - and definitely one that applies to c!Wilbur.

(Not saying he doesn’t ever intentionally manipulate people. I think that a. sometimes it might be accidental, (”If you wanna be President you’re gonna have to get on my good side,” mans was Not thinking straight,) and b. other times he falls into old habits/coping mechanisms that happen to be manipulation, (Tommy at Las Nevadas.) Other than the election and maybe some times in the early founding of L’Manberg, I can’t think of any moments where I’m like, “Yeah, he is Purposefully Manipulating here.” And even then, it just doesn’t strike me as a terrible thing. People manipulate, it’s a thing they do. That’s it. A morally grey action.)

And I think the majority of the reason I make more posts painting him in a positive light and don’t really discuss my critique of him is because it feels like the fandom has an overwhelming bias of hatred/crit, even if a lot of that isn’t, y’know, proper analysis of his character. I instinctively want to balance it out for this character I love/relate to, because a lot of what I see straight-up ignores the lighter side of his moral-greyness.

Like, a while back, I posted a couple clips from late-election arc, of Wilbur talking about how he feels about Fundy siding with Quackity and against him. And the way I initially saw it while watching was, “Okay. He feels betrayed by his son who disagrees with his politics - and thus, him as a person, because your politics are a reflection of your identity, especially in Wilbur’s mind - and it’s perfectly understandable that he’d want to vent about that in private to a close friend. On the other hand, he should be able to recognize that Fundy’s allowed to be his own person and shouldn’t be babied. Fundy is in the right, here, but Wilbur’s feelings shouldn’t be dismissed.”

But then 90% of the tags were just straight-up hate for c!Wilbur, going as far as to say that he should die again. (And this was after we found out how bad the afterlife was for him.) That fucking floored me. I just couldn’t understand how they took this nuanced character aching for ‘the son he knew’ back (hm. very similar to c!Phil, actually) and turned it into ‘wow. This suicidal man sucks and should maybe die.’ I was so close to making a post defending him before realizing - I was letting fandom bias against a character push me further onto the sympathetic side.

And that’s such a fuckin’ weird thing to have happen, because you’d think that exposure to negativity about a character would make you feel more negative about them? But without fail, every time I scroll through the crit tag, or read a critical post about c!Wilbur/L’Manberg, I maybe lean a bit more towards that side for a few hours before swinging back hard onto the apologist side. Because a lot of the critique, to me, is really just, “so what?” after I let it stew a bit.

Then there’s the whole mental health issue. Obviously it doesn’t excuse the shit he did - I know people who have been in the middle of breakdowns and the stuff they say still fucking hurts, even if they didn’t truly mean it. But recognizing that he needs help? That for pretty much all his time on-screen, he was depressed and paranoid, which obviously affects the way he acts? That’s obvious. And were he in the position to get professional help - which he deserves - everything would be much better off. That’s the root of my apologism, I think: He deserves to get better. He’s not inherently evil, or bad, just a fucked up little man who’s ruined his own life and needs help. I want to see him, specifically him, get better.

Narratively, his punishment has been extreme and disproportionate. Every mistake, every choice - good or bad - has led to suffering, on his part. Start a fun little rebellion, maybe to gain some power? War and betrayal. Declare an election to consolidate said power? Lose, and get exiled. Blow up a nation? Die, and even in the afterlife, he can't catch a break. Purely as a sympathetic human, it feels like he deserves to rest. Deserves to heal.

But even medicated and less anxious, or going to therapy for his neuroticism and depression, or whatever, he still would be quite morally grey. A lot of his manipulation, his power hunger, comes from this neuroticism; from needing to feel safe and needed, (just like Quackity.) Not all of it, though. He’d still have his unhealthy ideals about relationships and possession, for example. Less prominent, sure, but still there. Some people, I feel, discount how tied up with his mental illness it is, while others don’t really recognize that it’s also a personality problem. Like, changing those beliefs is changing part of who he fundamentally is, as a person.

Actually, I think the c!Wilbur apologist community, in general, tends to scapegoat his mental illness a little too much? Not in that we explain his actions with it or ask people not to villainize it, (although sometimes I feel that what we call villainizing mental illness is a bit excessive, but it’s not my place to talk about that as someone who doesn’t really relate to Pogtopia!Wilbur,) but in that we use it in discussions a lot. Which is fair, because it permeates every single aspect of his character, but even without it he’d have toxic traits? Like his possessiveness is not purely a byproduct of his mental illness, imo. Nor is his treatment of Fundy. It’s amplified by it, surely, but that little seed of it is there in the first place. Just as c!Dream’s abuse needs to be addressed as a central part of his character, c!Wilbur’s possessiveness does too - and also outside of the context of their mental health, because they’re both brought on by an internal personality flaw, some fucked-up belief, if that makes sense.

As I said before: c!Wilbur is a mess of a human being that I would hate if I actually met. (irl I would’ve been a SWAG supporter, based on policies, but since this is fiction, I was POG.) But because he’s a character, that flies out the window, and I can love him - not even just as a character, in the sense that I appreciate he’s well-crafted, but in terms of personality and all that shit, while recognizing he’s a kinda crappy guy. Because he’s a character. That’s the fun of it.

[cutie1365]

Hello Detective Chapter 72

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Had a spark of inspiration after some funny comments on my Wattpad version of this story. See the power of feedback for writers lol. 

Any and all feedback is appreciated and encouraged!

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Chapter 71 | Chapter 1 

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You walked around the empty flat, waiting for Sherlock and John to return from the hospital. Mycroft was calling for backup to do a drug sweep due to his recent relapse. The place was quiet, eerily so. You hadn’t walked these halls for weeks, but it felt as if years had worn them down, turning them dark and lifeless. Nothing like the flat you knew. Nothing like your home. It’s like in their bones they sensed your absence. They revolted against it. You glanced towards the closed bedroom door, not being able to bring yourself to open it. You missed him too much for that. The memories you’d made in that room would be too much to face now. Now you had to hold your mask high, you had to play your role and not become distracted.

Downstairs you heard the creak of the door slowly opening and prepared yourself for the confrontation. It was never pretty when Sherlock and Mycroft went at it.

Mycroft was sitting at the bottom of the steps anticipating their arrival. You waited at the landing, not quite stepping into the light yet, using your last few moments to compose yourself for the inevitable argument.

“Well then Sherlock, back on the sauce?” Mycroft spoke immediately as they entered the room, hoping to employ the element of surprise. But of course Sherlock was expecting him. He’d straightened the knocker, of course Sherlock would notice.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, not in the mood for another insignificant lecture.

“I phoned him.” John admitted.

“The siren call of old habits.” Mycroft muttered disapprovingly.

“Old?” You raised a brow, taking a few steps down into the light. Mycroft turned to look at you, concern flashed across his face. He acted like Sherlock ever stopped using, but you knew better.

“You phoned him?” Sherlock asked John again, who wasn’t in the mood.

“Course I bloody phoned him.” John said, exasperated. Did he forget he just pulled him from a drug den? Of course he was bloody concerned.

“And her?” Sherlock asked, with malice in his voice, directed straight at you.

“Oh I’m here against my will, don’t worry I’d never come here voluntarily.” You retorted.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Mycroft changed the subject before he got a chance. He was too tired to deal with the two of you at eachothers throats.

“Now save me a little time. Where should we be looking?” Mycroft asked.

“We?” Sherlock asked, raising his brow.

“Mr Holmes?” The voice of Anderson echoed from upstairs.

The look of simultaneous anger and surprise on Sherlock’s face caused you to laugh.

“Oh I take it back, this is going to be fun.” You chuckled darkly. This is just what you needed. A good old Sherlock-Anderson standoff like the good old days. God things were simpler back then, even with the homicidal maniac who tried to blow you up.

“For God’s sake!” Sherlock called up to Anderson, pushing past you and Mycroft while making his way up the stairs. The three of you followed in tow.

“Anderson?” Sherlock asked annoyed and exasperated, hoping that he’d misidentified the voice, only for it to be confirmed.

“Sorry Sherlock, it’s for your own good.” Anderson apologized as the rest of you filed into the flat. He stood next to who you assumed to be his new girlfriend, you recognized her from your trip to his apartment all those months ago.

“Oh, that’s him, isn’t it?” The girlfriend asked, “You said he’d be taller.”

She turned and muttered her last statement to Phillip, but you knew that would strike a cord with Sherlock. Just like the hat, it was a delicate subject.

As you suspected, Sherlock flipped up his hood, turned and curled up into his chair, literally folding his body into the fetal position and resting his entire body on the cushion. Frankly, you were surprised he fit.

“Some members of your little fan club, to be polite. They’re entirely trustworthy. Even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you were pleased to call a flat.” Mycroft said, as John took a look around the place, no doubt noticing the stark change since his absence. You noticed his chair was gone too. “You’re a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can’t afford a drug habit.”

“I do not have a drug habit.” Sherlock argued, and you scoffed.

“No, he’s a user, remember.” You retorted, and on that subject you didn’t have to act so disappointed.

“Hey, what happened to my chair?” John asked, looking down to the empty spot on the carpet.

“It was blocking my view to the kitchen.” He answered, but you knew that was a lie. More like ‘I missed my wife and the sight only reminded me of her absence’.

“What have you found so far? Clearly nothing.” Mycroft turned back to Anderson.

“There’s nothing to find.” Sherlock yelled from the living room, hoping to stop them from digging.

“Your bedroom door is shut, you haven’t been home all night,” Mycroft began to walk back towards the bedroom, and Sherlock’s head shot up. “So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?”

“Okay, stop!” Sherlock yelled, jumping up as Mycroft’s hand neared the door handle. “Just stop!”

What was it he didn’t want anyone to see in there? John noticed his frantic behavior as well. The two of you shared a confused look, and then it hit you. You turned to Sherlock with a surprised look, and he knew you had figured it out. Oh god was she in there? Your face said it all. For a moment Sherlock’s eyes pleaded with you for forgiveness. For a moment the two of you shared an entire conversation through only two glances that quickly slipped away to not jeopardize the roles that you were both playing so well. Mycroft was right, Sherlock never shut the door unless the two of you were in there together.

“Point made.” Sherlock said, and you shook your head, putting your mask back on.  They were expecting drugs, but you knew better. He didn’t want to put you through that, knowing he had to fake date another woman was one thing, but flaunting it in your face was another. And that was a line he would not cross. Charles was different, he was in on it, he knew you were married. Hell, you didn’t even know who he was fake dating. While Sherlock and Charles had never officially met the two sure knew a lot about the other.

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John said, shaking his head. Of course he’d think this was his fault partially. He should have checked up on him, he should have been here. Obviously he was taking him getting married and moving out a lot harder than he expected. Of course that wasn’t the whole story.

“I’ll have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won’t be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line dancing.” Mycroft sighed. How these two boys came from those two parents, you’d never know.

“This is not what you think, this is for a case.” Sherlock explained, hoping Mycroft would understand.

“What case could possibly justify this?” Mycroft asked, and you were curious too.

You’d never pressed and you trusted him when he said it was important, but now, maybe you wanted to know. You could handle the anonymity when you were away from Sherlock but now that he was finally standing in front of you again you wanted to help. Your curiosity was getting the better of you.

“Magnussen” He spoke, and you swore you stopped breathing. “Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

You tried not to gasp but you may have let in a sharp breath that caused Mycroft to turn to you. He knew you were currently a part of the enquiry into him, so you really couldn’t get involved with anything Sherlock was about to say. Panic began to set in and it took every ounce of your MI6 training to not let it show on your face. This was what all this was about? Mycroft sighed and turned back to Anderson and his partner.

“That name you think you may have just heard, you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you on behalf of the British Security Services that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don’t reply, just look frightened and scuttle.” Mycroft threatened, as Phillip and his girlfriend ran out of the room, closing the door.

Mycroft turned back to John, “I hope I won’t have to threaten you as well.”

“Well, I think we’d both find that embarrassing.” John deadpanned, causing Sherlock to laugh, he looked at you hoping to share in a quick smile. He was met with your unamused face, eyes still slightly wide as you fought to keep your breathing at a stable rate.

“This isn’t funny.” You said, one hundred percent serious. He furrowed his brows a bit. Normally you would have found that hilarious, but clearly something had changed. That wasn’t just a part of the act. That felt real.

“Magnussen is not your business.” Mycroft said to John.

“Oh you mean he’s yours.” Sherlock pointed to Mycroft. You could feel your throat tightening, you urged the feeling to go away. You could not show any signs of fear. Magnussen held your entire life in the balance, you couldn’t allow even a tiny slip up.

“You may consider him under my protection.” Mycroft said, you turned to him furrowing your brows for a moment. You didn’t know that, though it didn’t change much. You now had a face to the immunity power that Magnussen had.

“I consider you under his thumb.” Sherlock seethed. You moved your hands behind your back to hide them shaking. You tried to keep Sherlock away from your Magnussen mess and here he was smack dab in the middle of it.

“If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me.” Mycroft said.

“And me.” Your voice wavered. If Sherlock attacks Magnussen there's nothing stopping him from releasing the information on you and your uncle. Your words shocked everyone in the room, even Mycroft. A quiver of a brow was all you got in response from Mycroft but you knew that wasn’t the end of the conversation.

“Okay, I’ll let you know if I notice.” Sherlock shot back. He began to walk towards the door.

“Erm... What was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Bye-bye.“ He opened the door and pointed out. Mycroft made his way towards it, as you followed.

“Unwise, brother mine.” Mycroft said, just having to get the last word. You were ready to roll your eyes before Sherlock jumped into action, surprising you. Sherlock grabbed Mycroft’s arm, twisted it behind his back and pinned him against the wall.

“Brother mine, don’t appall me when I’m high.” Sherlock seethed in his brother's ear, causing him to groan in pain.

“Hey!” You shouted, pulling Sherlock off of him and pinning Sherlock to the wall instead. Maybe this is what Mycroft meant by backup. You raised your elbow, pinning him in place as he winced slightly. That wasn’t fake. Having never seen this side of you, his eyes danced curiously across your face looking for any glimpse of an explanation. You held your demeanor.

“I hope you fully understand what you’re about to get yourself into here.” You scold, hoping he understands your warning. You didn’t just mean fighting with Mycroft, you meant Magnuseen. He was not someone to fuck with, and whatever he was getting himself into, it wouldn’t end well for anyone.

Mycroft picks up his umbrella and makes his way down the stairs, straightening his suit and thankful for your help, though he’d never admit it. You remove your arm from Sherlock's neck as he sucks in a breath of air. You turn and follow Mycroft down the stairs without another word.

You were angry, seething on the inside. Magnussen was ripping your life apart at every turn. You hated him, you wanted to kill him, to dismember him limb by limb, but you were powerless. You couldn’t even talk back to the man without fearing the repercussions. He owned you.

As you stepped out onto the street Mycroft turned to you, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot.

“Keep an eye on him. Don’t let him dig too deep into this.” He said, keeping his voice low.

“Absolutely not.” You shook your head, you couldn’t do that even if you wanted to.

He seemed unsatisfied at your volume, and quickly glanced up to the window into 221B above you. Something must have caught his eye because he grabbed your arm and pulled you back under the awning of Speedys, keeping the two of you out of eyesight.

“I don’t care that the two of you... broke up.” He waved his hand, as if saying those words disgusted him. “That can’t stop you from doing your job.”

“Mycroft, we shouldn’t even be discussing this. With the enquiry going on, you know I can’t get involved. My hands are tied. Magnussen is untouchable, even Sherlock can’t get to him.” You pressed, shaking your head, holding back your anger.

You turned and walked back towards the street, raising your hand to hail a cab. As one began to pull over you heard Mycroft begin to call your name. You whipped back to him before he had a chance to continue the conversation.

“Drop it.” You said forcefully, pointing your finger at him, turning and opening the cab door.

Before stepping in, you turned and glanced up at the window, feeling eyes on you. Sherlock stood, watching the interaction carefully. You shot him what you hoped was a warning look as you sank into the backseat and slammed the door.

You let out a groan as the car pulled away, wishing you could take Charles up on his murderous offer.

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Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!

Taglist in Reblog

Masterlist

[janekfan]

Ten Seconds

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814524

One can do anything for ten seconds. And then all you have to do is start with another ten seconds and well. You can do anything for ten seconds. Jon blinked back the encroaching, smothering black.

Ten seconds.

Martin deserved ten seconds. Ten thousand seconds. Ten billion seconds. But at the moment, Jon can only spare him ten. And then he would spare him ten more.

Ten seconds.

Martin’s hand was cold, pale, and Jon worried that without his ability to See, there would be no one beside him on the train. Awkwardly, he pressed trembling lips to the soft head of auburn hair settled against his chest. (Was there even a heartbeat under there?) He could do this now, he was allowed.

Ten seconds.

Jon stayed there for a full count, breathing in the comfort of Martin, there, with him, against him. Solid. Not quite warm yet. But there. His weight grounding Jon as his mind attempted to race and came up only with

Hungry. Hungry. Starving. Hollow. Empty. Empty. Empty. Painhurthungerempty there’s a statement in the second car and pleasejustletmeeatsomethingiamstarvingandsosoSOHUNGRY.

Ten seconds.

Swallowing down the intrusive thoughts past the clot of agony in his throat, Jon could feel every scar one hundred fold. Itching. Aching. Stretching like mouths in his ashen skin to reveal what monster lay underneath and he couldn’t let it because then everyone would Know like he Knew. He offered the elderly lady across from him a wavering smile and she returned it and it was so normal and nothing had been normal for so long. He buried his face in Martin’s hair, sweet, exhausted, Lonely, Martin who needed him to be strong for just once in his greedy life.

Ten seconds.

He cried, silently, hidden from sight, every nerve alight as he strained the limit of his unwanted powers to make sure nothing was following them.

Ten seconds.

That’s all he needed before the train pulled to a lurching stop at the small, but well kept station. Jon shouldered their backpacks, cupping Martin’s cheek and touching his forehead to his.

“Up you get, darling.” Martin’s eyes were hazy and grey, brightening to strawflower blue when he acknowledged Jon. “If we don’t disembark now, we’ll have left all the good cows behind us.” Despite his own slightness and Martin’s greater height, Jon guided them both to the platform, looking around to clear his head. “Come, love. I know the way.” Gentle. To make up for all the times he was not. That’s what Martin deserved. Kindness and gentleness and softness.

Jon was worried his sharp edges and temper and hunger would never be enough.

Ten seconds.

Huffing, wheezing, he hadn't been particularly fit before and wasn’t that a poor position to be in when most of your job relied on running from individual eldritch horrors, Jon struggled to hitch them both up the small slope to the tiny village. Though there were spare, flickering street lights, most of the windows were dark and if Jon hadn’t just compelled a being to death, he might have been frightened. As it was, the cottage came into view and Jon turned the key in the old lock and pushed in, going down under the heavy weakness in his legs.

“...Jon?”

“S’alright, Martin.” Just taking a short rest.

Ten seconds.

Before making it to the couch and taking Martin’s hands in his own. Gingerly, Jon rubbed his thumbs over the back of his hands, trying to impart some warmth, any warmth, into that frozen skin.

“I’ll make us some tea.” Get Martin warm. Warm and safe. Packs in a pile, Jon spread a knitted throw over him, tucking it around his shoulders and making quite sure he wouldn’t end up with a crick in his neck.

Ten seconds.

He locked the door.

Ten seconds.

Piled wood into the fireplace and checked the flue, no good would come of smoking them both like a fish.

Ten seconds.

And ten more again.

To work up the courage to strike a match and light the tinder and his hands shook so badly the first guttered out. The scar on his palm burned like the day he’d received it. Strike the match. Light the tinder. Stoke the fire and check the draft.

Ten seconds.

To cry and shake on the hearth. To rock back and forth, hands rough against his face, tears wet and uncomfortable and all his stifling made his head throb. When finally he could stand again, Jon checked on Martin, kissed his cheek because he was allowed to do that now, and stumbled into the kitchen to turn on the hob and heat some water.

“Oh.” He could see in the dark. When had that happened? He distracted himself with locating tea, so old, and Jon could pinpoint the exact date it had been manufactured, when it arrived on the shelf. When Daisy bought it and how long she took to put it away and when the last time a human, or somewhat human, hand had touched it and Martin would no doubt find it flavorless, but it was normalcy. A few dry goods in airtight containers, things that could be whipped up by adding water, stocked the pantry. They would need to go to the market but could survive for several days on what they had here. Or Marin could. Jon wanted only what he could not have. It would worry Martin. So he would try to eat. He could try anything for Martin. A sharp pang lanced through his middle and he curled up around it, gripping the counter for dear life and clapping a hand over his mouth to cut off the noise.

Ten seconds.

And the tea was done. And the lamp next to the couch worked to cast a cozy yellow glow over the room. Jon set his own chipped mug on the table before waking Martin to press another mug, warm from the tea, into his hands.

“Nothing could measure up to your tea, but it’s hot.” When Martin smiled, Jon’s whole body tingled; he wanted to make Martin smile always.

“Thank you, love.” The endearment made his head swim. This was his. To selfishly keep and to hold and to horde and because the Eye wanted to do that anyway, it was that much easier but no less unbelievable. More color flooded into Martin’s face at the first sip, and the expression he made, caught between polite and disgust, made Jon chuckle.

“We’ll have to stock up.” Martin continued to sip despite the taste, becoming more and more aware with each swallow, and Jon wanted to ask if he could. Maybe. “C’c’ould I. Perhaps.” Now that the idea was in his mind it was almost louder than the hunger and he couldn’t think of anything else. Martin raised an eyebrow because of course he did, because he wanted to hear Jon to say it. “I. I.” Breathe. “J’join you?” The only dignified way he could think of saying ‘if you don’t hold me now, I may fall completely apart, and you need me to not do that to you this time.’ Martin grinned widely, face soft and open and so, so beautiful, set his empty mug on the table and opened up the blanket. It was all Jon could do not to leap at him and cling like a limpet, and instead sideled into his embrace, melting against his side. Safe. Safe. He was safe. They were safe. He would always be safe here. Nuzzling his cheek into a broad chest and winding both hands into his jumper, Jon sighed, letting the steady heartbeat quiet the voices, the Knowing, listening to the quiet. Like Daisy said, just listen to the quiet. When he looked up, Martin met his gaze, and Jon charted the freckles like constellations dusted over his cheeks and knew he would never forget any of them even if someday he could.

“You look tired, Jon.” Martin frowned and no, no, no, Jon didn’t want him to do that, anything but that. Not because of him. So he chuffed, in that way that mimicked disbelief and ire. It was easy. Too easy. To build those walls back up again. But he’d hurt him so much already. He had to protect Martin from himself. From the monster that was hired right along with him.

“It’s been. Well, a bit of a day.” His legs were folded up on the couch and when had that happened? pressing his boney knees into Martin’s soft thigh. He’d been starving before he dove into the Lonely for Martin, to retrieve what was his, and he’d used up even more of himself destroying Peter Lukas, then most of the rest to leave with his precious, invaluable prize. “Bit of a decade, really.”

“Shall we, then?” Jon felt himself flush red and buried his nose into Martin’s chest. Because yes. yes. He wanted to lay beside Martin at night. Watch him wake up next to him. Last action of the day to kiss him good night, first of the morning to kiss him awake. “Oh, darling.” The amusement in his quiet voice made him flash hotter and Martin’s arms wrapped him up so completely he felt cocooned within the sanctuary of his hold. Cherished. Something that still had value despite being so, so ugly.

Ten seconds.

He couldn’t let himself cry. Not where Martin could see. Not when it would only make him worry.

“Y’yes, please.” This time Martin grabbed their packs, held Jon by the waist when the change in position made his head swim. “Heh. T’t’tired.” It wasn’t a lie, not completely, but it left a sour taste on his tongue either way. They were changing for bed when Jon realized Martin had turned self conscious, and he pressed himself into his surprised arms, skin singing like he’d been struck by lighting the moment they touched, tugging him down to meet him for a sweet kiss. “I love you.” Now it was Martin’s turn to blush and it only made Jon kiss him that much more. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The bed was just big enough for the pair of them to be comfortable and though Martin dropped off quickly, he was now warm to the touch, their faces scant centimeters apart. It was dark but Jon could make out every precious feature made prettier by the soft moonlight, lashes darker and swept over cheeks Jon wanted to kiss over and over and over again. Like this, in this tentative peace, Jon felt he finally had space to take a full breath. They were safe here. It was called a safe house. It was in the name.

But just in case he would stay awake to keep watch. To protect that which was his should something decide now was a good time to get cheeky.

Ten seconds.

He kept himself still so as not to disturb him. Watching. He needed to rest and recover and he wouldn’t be able to do so if Jon was rolling about the sheets. When the hunger threatened to crescendo, to beg him to extract any and all statements from Martin and he had so many, he distracted himself by memorizing all that he could.

Ten seconds.

The way his freckles were splashed more heavily on the left side of his face.

Ten seconds.

There were exactly seventeen dusted over his nose, with one close to the corner of his right eye.

Ten seconds.

Depending on what size and how pigmented, Jon could map Ursa Minor using the one nearest his lashes as Polaris. Ursa Major was too far away in terms of accuracy--

A wave of ache crested in his mind. The Eye no doubt tired of his little games.

Ten seconds.

In terms of accuracy, but was there, tucked closely to his ear, hidden partially from sight by a stray curl. Jon giggled, slightly hysterical, clamping both hands over his face. But there was a veritable zoo with Draco and Pegasus and Cignus.

Ten seconds.

Waiting for Martin to stir, his nose to scrunch up as he came awake on his own before pouncing and kissing him the rest of the way to consciousness.

“Good morning to you as well, Jon!” Martin was laughing. Hugging him close and kissing him back. He was allowed to have this.

Ten seconds.

“You need feeding up, darling.” Martin ran his fingers over Jon’s shivery ribs, playing them as though they were piano keys, pausing at the space left behind by the Boneturner. “You’re practically hollow.”

Ten seconds.

If he only knew. Instead.

“There are instant porridge oats in the pantry.” The thought of food made his stomach turn.

“As good as we’ll get, I suspect. At least until we head into the village.” They got ready squashed together at the small bathroom sink. It was nice. Domestic.

Jon watched Martin read the box, selecting two packets and pouring them into two bowls, He tipped a careful measure of hot water from the kettle over the gravel dust lining each before turning to pass two mugs of tea to him.

“Even my tea making abilities didn’t stand a chance.” He set a bowl before Jon, sliding a spoon across the table. Something must have shown in his face because Martin covered his hand with his own. “I know it’s. It’s not what you want. But.” Jon startled, knowing his eyes were wide in surprise as he looked up at Martin. “I’ll contact Basira. We’ll get you what you need.”

“Martin. N’n’no, it’s alright.”

Ten seconds.

“It really isn’t.” And he kissed his forehead.

Ten seconds.

“I’m not. Sure. If I, I can go to the village.” Jon tugged his mug closer to him, fingers leeching the warmth from the porcelain. “I’m. I’m not safe.” Barely above a whisper, he didn’t want to admit to this weakness in him. But he needed to be honest or he’d just put them in more danger.

He couldn’t protect Martin if he was chasing meals and out of his mind.

“No worries, love. I can go for the both of us.” Martin stirred his breakfast before taking a bite and not wanting to disappoint him, Jon forced a mouthful himself and the regret was instantaneous. “Oh, Jon.” He leaned into his palm as it cupped his ear.

Ten seconds.

Ten seconds.

Ten seconds.

Jon was dizzy, freezing. Like he’d taken the Lonely inside himself and housed it right next to where the worst of his hunger resided. He was so relieved Basira was shipping statements because if Jon were being honest with himself for once, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist just taking the statements from the one he loved most.

Ten seconds.

How many more until he could have any small respite?

Ten seconds.

At least it was quiet here. With Martin. They saw plenty of truly lovely cows on the walks they took hand in hand and side by side and Jon got to spend all the time he wanted curled against him, letting the rhythm of his pulse quiet the ravenous need.

Tonight though, he couldn’t seem to get warm, caught between chills and hunger pangs he kept to himself even though Martin could see right into his soul it seemed. He often wondered if Martin hated what he saw.

“Soon, love.” Oh, and the pain in Martin’s voice. This isn’t what Jon wanted at all.

Ten seconds.

When he was sure Martin was asleep, Jon crept out of bed to retrieve the jumper he’d discarded and pull it over his head, sighing with relief not because he was any warmer, but because now Martin was all around him. Even as he tried not to, tried to keep watch, Jon succumbed to sleep tucked tightly against Martin, drowning gently in him.

When Martin woke, he allowed himself a few moments to appreciate the small body snuggled up close because there was a time where he wasn’t sure he’d ever have a moment like this again. He brushed his fingers through prematurely greying hair and tucked it behind Jon’s ear so he could press his lips against his forehead, both eyelids, his cheek, his nose, to the corner of his slack mouth, smiling against the stubble there. Jon didn’t stir and Martin decided to let him sleep as long as possible. He wasn’t well. Pale and gaunt, haunted by the things he’d seen and been forced to do. Jon destroyed Peter Lukas, dragged him from the Lonely, got them all the way to Scotland.

Jon wouldn’t hear of him giving a statement, maybe he could give him this.

He was doing the washing up in the kitchen when he heard unsteady shuffling behind him followed by a hoarse, bleary voice.

“Martin. Y’were gone.”

“Jon?” Martin had just seconds to appreciate how small, how adorable Jon was swallowed up in his cable knit, swaying there like a bit of weed caught up in the tide. It hung off one narrow brown shoulder to fall mid thigh revealing bare, scarred legs and mismatched socked feet. His thin hands were fisted in the ends of the sleeves, one of them sleepily rubbing at an eye limned with shadows so dark Martin would have thought they’d been blacked had he not known better.

Just seconds before he crumpled like wet paper or a house of cards, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his temple striking the wooden floor far too hard for Martin’s liking.

“Jon!” Fluttering, his hands lingered over Jon’s limp body like butterflies, lighting only briefly before resuming their frantic flight. He wasn’t sure he could move him. Touch him. What if he made it worse? Would he heal from this? When he was starved as he was?

“Mmh…” A bare sliver of unfocused dull brown appeared between lashes parted a hairsbreadth.

“Jon?” Delicately, Martin brushed aside his hair to get a better look at where he struck his head and violently, Jon flinched away from the light touch, breath picking up, trembling beginning in earnest now. At least there was no blood, only a nasty contusion that already seemed to be healing, albeit slowly, and he attempted to shift. “Hush, hush, don’t move. I’ve got you, darling. It’s Martin and I’ve got you.”

“Mmmartin.”

“Yes, I’m going to lift you.” Frighteningly limp, Jon weighed almost nothing in his arms and Martin tucked him closer, into his neck, protectively. “You’re so cold, love.”

“Martin.” The small whimper was little more than an exhale against his jaw. “Martin.”

“I’m here.” He settled him on the bed, still turned down from where Jon untangled himself to go looking for him just moments ago. “I’ve got you.” And to his utter dismay a painful sob wrenched itself free from Jon’s throat. “Oh, darling, shh, it’s alright.” Martin pulled the blankets up around them both and Jon turned into his chest, clutching him as tightly as he could, tears coming silently in a torrent, slipping over the bridge of his nose and soaking the sheets. “Alright, alright.” Gradually the shaking died down, and the hitching in his breath evened out into panting, and further into something approaching sleep. Saltwater damp lashes brushed against Martin’s skin and he stroked his palm up and down Jon’s back, pressing his lips wherever they could reach until his body relaxed completely, the hand once gripping him for dear life now loosely curled on the pillow where his head rested. Martin was sick with worry. He’d never seen Jon lose control like this; not even at his most paranoid.

Retrieving a damp flannel, Martin swept it delicately over Jon’s face, concerned when he didn’t so much as twitch, before setting it aside and settling in to wait. This time he would be here when Jon woke.

To give in to the Eye and watch (take) is to be rid of the pain of resisting.

It is equal parts loss and failure.

Monstrous. Untouchable, but afraid, so afraid.

Watching himself being watched by himself, being watched by himself, being watched by himself, being watched, infinitely, forever, because what watches the Ceaseless Watcher but itself? Through the hole torn in the very fabric of the sky, gloating, glutted, on truths and falsehoods it wasn’t supposed to have, to know, to keep like it had right.

Eyes forced to see, too many eyes, eyes that didn’t belong to him (all eyes belonged to him), feeding, gorging on information and Knowing, Knowing, Knowing, unable to shut the doors, unable to keep them out, out, out because now they were open and staring and wide and he didn’t have the strength to shut them again. Nothing but a conduit. A seemingly unlimited vessel somehow filled to the brim and bursting, seeping through the cracks of himself, rivulets of Knowing like acid, like hot, burning, blazing blood that he tried to keep inside through force of habit because no matter how much he lost, there was always more. More. More.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

But he needed it to breathe. To be. To suffocate him. Pain. But beautiful. The euphoria of holding one’s breath beneath the sea, silent, soft, soundless but for the muffled cadence of your heart in your ears.

Ten seconds.

To fill his lungs with water.

Ten seconds.

To decipher the reverberation beating against every sense.

Ten seconds.

“Martin.”

Ten seconds.

His throat ached.

Ten seconds.

To open his eyes, his two eyes. To see Martin’s frantic face above him. To feel wetness splash his face.

Ten seconds.

“Martin.” Shaky, he pressed a palm to his cheek, thumbed away a stray tear. “What’s wrong, darling?” Martin huffed, lips pulled into a trembling smile, and covered the back of Jon’s hand with his own.

“You’ve gone absolutely daft.” Martin scrubbed his face furiously, but it didn’t stop those blue eyes from welling up. “You, Jon.”

“M’alright.”

“Nope. Try again.”

“Martin--”

“You were screaming, Jon. I’ve. I’ve never. I didn’t know a person could sound like that.”

“I’m not quite a person though, am I?”

“Do not start with me, Jonathan Sims.”

“Oh, full name.” It hurt to speak, but felt so good to tease, to put a degree of separation between whatever this was and the nightmare he’d just been pulled from. “Am I in trouble, Mr. Blackwood?”

“You’ve not escaped this conversation.” Martin flopped to the pillows beside him, tugging Jon to his chest and he went willingly, melting under the kisses dotted amongst his hairline. Letting go of the residual tension. Losing himself in the quiet.

Ten seconds.

“S’sorry.” He felt Martin chin move against the top of his head.

“Whatever for, love?” Jon gestured weakly at the whole of himself, hand falling to the quilt at the end of its path, letting himself be squeezed tightly. “It’s not ideal, no.”

Ten seconds.

“But it doesn’t change how I feel.” Jon didn’t know he’d been holding his breath until it rushed out of him all at once, dizzied with relief. “You’re insufferable, but that’s just part of your charm.” A sweet kiss cut off his sputtering.

The gnawing, empty, ache was still there, buried deeply below the distraction Martin provided, buried beneath the love there and Jon could have wept at how lucky he was.

“Up you come, Jon.” He was still in the jumper, shy under Martin’s affectionate adoration as their fingers threaded together; the spaces between made for each other. “I’ll make us some tea.”

[apotaeose]

The King’s Serpent

Pairing ↠ daechwita king!Yoongi x mercenary!reader

Genre ↠ angst, light smut, tiny bit of fluff 

Word Count ↠ 1.6K

Summary ↠ The ruthless king intends to use his most valuable weapon to consolidate his place on the throne by putting an end to its biggest threat — his twin brother.

Warnings ↠ implications of sex, and like death sentence lmao

A/N ↠ I just had to write something inspired by Daechwita hehe Min Yoongi really is the boss huh? I’m not sure if this will turn into a series or something like that yet. Hope you enjoy it, though! xo 

The king tosses his unsheathed sword on the mattress, his body following next with a soft thud. Turning on his back and surrounded by darkness with only the dim moonlight filtering through the windows of his large bedroom, he’s deep in thought, going over the events of earlier that day. One of his most trusted spies, Jung Hoseok, finally found the location of his long lost twin brother. He can’t help but to smile in triumph. As always, he managed to have the upper hand in the end. The blonde monarch can almost picture the shocking look on his ministers faces. All their jaws dropping entirely upon discovering the sudden death of that village mutt they plan to use as pawn to overthrow him. 

He’s done so much for this kingdom, fought so many wars and won all of them at such a young age, brought in so many riches, yet all they seemed to care is for his unorthodox — but effective —  way of dealing with those who dare defy him. He’s a king in his might, after all. Doing whatever he pleases shouldn’t concern anyone but himself. Who those stupid councillors think they are?

Suddenly, he’s pulled back to the present by an all too familiar sensation. It’s like a mild itch in the brain. He feels like— no, he knows he’s being watched. And exactly by who. 

“I’ve been expecting you,” he says calmly, rising to a sitting position, “It is not polite to keep your king on the wait.”

His gaze is pinned to your figure as you step away from the dark corner next to his window — now open —  and let the moon reveal yourself to him. Dressed in male black robes, you remove your mask and tilt your head to the side, staring at him in slight amusement. 

“Forgive me, my king,” your voice drips with honey, not sounding apologetic at all. “I’ve been busy… with matters related to you, of course.”

He hums, eyes narrowing in disapproval at your words. Normally, he’d slit the throat of anyone who dared to lie so blatantly to his face like that. However, he’s quite used to your attitude, and for some reason, you’re the only one allowed to speak with him in such a way. Till certain extents, of course. Since, he has other priorities at the moment, he can take the time to discipline you later. 

Right now, he’s a king in need to speak with his kingdom’s most skilled assassin. 

“I have a mission for you.” He’s on his feet now, hands joined together on his back. Halting steps only once he stands very close, you can see that he has his attention fixed on the hilt of the sword strapped to your back. Face unreadable as usual. Every now and then, he does that. You know he’s curious about the nature of your fine blade, since it’s a rare one, but never voices any questions about it. Not that you’re interested in telling him about it either.

“Yes, my king?”

“I need you to kill my brother.” His eyes drift back to yours, and if you weren’t… well, you, certainly you’d flinch from the icy fire swirling in his obsidian irises and how he casually just ordered the death of another person. Not a regular one, though. A member of his family that’s been missing for decades. His twin brother. Who’s caused him absolutely no harm. Actually, they’ve never even met since the day they were separated at birth.

But that was all you knew. Almost everybody knows that the circumstances of their birth were highly complicated. Rebels took over the palace when the queen at the same time brought her sons into the world in her chambers. All they know is that, amidst all that ruckus, the queen died and one of her sons was taken away. The king turned into a bitter man and raised his remaining son with the wrath of a dozen tigers. A few years ago, he perished, and his cruel heir, who stands before you now, took over his place.

No one knew anything about the other. At least, not until now.

“Oh, so you’ve found him?” Despite your question, you’re not really surprised. Everything the king wants, he gets. It was just a matter of time. What bewildered you was his choice not to task you with such an important mission this time. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You know I don’t trust you,” He states as a matter-of-fact, reaching to place a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The scar that adorns one of his eyes, a vertical line that goes from above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek, seems to glitter in the moonlight like the piece of golden jewelry dangling from his ears. You’re briefly hypnotized by it before regaining composure, adjusting your back.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” You pout in feigned hurt, and he smirks.

“You mean, after everything you’ve done for my gold,” He stresses the last two words with an arch of his brow, “We both know your loyalty lies with whoever pays you the highest. Which I, for one, do not judge, if it’s what you’re wondering…”

He brushes your lower lip with his thumb, tracing it along your jaw and descending down your hairline in gentle caresses. Leaning into you, he nibbles your earlobe and pulls at it with his teeth in a way he knows that makes you shiver. “But if you ever so much as think of betraying me,” He continues in a whisper, hand halting its movements before abruptly wrapping around your neck, cutting off your air supply, “I won’t hesitate to have your head severed from your body and hung high for everyone to see.”

Stepping back with a satisfied look on his face, you gasp as soon as he releases your neck and rub at it in order to soothe the burn left by his grip. You stare at him with eyebrows knitted in annoyance but he doesn’t seem to care less. The abrupt change of his demeanor disturbs you more than the threat itself. He’s not the type of man to be messed with. That much is clear. A tiger seemingly calm and controlled in the surface still is a dangerous predator in its core. 

But if the king is a tiger, you are a serpent. 

Cunning and cautious, you know just when to strike. Which is why he also knows not to underestimate you — and also what attracts him the most about you. Sure you are physically stunning, but he’s been with plenty of other dazzling women before, including his queen. However, they all eventually bored him to death. Even though, he denies it to himself, he loves being challenged by a woman. There was something about your sassy behavior and love for danger that lured him in. Perhaps even something that reminded him of himself. The desire for power and willingness to do anything to achieve it. 

“That wasn’t necessary, my king,” you do your best to conceal the anger in your tone, but you know there was an edge to it he surely caught. You absolutely hate being threatened — specially by a man — which is something he knows very well and uses to personal advantage. While others usually show fear, you look as if you’re ready to pounce on him. Oddly, rather than irritated, that makes him highly aroused. “You know I’ll never betray you.”

“For your sake, let’s hope you’re right.” He’s close to you once more, being unable not to touch you every time you’re in his presence. The king licks his lips and begins trailing open mouthed kisses on the column of your throat, one hand at the back of your neck while the other encircles your waist. With a tilt of your head back to give him more access, you close your eyes and melt into his touch. His mouth on you feels undeniably good. But more than that, the power you know you hold on him — whether he’s aware or not — is what truly makes you buzz with excitement. 

“How do you want me to do it?” He pauses to look back at you, pupils blown wide with lust. You’re pretty much sure yours mirror his own. Pondering over your question for a bit, he realises you’re talking about the assassination of his brother, and shrugs.

“However you see fit. Just make sure not to draw too much attention. Sneak into his place and poison him, or slit his throat while he sleeps. I don’t care. Just do it as fast as possible. I couldn’t find him before because he grew up in the outskirts of the city, but now he’s back. It’ll be easy for you to find him.” You nod in understanding and he picks up from where he left, this time attacking your mouth in a hungry kiss that you immediately respond to with same intensity. “Enough with that talk. We can discuss the details later. I need you for something else now.”

You laugh at his impatience and he doesn’t appreciate it one bit, biting hard on your lip enough to draw blood as retaliation. A wince is your response but he’s already pulling your sword out of your shoulders and dropping it to the floor so he can lift your body and do the same to you on his bed. With his body finally covering yours, he starts to get rid of both your clothes and his, desperate to relieve himself and hear your moans echo through his royal chambers as he pounds into you throughout the whole night until you leave before the first rays of sunshine illuminate the palace.

[yunopouts]

Borderline! - y. jungwon

THIS GIF DOESN'T BELONG TO ME!!

hey y'all, daisy here 🤠 this is from my jungwon fic on wattpad :)

-> genre: fluff, humour

-> high school au!

-> characters: yang jungwon, fem!oc, jay park (enhypen), nct 127!

-> word count: 6k!

ENJOY!!

ONE!

The halls were noisy as everyone crowded around the bulletin board on the second floor to check their class, as expected on the first day of school. A shell of students surrounded a girl, standing directly in front of the papers looking for her name. Her finger trailed along the white paper, stopping when she found it, bringing it to the right of the page, checking for the class and room number. Class 2-B, she thought as she moved away from the crowd, making her way to the room.

When she reached her destination, she could already predict how wild her new class was going to be; kids were laughing, paper planes and balls were being thrown and kids were even drawing and writing things all over the chalkboard. She took in a deep breath and was about to walk in when she suddenly remembered something- the most important part of the first day at a new school. The teacher’s office. She turned sharply and started walking, completely oblivious to the boy who was coming her way.

“Jungwon, watch it.” someone said.

The girl finally looked up to see if someone was going to bump into her, but there was no one in sight, only the students talking along the walls. Since she was clear of any obstacles, she continued her way to the teacher’s office.

The room was dead silent, with only one teacher there. It was a man who looked like he was in his late twenties. She knocked lightly, getting the man's attention, who then told her to enter.

“Welcome to your new highschool…” he trailed off awkwardly, not knowing how to address the student.

“Ah… Kim Jisoo.” She showed her name tag. The man smiled, welcoming her once again.

“Now, Miss. Kim Jisoo, here are forms you have to fill out, and these,” he paused, trying to find the right ones out of all the sheets scattered on his desk. “Here they are!” he said after finally finding them. “These, give them to your parents and have them look over and sign them so you can bring them back to me tomorrow.”

“Yessir.” the girl nodded, smiling slightly.

“Alright, the bell will ring soon, so…” he was cut off by the door sliding open, four students and another teacher walking in.

“Mr. Kwon.” the other teacher, a woman, called over to us. Mr. Kwon looked from me to his colleague then back to me, again.

“O-one second.” I nodded and allowed him to pass by as he tended to the needs of the other teacher.

“Why don’t you explain to your teacher what those three were doing without hall passes, Jongseong.” the woman asked in a stern tone.

“W-well, you see-” the boy stammered, obviously trying to come up with an excuse.

Suddenly, the door slid open, but this time with a loud bang as the wood hit the wall, catching everyone’s attention.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Ms. Seo, but it was me.” a new boy, with jet black hair, entered the room. He paused with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, like he had just run five laps around the track, non-stop.

“Excuse me?” the women asked.

“I, sorry one second.” he stood up properly, sucking in two deep breaths before walking calmly towards us, as if he hadn’t just made the most dramatic entrance ever. “As I was saying, it was me who made them go to the bathroom without hall passes.” he stated. “Jay and Jaeyun had to go to the bathroom but Niki spilt something on Kyungsoo and Moonbin had really bad chicken last night and couldn’t hold it in so-”

“Enough, no need to explain any further.” the teacher held up her hand, commanding him to stop.

Although the first three boys who entered were looking down, as if they were repenting, it wasn’t hard to tell they were trying to hold in their laughter, because small smiles had invaded their lips. The first boy just stood there, his expression showing that he could go into further detail on what seemingly happened to Moonbin, whichever that one was.

“Ms. Seo, I think I got it from here.” the male teacher laughed awkwardly. Ms. Won pursed her lips before looking at the girl standing next to the desk.

“Who’s that?” she nodded her head towards the student, who wasn’t paying attention to the conversation anymore.

“Oh this, Jisoo, come here.” he smiled politely at the young girl, encouraging to come closer to the group. “This is our new student, Kim Jisoo. Jisoo, this is Ms. Seo.”

“A-ah, yes, hello, my name is Kim Jisoo, nice to meet you.” she bowed. When she met their eyes, three out of the four boys gave her a welcoming smile, but the one who was last to come in looked like he was frozen in his spot.

“Grades?” Ms. Seo raised a brow.

Shrugging off her bag, Jisoo opened the biggest pocket and shuffled through a few papers before pulling out a small rectangular paper and handed it to her. As the teacher studied the numbers on the page, the boys who smiled at her attempted to take a peek of them. Ms. Seo’s eyes glimmered, handing the page back to her, a small smile forming.

“Your grades may be low in languages but you sure are talented in everything else. Looking forward to seeing you in science.” a full smile graced her lips before she bid her goodbyes to the other teacher, eyeing the boys like she knew something was going on with them.

Once the door shut, the three boys whipped their heads to look at Jisoo, but one remained silent. The three boys that did look at her all bombarded her with questions.

---

TWO!

“How did you do that?” one with bleached hair asked.

“Pardon?” she cocked her head forward in confusion.

“How’d you get her to smile like that?” the bleach haired one said.

“Yeah, she never smiles.” said one of the brown-haired ones.

“Someone once told me that she doesn’t even know how to smile.” the other brunet said.

In response to that, Mr. Kwon rolled up the papers in his hand, striking all three chatty boys on the head, making them protect their heads with their hands.

“Quit it.” the boy in the back finally spoke up. The three glared at him before straightening themselves out, turning to face their teacher.

“Now,” Mr. Kwon sighed, looking to the five students. “since we’re all headed to the same place, let’s bring over some supplies.” Everyone but the seemingly soft-spoken boy and the girl groaned.

The teacher smiled and started handing out boxes filled with notebooks, loose paper and your basic classroom supplies. He gave one to each of the students, piling a few more stack of paper on the three troublemakers.

The Korean literature teacher lead the students out of the office, Moonbin, Kyungsoo and Jongseong waddling after him, probably to annoy him.

The room that the two were left behind in, was so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

“We should…” Jungwon pointed at the open door, the girl nodding silently in response.

As the two slowly followed their three classmates and teacher, they kept quiet, only the odd squeak of a shoe here and there echoed through the now empty halls.

It didn’t take very long to get to the room, now fully filled with students slacking off; when they saw Mr. Kwon heading their way, they rushed to their seats, as if they hadn’t not been doing anything this whole time.

“Hello everyone!” Mr. Kwon said with a smile, earing a lively response from the kids. “Welcome to your first day of school, please look forward to, what I hope to be, a great year.” With applause from his “crowd”, he waited until they settled down to call in their transferee. “Everyone, I would like for you to meet our newest student, Miss. Kim Jisoo.”

As she walked inside, there was a round of applause again, which, to be honest, kind of frightened Jisoo.

“Er- hello everyone.” She greeted them shyly. “My name is Kim Jisoo. I look forward to a great year. Please take care of me.” She bowed. One more round of applause before Mr. Kwon pointed to the empty seat in the back, coincidentally Jungwon’s desk partner, the silent boy from before.

When she sat down, the boy looked at her, with a small smile and a hand stretched out. “Hello. Kim Jisoo. My name is Yang Jungwon, I’m looking forward to a great year with you.”

“Same here.” His smile mirrored on to her face as she shook the boy’s hand.

She was first introduced to the three boys that were in the teacher’s office, by Jungwon. The one with bleached hair was Jongseong, but he told me that I could call him Jay. The one with the undercut was Kyungsoo and the one who looked like a foreigner was Moonbin.

One thing Jisoo found that all these boys had in common with each other, other than being classmates, was that they all were very aesthetically pleasing to look at. She often found herself unknowingly staring at Jay. Not in any way, just that he just so happens to be where her eyes land.

As their teacher lectured them on classic Korean literature, a folded piece of paper was secretly slid over on to Kim Jisoo’s desk. She looked at the note, then to her desk mate, then back at the note. She glanced up once more and pointed to herself silently, to which the boy nodded with a smile plastered to his face.

She took the note off her desk and opened it up as quietly as possible. As she read the note, her heart fluttered, and a smile appeared on her face. Jungwon let out a breathy laugh when she turned to face him, her expression triggering his reaction.

She turned back to face the front and write on the paper in response. She wrote a quick ‘yes’ before folding it back up and handing it back to him. Crinkling of paper came from beside her, followed by another light laugh before they both faced the front, patiently waiting for the bell to ring.

-

Now that it was lunch, Jungwon and Jay directed her to the cafeteria, as promised in the note from earlier. They lined up for food before sitting down at a table where five more boys were seated. When they sat, Jungwon stayed on Jisoo’s left, but Jay moved from the middle and sat to the right of her.

Five sets of new eyes landed on the girl, roaming her face. Jay and Jungwon just watched their friends as they inspected her and after thirty seconds of silence, a boy with light brown hair spoke up.

“You must be new,” he stuck out his hand and smiled widely. “I’m Jake.”

‘An actual foreigner’ Jisoo thought to herself as she shook his hand.

Jungwon leaned towards her, so that his mouth was close to her ear and whispered, “Jake’s from Australia. He moved here about three years ago.” Her desk partner explained. Jisoo nodded in understanding before the next boy introduced himself to the girl.

“Lee Heeseung.” He smiled kindly. “I’m the oldest.”

The next boy had an adorable face. ‘Very squishable cheeks’ Jisoo thought.

“Kim Sunoo, I’m in the year above you.”

“All of us are a grade above you, except for Riki” said a boy with a mullet. “Oh, sorry, Park Sunghoon.” He smiled. Just like the rest of them, Sunghoon was very handsome.

Jay introduced the next boy, who looked a more intimidating than the rest.

“Jisoo, this is Riki Nishimura. He’s from Japan. He moved here about year ago.”

The girl gasped, surprised by what Jay had told her. “I lived there when I was younger.” She watched as Riki’s face lit up and fixed his posture a bit.

“Really? Where’d you live?”

“In Osaka, with my cousin.”

“We were only like three hours from each other; I’m from Okayama.”

“I went there every month to see my grandparents!”

“What a small world.” Jake gave a short laugh. “Now you can bond with each other.” He said in a half sarcastic, half serious tone, making the rest of the table laugh.

“You know it.” Riki threw up a finger heart for the girl, who did the same.

The eight students ate their lunch, got to know each other, and laughed a lot during that lunch period, but like everything good, it always comes to an end too quickly.

Jay, Jungwon and Jisoo were walking back to class when suddenly, someone’s phone started to ring. The three looked at each other before Jungwon pointed out that it was coming from Jisoo, to which Jay snickered at her embarrassed expression after she said it wasn’t her.

“Oh, it’s my cousin.” She exclaimed, picking up the phone with excitement. “Hey what's up!” she greeted. The girl kept a smiling expression as she walked down the hall with the boys.

When they reached the classroom, the boys gestured for her to enter, but she shooed them off so she could finish her call with her cousin.

“Oh, you’re coming to pick me up?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing closer together. “Are you sure? But you just released a new song.”

“It’s fine,” he said in a reassuring tone. “Didn’t our grandmother tell me to check up on you?”

“Yeah,” the girl let out a sigh.

“Hey Jisoo!” a voice called out from the background. “Why do you sound so dejected?”

“Are both of you coming to pick me up?” she asked, not wanting the answer to be yes.

“Obviously.” her cousin snorted. “I don’t go anywhere without Mark.”

“You don’t take me to the bathroom with you.” The background voice said.

Nothing but silence filled Jisoo’s ears, which meant the two boys on the other line were probably staring at each other.

“Do you want me to-” Yuta started.

“Okay bye you guys. See you later.” Jisoo ended the call before she could hear any further.

Sighing once more she walked into the class, falling into her chair, gaining a look from Jungwon.

“What’s up with you?” he asked as the girl took out her textbook.

“My cousin and his friend are coming to pick me up after school.”

“And what’s the problem with that?” the boy eyed her pained expression.

“Just you wait.” She let out her third sigh of the hour.

---

THREE!

It was nearing the thirty-minute mark until class would be over, and never in my life have I wished for time to go by slower than I have now. I watched the clock, never taking my gaze away from the hands, testing the impossible by trying to slow it down with all my brain power.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Jisoo.” Someone on my left whispered into my ear. Flinching violently, I turned to look at my desk mate, who was smiling in disbelief. “Are you really that worried about your cousin and his friend?” I just looked at him with a blank expression, aimlessly staring at him. “What, it’s not like they’re celebrities.” He laughed.

With a groan, I flopped down on my desk, my head in my hands. “What am I going to do?” I whined.

“What’s up with her?” Jay’s voice asked. Jungwon was silent, so I’m guessing he just shrugged. “Jisoo-yah, don’t be too distraught, whatever it is will pass.”

Peaking up at the boy, I huffed out a sigh, blowing the hair out of my eyes.

“You don’t understand.” I said gruffly. “My cousin isn’t your average guy… neither is his friend; or any of his friends, for that matter.”

“Are they gangsters?” Jay whispered, pulling up a chair.

“What? No, they are not, Jay.”

“So, then I don’t see a problem.” He said nonchalantly.

With a deep sigh, I checked the time, the long hand two minutes away from three o’clock. My eyes widened at the sight as I started shoving my belongings into my backpack.

“Damn it.” I cursed under my breath, grabbing my phone, and opening my messages.

A new text popped up…

It was from him.

Him.

‘Be ready! Mark and I will be at the front gate!1!1!1!’ it read.

“He better treat you to something, if he’s stressing you out that much.” Jungwon chimed in.

I stayed silent for a second, thinking how I could be less attacked by the public when the two arrive. Grabbing both their hands and looking at them with pleading eyes. “Listen, I know we’ve only known each other for a few hours but, come with me?”

“Where?” they said in unison.

“To the front gate. Just come with me there and you’ll see my problem.”

“Okay.” They agreed.

“I promise I will treat you to a meal in the near future.” I got up and bowed, getting everyone’s attention, although it didn’t last very long since the bell rung right after.

Shooting out of my seat, I grabbed Jungwons wrist, who grabbed Jays, and started running down the hall to the exit, apologizing to whomever we bumped into.

When we got out, I saw a few girls walking out of the first year building, which meant I needed to speed it up.

“Hurry.” I said to the boys, to which they picked up their pace.

When the girls were nearing the gate, their heads turned to the left, where they saw two boys hanging out. Their expressions changed immediately, and they whipped their phones out.

“Everyone look!” one of the girls yelled to the rest of the students that were leaving.

My grip loosened on Jungwon and my legs started to sprint towards the two men.

“Yuta!” I yelled.

He turned his head and smiled, but his changed when he saw me barreling towards them, with two other people behind sprinting behind me. Once he got the message, he took off with Mark in the opposite direction of the group of students.

The group dispersed a few minutes after searching for the two idols, while the three of us were standing at the gate, catching our breath.

“So much for picking you up.” Jay said, his eyes completely shut as he calmed down.

“Guys I’m really sorry.” I looked up at them.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jungwon gave a smile.

“Do you want to come with me? Mark will probably make him buy us food.” The two boys looked between each other and shrugged.

“As long as it’s not a bother to you guys.” Jungwon stated, Jay nodding his head in agreement.

“Of course it’s not!” I insisted. “Let me call him and ask him where they are.”

As if on cue, my phone started to ring.

“Oi, this is why I didn’t want you to come.”

“How was I supposed to know we’d get caught.” Yuta spoke back sassily.

“You’re so dense sometimes.” I huffed out.

“Jisoo!” Mark called from the background. “Jisoo, it’s Mark-oppa.”

That's a new one.

“Don’t call yourself ‘oppa’.” Yuta said in a disgusted tone.

“Jisoo, there’s a black SUV when you turn right outside of the gate! That’s our car!” Mark ignored Yuta.

“Anyways, hurry and come.” Yuta said in an annoyed tone.

“I’m bringing friends.” I informed them before hanging up. Turning to the boys, with a soft smile. “Let’s go.” I waited for them to get next to me before we started walking to where Mark told me.

We walked in silence until we reached the car.

“Before we get in,” I started. “It will definitely be awkward, but when we get to wherever we’re going, don’t be intimidated by them. They’ll ask you questions- like an interview, but that’s just cause they’re just a bit protective.” I advised Jay and Jungwon, who nodded. “Ready?” the boys nodded again. “Okay.” I said, turning back to the car, opening the door.

“Hey, you g- oh my god they literally are guys.” Mark’s eyes widened.

“You brought guys into our car?” Yuta asked.

“Yes, they’re my friends.”

“Hello, my name is Park Jongseong, I’m Jisoo’s classmate.” Jay bowed down in a sitting position. Mine and Yuta’s head whipped in his direction, both of us surprised at the sudden language swap.

“You speak Japanese?” I stared in disbelief. Jay nodded coolly.

“Do you know what they’re saying?” Mark asked Jungwon.

“Barely.” He responded. Mark and Jungwon laughed, lightening the mood a little bit.

“Yuta,” Mark looked to Yuta. “I think you should treat them to something. Us wanting to be nice made them have to run all the way from their class so they could protect us.” His tone was soft and begging like.

Looking at Mark with a sigh, knowing he couldn’t say no to him. “Fine. But we’re going to the dorm because Jungwoo wants to see Jisoo.” Adjusting the mirror, he looked up at the two boys through the reflection. “Tell anyone where that house is, and you’re both-”

“We live in the same building, you dolt. If anyone asks, they came over to my apartment.”

“That sounds worse.” Yuta glowered.

“We have homework.” I stated.

“Oh.” He relaxed back in his seat.

With that, we started driving down to the apartment building, sitting in the most awkward silence, until someone spoke up.

“I’ve never seen someone run as fast as Jisoo did when she saw you guys.” Jungwon pointed out. “She sprinted from the exit to the gate at lightening speed.”

“Oh yeah, that’s got to be at least one hundred metres.” Jay added in.

“She was the track star of her elementary and middle school.” Mark informed the boys, who looked at me with surprise. “Yuta brags about her all the time; he even has her gold metal in his room.” He laughed lightly, to which Yuta smacked him in the chest.

“Shut up.” He muttered and looked out the window, making Mark roll his eyes. The younger of the two looked back at me and nodded his head, mouthing that my cousin was lying. I looked down to avoid three gazes on me as my cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

As Jay, Jungwon and Mark got to know each other, Yuta and I stayed silent, obviously not over Mark’s claim.

“Tell them to get the house ready.” Yuta eyed Mark, who took out his phone and started texting.

-

About twenty minutes later, we entered the parking garage and found their designated spot. Five clicks sounded before four doors opened and we got out. Jay, Jungwon and Mark all got out on one side, while Yuta and I got out from the left.

When I slid out, I landed a little too hard on my ankle, creating a pain that shot up my left leg. Yuta noticed when I hissed in pain and appeared right in front of me, helping me to regain my stability. He let out a distressed sigh as he took my bag from me before we started walking to catch up with the rest of them.

“You okay?” he asked in a low tone. Nodding in silence, I slowly let go of his arm once we walked into the basement entrance.

The elevator ride to the tenth floor was silent, but the hallway sure wasn’t.

Music echoed through the hall, like there was a party going on, but it all came from one room, and as they neared the back of the hall, they stood in front of a large door that was the source of all the sound.

Turning to my classmates, I looked them both in the eye, reminding them of what I told them early. “Remember, they’re a little scary at first, but you’ll be fine if you give short and simple answers. If they get too long, they’ll get bored, because they’re a bunch of man-babies.” I muttered. I saw how they had to hold themselves back from laughing when I called them ‘man-babies’, to which I smiled softly.

“You may enter.” Yuta said like a nerd that was letting us into his lair as he swung open the door after he’d unlocked it. Mark and I walked in, followed by Jay, Jungwon and then Yuta.

“OI!” Mark boomed.

Thundering footsteps came speeding towards the front entrance, revealing seven new guys with excited looks on their faces.

“Jisoo!” the tallest of them exclaimed, throwing his arms around me.

“Ugh, hey Johnny.” I patted his back, only squeezing me tighter. “J-John-” I choked out.

“Dude, you’re gonna kill her if you don’t let go.” Jaehyun noted.

“Get… off…” Jungwoo struggled as he and Doyoung made an attempt to peel him off me, which thankfully worked.

“Who’re they?” Donghyuck pointed to the two boys. Mumbling filled the air as the boys joined in on commenting on the mysterious teenagers that had entered their home.

“My classmates.” I answered.

“Yuta’s idea ended up failing and they were dragged into this mess, so I thought it was a good idea to pay them back with food.” Mark explained. “Also, since you guys wanted to see Jisoo so bad, why not bring them all here at once. Killed two birds with one stone.” He shrugged.

The seven inspected the two young boys before walking to the living room in absolute silence.

“That means you follow them.” Mark informed the boys, who nodded slowly, following me into the living room.

Once my friends and I were seated, the seven guys sat in a shell around Yuta, so that my cousin was in the middle. Eight out of the nine stared with fierce expressions, making the younger one’s gulp. Mark, who was smiling like he’d been surrounded by puppies all day, brought two peach juice boxes, once iced green tea and once pomegranate juice box over to where we were sitting. He handed the peach drinks to Jay and Jungwon, earning shout from Jaehyun.

“Those were the last ones in the pack.” He glared at Mark.

“Get a new one.” The rapper spat. He turned to me and handed the pomegranate juice to me and then the green tea to Yuta, the six others sniggering in the back.

Yuta opened the bottle with a loud crack, silencing everybody in the room. He drank down to three quarters of the bottle before setting it down, his gaze landing back on the students.

“Who are you?” he raised an eyebrow; his expression was enough to make your skin crawl.

“Yang Jungwon and Park Jongseong.” Jungwon grabbed the back of Jay’s head, forcing him to bow, although Jay had done this once already in the car, in a different language.

“How do-” Donghyuck started, but Yuta held up his hand. “Ahem, of course, Yuta.” He looked down. My eyes shot towards Jaehyun, Johnny and Doyoung as they forced themselves not to laugh.

“How do you know my cousin.” Yuta asked.

“We’re classmates.” Jungwon stated.

“And Jungwon is her desk mate.” Jay added.

“He didn’t ask that.” The youngest of the two turned his head in Jay’s direction to whisper harshly. Jay pursed his lips and made a face that looked like he was trying to hold in a scream.

Silence fell in the room for a solid thirty seconds until Yuta let out an airy chuckle, the rest of us soon joining in.

“You can get up now.” I choked out, making my cousin let out a loud laugh. The two straightened themselves out, their faces red with embarrassment.

“Oh god, the look Jay had on his face.” Mark cackled. “You guys, we’re not that scary.”

“No one was scared of you, Mr. Sunshine-funshine.” Johnny coughed.

-

After everyone calmed down, Taeil brought in some take-out menu’s, displaying them on the coffee table. “Choose what you want, it’s on Yuta anyways.” The eldest shrugged.

“Speaking of Yuta,” I started. “Where’d he go?” I asked.

“I think he’s on the phone with someone, so probably in his room.” I nodded at Mark’s response.

As the boys got to know each other, the band’s leader tapped me on the shoulder. “Come with me for a second?” he held out his hand for me to take, and so I did.

Taeyong brought me into one of the rooms, where there were clothes on the bed, along with a red box. He gestured towards the bed, “Sit, please.” He looked at me with an expecting smile and blinked a few times. The rapper walked towards me and knelt in front of me. “I saw you limping earlier, when you were walking to the living room.” He explained. “Did it start hurting again?” he looked up at me with sparkling eyes.

“I had to make sure Yuta and Mark didn’t get caught-”

“They’re two very grown men who’ve been doing this for over five years, I think they would know how to handle fans by now.” He smiled softly.

“But-”

“No ‘buts’.” He cut me off for a second time. “You’re not their bodyguard, Jisoo.” He took the red box from beside me and opened it up, pulling out that familiar beige wrap. “They can protect themselves.” He started layering the bandage around my foot and ankle.

“What about stalkers? You guys have them really bad; everyone knows that.”

“They won’t hurt us. Haven’t you seen us leak their number?”

“That’s a very different case you’re talking about, Taeyong.” I stated. “Remember when you guys found one in your vent? They’re everywhere.”

The boy just sighed as he finished wrapping my foot. “That’s none of your concern.” He stood up straight and ruffled my hair. “Now hurry up and change into some more comfortable clothes.” The boy smiled warmly before walking to the door. “There should be some pain relievers on the nightstand there, take two only.”

“Hey Taeyong?” I said before he left.

“Yeah?” He turned to me.

“Thanks.” I said softly.

“Of course.” He winked before leaving me to change.

-

Carefully lifting myself off the bed, I unfolded the big red sweater and placed it back on the bed. I took off my school blazer and dress shirt, leaving me in a white tank top and skirt. I quickly changed into the borrowed sweater and looked for the pants but stopped for my phone when it set off.

-

Taeyong

I couldn’t get you any pants

Yuta wouldn’t let me into the

apartment

Also, any of our pants would

probably be too big for you ://

Jisoo

That’s okay lol

Thank you for the sweater :)

READ AT 4:00 pm

-

When I folded my belongings, I left Jungwoo and Jaehyun’s room and snuck into Yuta’s room, which was empty.

I dropped my shirt on the bed and tiptoed over to his dresser, opening, and closing each one until I found his sock drawer. I looked through each pair until I found a pair that looked comfy enough.

“Whatchya doin?” someone said from the door.

“Taking Yuta’s socks.” I responded, rolling the material up my foot. When I looked up, I saw the oldest (and shortest) out of the bunch, smiling before he slipped on a sweater, similar to the one Taeyong gave me. The print on the hood and chest were the same, but the sweater was black, not red.

“Your cousin told me to come in here to tell you the food was here.” He waited for me to reach the door, leaving the room together.

“What’d they decide on?” I asked, catching the pack of napkins Hyuck threw at me.

“Pizza.” Jungwon answered, passing by the singer and I. Jay and Doyoung passed with two boxes each, following the younger boy as they made their way to the living room.

Everybody gathered around the coffee table, except it was less crowded since the boys were holding an investigation anymore. My classmates and I sat away from each other- the boys sitting with Yuta, Jaehyun, Johnny, Taeil, and Mark, while I sat with Hyuck, Taeyong, Jungwoo and Doyoung.

“Take this.” Taeyong placed a piece of pizza on my plate.

“And this.” Jungwoo placed a chicken leg on my plate. When I looked at him, he simply said “KFC.” Nodding, I took a bite out of the chicken, enjoying the flavour.

“Is it yummy?” Hyuck asked and I nodded, taking another bite.

Doyoung got up and disappeared for a few seconds before returning with another juice box. I was about to open it, when he held it out of my reach and did it for me, and then handed it to me. “Don’t grip the box too hard, it’ll spill.” He patted my head, the other boys nodding in agreement to the singer’s statement.

“Stop babying my cousin.” Yuta whipped a french-fry at Doyoung, scolding him. “She’s almost an adult, you know.” He huffed out before biting into his pizza.

“Well, if you don’t do it, then who will?” Hyuck defended his hyung’s actions. Jungwoo and Taeyong both hugged me, sticking out their tongues at my cousin. “You baby Mark and he’s a realadult.” He pointed at the hand Yuta had on the Canadians’ knee, making everyone laugh; well, everyone but Yuta.

-

After a massive clean up, the boys and I had to do our homework, which some of the members offered to help us with.

“Wait for us!” the two roommates, Jaehyun and Jungwoo, raced over to the coffee table plopping down on either side of Doyoung. When they were seated, one more wandered into the room- the one more being Taeil.

“Alright,” Taeil rubbed his together. “What subjects do you need to focus on?” The eldest sat in the space between Jay and Jungwon.

“Math.” Jungwon raised his hand.

“Science.” Jay said.

“Languages.” I spoke in a weak tone. Doyoung and Jaehyun looked to me?

“Which one’s?” they spoke in unison.

“English and Korean.” The two smirked, scooting closer to me.

“You’re in luck.” Doyoung said coolly.

“Jaehyun lived in America for four years!” Mark yelled.

“That’s why he’s here, man!” Johnny added.

“That's not funny anymore!” Jaehyun snapped. The singer turned back to me with a smile while Doyoung was flipping through my Korean notebook.

“Why are you so bad at this?” Doyoung laughed lightly, stopping when he had my eraser thrown at him by Jaehyun.

“Can you just help me, and not make fun of me?” I rolled my eyes. “This is where I’m stuck.”

“Nuh-uh, we’re starting with grammar first.” Doyoung flipped to an empty page and started writing with a pencil he took from my pencil case. “You see these? These all make the same sounds but are spelt differently.”

“Obviously, I know that.”

“But do you know when to use them?” he raised a brow. I looked down in embarrassment, making him chuckle.

As the singer explained to me Korean grammar, Jaehyun slid the English notebook towards him and started to write things out.

-

About an hour and half later, Mark entered the room with a tray, filled with snacks and water.

“Some food for thought.” He smiled.

“We just ate though.” Haechan stated, glancing up from his phone.

“Jisoo gets hungry quickly; how did you forget that?” Taeyong sipped from his cup. We didn’t even notice him come up from behind Mark.

Hyuck looked to me with an awkward expression, which I also wore. “Sorry.”

I shook my head silently and took one of the packs of cookies.

“Jungwoo.” Jungwon peaked up from his notebook. “I don’t get it.” The young boy turned the book towards the singer, who inspected his work.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh.” He said in a small voice.

“Lemme see.” I scooched myself over to where they were. Jungwoo passed me the workbook and pencil, allowing me to look for myself, what he did wrong. “He just messed up the formula here;” I circled the spot, showing it to now four people. “When you’re trying to find the slope of a line with already knowing the start and end point of the two lines, you always subtract y2 from y1, same goes for the x’s.” Jungwoo nodded while the two youngest band members looked at me in awe. “So, you did mess up, but it was a simple mistake.” I smiled at Jungwon.

Jungwons expression did not lighten; in fact, it got darker.

“W-- What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I did that for all of them.” He muttered in a bitter tone, the room exploding with laughter, soon there after.

[queen-scribbles]

Acceptable Risk

Art trade fic for the extremely patient @theheroofoakvale, exploring if Shepard’s recruiting Thane had gone a little.... differently.

-----

The door opened with a quiet hiss, and Shepard’s entry was greeted with the raised barrels of several assault rifles. The mercenaries, however, paused before opening fire, despite being confronted by three heavily armed individuals pointing guns back at them.

The asari in the middle of the cluster--clad for business rather than combat--spun to face them, her eyes widening. “Shepard?!”

Shepard smirked, centered his pistol on her. “Nassana.”

There was a muffled clatter in the ceiling that had the mercenaries’ attention swiveling upward. Her posture shifted defensive. “You’re dead.”

“I got better,” he retorted, and shot her in the throat.

Her bodyguards zeroed back in on him and his team, torn between them and the threat above, and that was their undoing. A dark figure dropped from one of the ceiling vents, and Shepard used that moment of distraction to take out two of them. When the remaining mercs focused in on him, the dark figure punched one in the throat and shot the other center mass. The few that were left went down quickly.

Massani and Vakarian kept their guns up, leveled at the late arrival, a drell, as he stood in the middle of the carnage, eyes fixed in an unblinking, regretful stare at Nassana Dantius’ body.

“Sorry if I stole your kill,” Shepard said after letting the silence go as long as he could tolerate. His pistol hung at his side in a loose grip, ready if he needed it. He didn’t think he would.

“I was not here for her, though the galaxy is no less for her removal,” the drell said softly, finally looking up from the dead woman and blinking just before he met Shepard’s gaze. “I am here for you.”

Behind him, Massani muttered a quiet curse and Vakarian tightened his grip on his gun, but Shepard didn’t even flinch. “I did wonder. Dantius hardly seems worth the time for someone of your... reputation.”

“And yet you still came,” the drell said, clasping his hands behind him and looking in no rush to kill anyone.

“She used me.” He let the barest edge of a snarl color the words. “I can go along with a likely trap if it gives me an excuse for payback. Also,” he took half a step forward, “seemed the best way to meet you, Krios. We need to talk.”

Thane Krios did not look at all perturbed that his target knew who he was. His expression remained impassive as he studied Shepard’s face. “Do we? What about?”

“I need your help on a mission. You can feel free to continue trying to kill me after we’re done.”

“Why?” Krios asked, still studying Shepard’s face.

“Why, what?”

“Why do you need me? Why should I help instead of killing you now?”

Shepard laughed darkly. “The fucking galaxy is at stake, I need the best of the best, even if they are out for my blood.” Another half step forward, Vakarian and Massani following this time until he waved them back. “As for the second question.... I know some things about you, Krios. I know you’re dying, and I know you have a son.” His pistol folded in on its clip as he crossed his arms and stared hard at the assassin. “And where he is. I imagine you’d hate for something to happen to him before you had a chance to mend fences.”

Three rapid blinks, a sharp breath, posture unchanged, but it was the most reaction Krios had shown in this conversation. “And would you make this...   something happen if I say no, Shepard?”

His calm was impressive. Shepard wondered if it was an easier illusion to maintain with eyes that had neither pupils nor iris to betray strong emotion. “If I have to. I need the best, Krios, which is you. Don’t really care how I get your cooperation.”

Krios was silent for a long moment. “This threat must be grave indeed for you to employ such measures.”

He was nigh impossible to read, but the slight shift of his clasped hands was hint enough. “I’m hunting an enemy who’s abducting human colonies and has ties to the Reapers, I’d call that pretty damn grave. Like I said, you can resume trying to kill me if we survive. What’s it gonna be?”

Another heavy pause, though shorter. “You have left me only one viable option if I care about my son.”

Shepard arched a brow.

“I will assist. Consider this a pause in the contract on your life.”

“Good enough for me.” Shepard cast a smug glance at Dantius’ corpse, then turned to exit the room. “We’re done here, so you can either come with us or meet us at the ship.”

“I will meet you shortly. I have a few personal effects to gather,” Krios said.

“Alright. We’re on a clock, so don’t dilly dally,” Shepard replied, and motioned their departure to Vakarian and Massani.

“What’s to stop him from shooting you on our way down?” Vakarian muttered as they headed for the elevator. “He’s already planning to kill you and you threatened his kid.”

Massani beat Shepard to the answer. “Doesn’t know if there’s a dead man’s switch on that something happenin’ to his boy if Shepard bites it.” He chuckled darkly and smirked at Shepard. “What the hell’d you do to earn a death mark, anyway?” 

Shepard shrugged, watching the blur of downward travel out the elevator’s glass-paned wall. “Hell if I know, Massani. Certainly pissed off enough people for there to be some options.”

The mercenary gave a rough laugh and slapped him on the shoulder. “Wear like a badge of fucking honor, kid. Means you got someone real riled up.”

---

Krios was, as promised, aboard the Normandy well within an hour. His personal effects he’d gone to collect were few enough to fit in a small shoulder satchel that he politely refused to let anyone inspect. (Lawson was not happy when Shepard told her to drop it, clearly suspicious of allowing an assassin on board without first vetting his gear.) He settled in life support at EDI’s suggestion, and ruffled no feathers with the rest of the crew, unless you counted Taylor’s mistrust of his career in general.

“What will be expected of me, Commander?” Krios asked, in that same modulated tone he’d used on Illium.

“No shipboard duties, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Shepard said. He leaned against the wall by the door and studied Krios. “You can do as you like here. When we have missions, I may want you to come watch my six, if your skillset seems a good fit.”

“I see.” He folded his hands, elbows braced against the small worktable at which he sat. There was a hesitation under the words that almost rang in the air.

“If there’s something else you wanna say, now’s the time,” Shepard prodded. He didn’t have time to be gentle prying out secrets or whatever.

“My son,” Krios said, words measured and careful. “You say you know where he is. Would you be willing to share that knowledge?”

Shepard mulled it over, weighing the value of his options. “In time,” he finally said. “We have a couple pressing assignments that are more important than family reunions. But if we hit a point with some free time I’ll let you know.”

Krios nodded, his expression unreadable as ever. “Very well, Shepard.”

“One thing I need to know from you,” Shepard began, pushing away from the wall, “is if whatever’s killing you will affect your abilities in a fight.”

“It shouldn’t, not yet.” He paused for the space of a few blinks. “I should have several months at least before the symptoms become noticeable even to myself. More than enough time to complete your mission, if it is as urgent as you make you sound.”

“Is that something you doubt, Krios?” 

“Not at all.” Krios pushed to his feet and crossed the room to examine a rack of spare rifle parts. “Even someone of your reputation would have to be on a mission of urgency to blackmail an assassin sent to kill you into helping your cause. I simply mean this threat seems the type where a decisive outcome will be reached swiftly; whether in victory or destruction. Well within the time I have before functionality is... affected.”

“Good.” Shepard nodded. “Not sure when I’ll need you, but I want to be sure you’ll be worth it when the times comes.” He left the room, noting Krios’ undertone murmur as he did, and from the cadence wondered what the assassin was praying for.

---

Shepard first tested him on something that seemed of no consequence; a mercenary base on a backwater planet trafficking stolen eezo. Thane did his job, no more no less, all the while making note of how the man fought. The risks he thought worth taking, the sacrifices that were acceptable cost, the balance of recklessness and cunning. It was not a complete picture, not off one mission, and Thane wouldn’t act on what he’d gleaned even if it were.

Not with the blade the commander had hung over Kolyat. Not with the hope of learning where his son might be. Patience was the hallmark of an assassin, after all; knowing when to strike as well as how. And Thane had been an assassin a very long time. He could wait.

Especially as conversations with others aboard the ship painted a clearer and clearer picture of the mission’s scope. A trip through the Omega 4 relay was very likely to be suicidal just on its own. Destroying whatever these Collectors used as a base doubly so. When Shepard made ‘if we survive’ comments, he wasn’t joking. Thane could wait. He could help with the mission--it was a worthy goal after all, one he would have assisted in accomplishing without the threats--and then resume his contract.

After the mercenary base was eliminated, and easily, Shepard made use of Thane’s skills a few more times. Usually on missions with plentiful shadow coverage and good sight lines.

“How’re you holding up?” Garrus asked on one such mission, the two of them picking off targets from a bit of a distance while Shepard made viciously short work of the battlefield.

“I’ve had worse assignments.” Thane’s rifle kicked against his shoulder and the krogan he’d been targeting dropped. He fired another shot, just to be safe, and watched the body jerk then lay still, before searching out another target. “What of you?”

Garrus snorted, took down his own target. “I’m  here because he’s my... friend” --there was a brief hesitation, as if the turian wasn’t completely sure that was the right word--”and I trust that whatever he’s doing is worth whatever it costs to accomplish.”

“You’ve fought alongside him before.”

“Against Sovereign, yeah.” Garrus’ mandible twitched as he focused on sighting in another shot. “This feels different.”

He didn’t elaborate, and it was only a few moments more for them the claim victory and press further on with their mission.

Thane watched Shepard, and wondered what had changed in the eyes of his friend.

---

It was after the derelict Reaper, after adding a geth to their mix, that Thane’s patience paid off. At least in part.

“Your kid’s on the Citadel,” Shepard informed him out of the blue. “Lucky for you, Vakarian has some unfinished business there as well, and the techs need some time to integrate the IFF to the Normandy’s systems. I can spare a side trip for personal issues while they get that squared away. Be ready to go in an hour.”

Thane didn’t protest. Didn’t question. He could ask for details on approach to the Citadel.

They set a cold knot in his gut when he learned them. “He’s here to kill someone,” Shepard said bluntly, and all Thane could think was Like father, like son. That was not a path he’d ever wanted for Kolyat. Shepard didn’t have a lot of details, just that Kolyat was there. Apparently even Cerberus’ resources had limits.

They spoke to a C-Sec officer, then to Mouse at his suggestion--Thane was surprised but pleased he was still alive--both conversations Shepard kept as short as possible. Clearly he was not in the mood to waste time. Thane wished that hadn’t involved the commander breaking Mouse’s nose, but couldn’t muster much sympathy when the same proved true of Kelham once they got his name and interrogated him.

“We have some time, not a lot of it,” Shepard growled. “And we still need to find Sidonis when we’re done with your shit, Krios.” He turned to Captain Bailey.  “What can you tell me about this Talid Kelham wants dead?”

The picture Bailey painted--up and coming turian politician, vocally anti-human and gaining support--made it obvious why Kelham would want Talid gone. He had to be very bad for business. He was also in a very vulnerable position currently; pressing flesh on a walk through the Wards with only one or two bodyguards along for protection.

Thane had to admit surprise when Shepard was alright with them splitting up to track Talid and (hopefully) find Kolyat.

“You can’t find him alone any more than I can,” Shepard commented with a sharp smile s he and Garrus headed for the catwalks. “Stay sharp, Krios.”

As if he would do otherwise. Still, he bowed his head and asked Amonkira for strength and guidance before he vanished into the shadows, hoping they weren’t too late to save his son from a very familiar dark path.

Are you really surprised? a voice inside him mocked as Thane picked his route along catwalks and ducts, through shadows and crowds. Even if he hates you, that’s the example you left.

He shook it off. He didn’t have the luxury of internal debate right now. He had to pick out his route on the fly, keep in touch with Shepard and Garrus, plot out several ways to handle the situation that all depended on Kolyat’s behavior. And he didn’t know his own son well enough to predict that, so his solutions were all loosely structured ideas at best. Some plan was better than none.

It was a close thing, despite their best efforts. Kolyat spooked, shot the bodyguards and dragged Talid into his apartment with a gun to his head.

Shepard was only a step behind once Kolyat broke cover and very quickly had a gun pointed at him.

Thane went very still, watching this standoff. He didn’t know Shepard well enough to know what the man would do, but he knew what C-Sec protocols would be, and he could hear their approach. Shepard had been very clear about the limited time they had for this side trip, the fastest resolution--which would also fulfill C-Sec’s mandate to keep Talid alive--would end with his son dead, and Shepard was not a patient man.

Kolyat’s anger blazed, even from across the room, and he was far from willing to cooperate, his pistol pressed to the back of Talid’s head.

The loud crack of a pistol shot nearly made Thane flinch, his chest squeezing in protest at the thought of his failure. Just this one thing, I wanted to fix just this.

But Shepard’s shot snapped Talid’s head back, not Kolyat’s. The turian collapsed in a spray of dark blood and Kolyat recoiled. In that moment of distraction, Thane surged forward and twisted the pistol out of Kolyat’s hands, unsure if the tremor was adrenaline or rage.

Shepard was talking to an incensed Bailey; “No one will miss a racist asshole, I did you a favor”, but Thane’s focus was all on his son. 

“This was not the best way,” he said softly.

“What do you know?” Kolyat hissed back, struggling against Thane’s unrelenting grip.

“More than you might think.”

Kolyat yanked away as if the contact had burned him. Fury simmered in his eyes, and resentment, but he was alive. C-Sec would still have to take him in for what he’d been ready to do(attempted murder? That would likely be the charge), there would be consequences for what he tried to do, and Thane didn’t know if they even could “mend fences” as Shepard had put it. But he was alive. And hopefully could be deterred from a path Thane wouldn’t wish anyone to tread.

“Krios,” Shepard barked and Thane pulled himself out of his reverie watching C-Sec lead Kolyat away. But rather than Time to go, the commander nodded after the arresting officers. “Massani can help with tracking down Fade. You have until we’re done. I wouldn’t count on more than an hour or two.”

Thane blinked, thrown off kilter by the gesture, but recovered quickly.  “Understood.” He’d taken three steps after the C-Sec officers before he stopped and turned. “...Thank you, Shepard.”

The man waved him off, already walking away with Garrus in his wake.

---

An hour and a half didn’t go very far working through a decade of distance, but it was a start.

“Why do you stay with him?” Kolyat asked when Thane’s comms crackled with a heads-up Shepard and the others were on their way back and he stood. “If... this” --a quick gesture, more a flick of the wrist than anything, between the two of them-- “is so important?”

For you. In more ways than one. “Shepard’s mission is... critical. And there is, unfortunately, a time limit on saving the galaxy.”

Kolyat snorted at his father’s dry humor. “Right.”

“I will keep in touch,” Thane promised. “Perhaps we can meet again once this is finished. If you would like.” If I survive.

“...We’ll see.” Kolyat was staring at the table rather than him, but Thane would take it.

He nodded and headed for the door. “Very well.”

“Does he have something on you?” Kolyat asked abruptly. “With the reputation Shepard’s made, he doesn’t seem the type honorable people would be following.”

“I have made no claims of honor,” Thane said quietly, hand on the door frame.  “And with  the stakes of mission, some sacrifices may prove necessary.”

“Sounds familiar,” Kolyat muttered.

Thane made no reply, and didn’t look back as he left the room with a cold weight in his chest.

---

It ha been the right call letting Krios reconnect with his son. He seemed more centered, more focused, for having dealt with his baggage. Probably that whole ‘something to live for’ schtick. Shepard only cared that Krios did his job and the mending bond made the kid an even more effective pressure point.

Not that Krios had ever protested. Ever balked. But everyone had their limit, and if he happened to find the assassin’s, it never hurt to have a brute force solution in your arsenal. Especially as they were very close to actually pursuing the Collectors through the Omega 4 relay.

“Just a few more tests,” Lawson assured him. They wanted it to work right, after all. It’d be a real short trip otherwise.

“So,” he asked Krios, “out of morbid curiosity, who wants me dead?” There were plenty of options, he wanted to know who wanted it badly enough to hire an assassin. And it wasn’t like he currently had anything better to do with his time. 

Krios cocked his head, a flicker of what might have been amusement crossing his face. “I cannot tell you, Shepard.”

Shepard snorted and arched a brow. “Client confidentiality?”

“Client anonymity,” the drell corrected.

“You let some faceless coward point you at a target with my body count?”

“As you know, I am dying,” Krios said in that implacable tone of his. “Odds of survival were... far from troubling, as a factor.”

“And odds of success?” Shepard retorted.

This time there was definitely a small smile before Krios schooled his expression neutral. Not mocking or cocky, just... amused. “There is a first time for everything.” The faint amusement was gone when he locked eyes with Shepard. “How will we handle this, commander? When we are finished our mission, assuming we both survive, and I resume my contract to kill you?”

“Feel like giving me a day’s lead?” Shepard grinned sardonically.

“I could be persuaded,” Krios said. He shifted in his chair. “Let us see how things progress, shall we?”

You’d never know to look at the man he’d been... convinced to help with this by threat of harm to his son. He seemed perfectly at home, posture easy. He didn’t talk to the crew much, Shepard knew from EDI, but it was hardly surprising an assassin was accustom to solitude.

As if summoned by his brief thought of her, a glowing sphere materialized on the AI kiosk. “Shepard, Miss Lawson wished you informed that the IFF installation is in its final stage. For the shakedown we will need complete access to the Normandy’s systems, so it is recommended you use the shuttle for whatever you plan to undertake next.”

“Got it,: Shepard tossed in vaguely the direction of the AI. “That’ll make things tight,” he muttered to himself. He had something in mind that would likely need the whole team. They’d fit in the shuttle, but it would be tight. Last thing he needed was Lawson and Jack killing each other before they even hit the Collector base.

Krios was eyeing him with curiosity. “Commander?”

“Gear up,” Shepard said, heading for the door. “Got a search and recover that might take all hands.”

The assassin nodded and pushed to his feet, heading for his locker. “Very well.”

---

Their mission went well. Things on the Normandy in their absence, not so much. Shepard left a fully-staffed state of the art warship an returned to a picked-clean husk manned only by his pilot and the now-unshackled AI.

The Collectors had bloodied his nose, cost him his crew. Again. He’d had it.  “Ship’s not getting any more ready than it is. Joker, head for the Omega 4 relay.”

“Aye, aye,” came the determined, hungry reply.The pilot was probably even more eager than Shepard to punch back at the bug-eyed bastards.

Unlike Joker--and probably the others--Shepard viewed getting the crew back as a secondary objective to taking out the Collectors. The threat they posed to humanity ended now.

Get us there was his order, and that didn’t change when they came out of the relay having to dodge starship wreckage, or when they were harried by drones, or even when a fucking occulus busted into the hold.

“Krios, Massani, with me!” he barked, rifle in hand, listening to the scrape and thud of wreckage and lasers ricocheting off the upgraded hull on the way to the bowels of the ship. By the time they had trashed the occulus, Joker had them past the debris field and the drones, and a new problem had arisen.

New, but familiar--the same Collector vessel that he had encountered numerous times before. But this time, the Normandy had sharper teeth. “Let ‘em have it!” he ordered, a command Joker follow with alacrity Darting, looping, dodging, the pilot had them dancing around the larger ship, deftly avoiding the beam that had been their destruction before.

The surge of satisfaction at destroying the vessel was short lived, as it erupted in a fireball more than large enough to knock the Normandy into a crazy, barely controlled descent that could more bluntly be called a crash.

“Everyone alive?” Shepard checked over comms. When that was affirmative, he followed with, “Assemble in the CIC.”

This was it. A quick rundown of schematics pulled from the vessel and what he expected to find inside, a victory whatever it takes reminder, and it was time to go.

---

Than prayed silently to Amonkira as they disembarked from the Normandy. Let our hands strike true, and victory be worth the cost. There would be a cost, of this he was sure. He was familiar enough with Shepard’s methods by now there was little room for doubt. If I am among that cost, please guide my son, that his steps may trace a better path.

He wondered, if he should fall, whether his client would hire someone else to complete the task of killing Shepard or if they would let it go. He hoped it wouldn’t come  to that. He wanted to survive, to speak more with Kolyat before the end, but it would be what it was.

They split into groups, Shepard leading Thane and Zaeed, Garrus the rest of them, to serve as distractions while Tali crawled through the vents to let them pass. It was a good call; the Collectors swarmed thick enough any other plan would likely have been overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. They were not given the luxury of time for sighting in targets, so Thane stuck with his pistol--and occasionally biotics--firing, reloading, firing, with the odd interruption to scrounge more thermal clips because he’d run out.

Shepard’s back and forth with Garrus and Tali was just background noise, like the beating wings of their foes, as Thane gave his focus to the task at hand.

Tali stumbled out of the vent just as they finally reached the heavy doors barring the end of the hall. She beelined for the access panel, teetered as a couple shots ricocheted off her shields.

“Get it open!” Shepard barked as the three of them wheeled to give her cover fire. “Vakarian, where the hell are you?!”

“Almost there, a group of the bastards ambushed us!”

A Collector dove toward Tali and Thane shot it--rushed, imperfect, but the grazing shot knocked it off course long enough for him to try again. This time, it fell and did not rise again.

---

The sense of urgency, pounding Hurry, hurry, hurry through Shepard’s veins thrummed louder as the door beeped and started to hiss open. A muffled burst of gunfire reached his ears a handful of seconds before Vakarian and the others came into view, hauling ass down the passageway toward them.

“Massani, Krios! Through the door!” He rattled off a stream of cover fire, driving the Collectors to hang back for a second. Just a second. But it was enough time for the second fire team to reach the end of the passage and dart through the door.

Krios and Massani maintained some cover fire from the far side of the door, buying breathing room for the others as one by one they darted through the door. Lawson brought up the rear, her barrier shimmering out as the doors groaned on closing.

“They’re stuck!” Tali bit out, shoving one door with scraping, grinding protest along its track. Shepard and Lawson ducked through the narrowing gap just as a final shot slammed into Lawson’s shoulder and sent her stumbling.

“I’m fine,” she ground out, slapping medigel on the injury as the group of them shook off the adrenaline to register what the room held.

The walls were lined with dozens, hundreds, thousands, of the Collectors’ pods. The dingy yellow glow throughout the room spoke to them all being occupied.

Movement caught Shepard’s eye and he swung his rifle toward the potential threat. it was just one of the nearby pods; the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman inside stirred, pounding against the transparent canopy in a futile attempt to escape. Even as Tali and Krios rushed forward to try and free her, the pod hummed and the woman only had time for a single terrified scream before she simply... liquefied into a sludgy brown paste which drained away almost before his crew had time to recoil in horror.

“Commander! Over here!” Taylor fumbled with a nearby pod until a very disoriented figure tumbled out. “It’s the crew!”

That broke the horror that had frozen them, and the group surged forward to free their comrades before the same fate could befall them.

Chambers. Daniels. Donnelly. Gardner. All of them were here, as Shepard ran a mental roster, but Chakwas was the one to explain. Near as she could tell, the humans in the pods were being reduced to genetic material and ...piped elsewhere in the base through tubes, though she wasn’t sure where or why. That sounded like where they needed to go.

“We need to get them out of here,” Taylor said, hovering near a few of the engineers as they stumbled to their feet.

We don’t have time for this. “You wanna take them back, be my guest,” Shepard returned brusquely. “We need to destroy this base, but we can mange without you if it’s that important to you.”

“It is.” Taylor’s voice was firm as he tugged Chambers’ arm around his shoulders and herded the crew back toward the Normandy. “See you on the other side, Commander.”

---

Thane almost offered to accompany them; it was a lot of people for one man to safeguard. But Shepard was already snapping orders for the next stage of their infiltration. He’d be taking Garrus and Zaeed, sheltered from the overabundance of Seeker swarms by Jack, down the shortest route that followed the tubes. “The rest of you follow Lawson on the other route EDI indicated, draw some of the flying bastards off.”

Forward, then. Thane checked his reserve of thermal clips, made sure his pistol was undamaged, and fell in with the others as the door hissed open and they pressed on.

They hadn’t advanced far when the first Collectors appeared, drones and a small number of husks that were easy enough tot pick off. Their numbers only increased as time wore on, but that was the point wasn’t it? Draw them here, so Shepard could get through. Thane stood shoulder to shoulder with Tali as their squad advanced, shared his thermal clips when hers ran out first, lent what strength he could to the biotic barrier Samara had summoned to protect their backs.

“There’s a lot of them, Shepard!” Miranda hollered into comms when they were forced to take cover from a particularly large group, dotted with abominations and led by a scion.

“Good!” his reply crackled back underscored by gunfire. “Keep them the hell off us! We’re almost there!”

She hissed a quiet curse, then, “Yes, Commander!” Her fist flared blue and a pair of husks flew off the edge of the path. “Samara, push them back on three!”

The justicar nodded and the rest of them by unspoken agreement turned their focus to give the women cover fire.

“One!”

Strafing fire raked Grunt’s armor and he bellowed a laugh as he shot back. Thane admired his defiance.

“Two!”

The barrier Samar had been maintaining shrank inward in preparation. Amonkira, guide their strength.

“Three!”

The combined power of two gifted biotics exploded outward in a wash over overwhelming ozone-scented blue. Just as it slammed into the descending Collector horde, a heavy, white hot pain tore into Thane’s arm and side. 

He was dimly aware of Miranda yelling for them to move, of a hand closing around his bicep to drag him with them, of his legs moving to keep up until the gave out and he was hauled over someone’s shoulder instead. There was  rushing sound in his ears and it wasn’t until it was it was punctuated by gunfire and Miranda hollering at Shepard they were under heavy attack Thane realized it was Collector wings and not the lure of unconsciousness.

“Give us a minute, Lawson!”

“We don’t have a minute!”

Shepard’s curse was broken by static. “Vakarian, get that door open! Now!”

Time was fuzzy with the pain that swirled fresh at each jolted step of whoever (probably Grunt) was carrying him, but it still seemed an eternity before, muffled, he could hear someone calling an encouragement.

He slammed against something and the pain flared so white, for a moment he saw Irikah’s face. There was a dull murmur of voices, then a spike of numb shot through the pain and spread, blanketing, pushing back until he was aware again.

Tali knelt beside him, her omnitool just closing down as he became conscious of her presence. “Good, you’re still with us.”

“Thanks to you,” Thane rasped. He passed one hand gingerly over his injured side. The healing wound was large, like from a plasma- or other energy-based weapon rather than bullets. He could cope much better with bullets.

“You are welcome,” Tali said, pushing to her feet and offering him a hand up.

Thane accepted, but leaned against a wall once he’d gained his feet. It would take a few minutes for the medigel to truly do its work. He cast a surveying glance about as he waited. Mordin was limping heavily, Grunt, Garrus, and Zaeed all had significant battle damage to their armor....

And Miranda lay still, half-slumped against a wall, pistol resting in her limp grasp. Shepard knelt next to her, blood streaked in his stark white hair, but stood even as Thane’s gaze landed on them. “She’s gone,” he confirmed, as if there was any doubt. He half-turned, hand rising to his ear, expression flint-hard. “Got it, Joker.”

Garrus’ mandibles clicked. “The crew?”

“They made it back.” Shepard shoved a new clip into his rifle. “Taylor died getting them there.”

Thane grimaced. He should have gone along. 

“It happens,” Shepard said, as if he’d caught the self-reproof without even looking. “According to EDI, this next room’s the core. Vakarian, Massani, you stick with me, the rest of you cover our asses.”

He didn’t wait for agreement or confirmation, just strode to the console for the necessary door and and punched in the command to open it. Garrus and Zaeed followed silently, the former briefly locking eyes with Tali before the three of them disappeared down the hallway.

---

The rest of them hastily arranged themselves in a defensive perimeter, gazes and weapons trained on the two doors that separated them from the Collector forces.

Thane said a rushed but heartfelt prayer to Kalahira for their fallen, working the fingers of his injured arm to test the medigel’s progress. It would do.

The sheer number of Collectors made the task a difficult one--more than once Thane feared running out of clips for his pistol until a brief pause between waves allowed them to scavenge and share from the fallen. This sort of sustained firefight was far from his normal milieu, but this close to the end he was still determined to do his best.

They held as battle chatter from Shepard’s squad broke through the static. They held even though Mordin fell and Legion fell and Jack nearly followed, snarling and spitting curses as she struggled back to her feet. They held until Shepard’s order came over comms, “Move if you don’t want to go up with this place!”

Then they ran, Samara and Jack shielding them from as much as they could, the rest picking off the bolder Collectors even as they ran. They reached the Normandy, adrenaline surging as they gave Shepard’s squad cover fire until they were aboard as well. Joker had them rocketing toward the relay before the doors had fully closed, and the whole ship seemed to hold its breath until they were safely through.

---

As the adrenaline wore off, all Shepard wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn’t. Not yet. There were things that needed to be settled first.

Krios was in the medbay, sitting serenely still as Dr. Chakwas more thoroughly treated the nasty, half-healed burns on his side and forearm. (In sharp contrast to Jack, who was glowering and cursing about both having to sit still to let her injuries heal and being around so many people.)

“Looks like we both survived,” Shepard said without preamble. Chakwas took the unspoken cue and moved off to see to Jack.

“Indeed.” Krios didn’t move, hands folded in his lap as he sat on the edge of a bed.

“You make up your mind about that head start?”

Krios chuckled. “I believe my recuperation will be a bit more than a day, Shepard. A good time for me to visit my son, I think, and a good head start for you as the contract resumes.” His lips twitched to a small smile. “Perhaps my client will reconsider in light of your actions.”

“Doubt it,” Shepard snorted. “I get the sense their beef with me is personal. Doesn’t lend itself to rational decision making. We’ll see, I guess.” Stranger things had happened, but he wouldn’t be holding his breath.”I’m not going anywhere near the Citadel, in case the Council gets any bright ideas about me or my ship, but we can drop you on Omega before we head off.”

Krios nodded solemnly. “A fair arrangement.”

A less intelligent person might have wondered--hoped--leaving him on Omega injured was as good as a death warrant, but Shepard had seen him fight. It would take more than a set of already-healing electrical burns to put Krios at a disadvantage against the thugs on Omega. (And if they did happen to prove too much for him, one thing less for Shepard to worry about.)

“We can have you there in an hour or so,” he said. “once the doc’s done with you go get your things together.”

Krios inclined his head. “I shall.”

---

It had been a while since he was last on Omega and Thane hadn’t missed it in the slightest. Fortunately he wouldn’t be here long. Passage elsewhere was easy enough to  procure, and from there he could work his way to the Citadel. He could take some time to mend more fences with Kolyat before he resumed his hunt.

That was one thing about Shepard; he was never a hard man to find.

[rvmmm21]

[ V V S her diamonds ] – ch 03.

[4:15 p.m.] Disappointment tweaks at Seungwan’s heart when she peers through the huge glass window of their study cafe and sees no Bae Joohyun. 

. . . . .

A group of students are huddled in the back, bent over open textbooks, laptops and scattered stationary. 

Yerimie, Saeron, Seul, wow, there’s Jennie sunbaenim. And she spies Sooyoung sunbaenim balancing a tray of various caffeine-injected drinks back to the table.

A sad sigh escapes her lips. Perhaps she’s l–

“Seungwan?” 

Oh my g– what the–?! Seungwan screams, whipping around in shock at the fingers gently resting on the back of her shoulder. She’s met with a slightly surprised Joohyun, standing there wearing a cream Jute blouse tucked into denim jeans, twinkling eyes and endless amusement etched into rosebud lips. 

“S-Sunbae!” She exclaims, grasping her chest to calm her rapid-fire heart. “Y-You’re here, I was just–”

What, peering through the glass, looking for you like a creep? 

“It’s fine,” Joohyun chuckles, adjusting her hold on the stack of thick notebooks cradled in her arm and motioning for the younger girl to lead the way. “Let’s go. This is heavy.”

Thursdays might’ve found an unexpected favour with Son Seungwan.

Busy eyes move from annotating to the two girls urgently making their way over, the students lifting their heads at Seungwan’s warm greeting. 

“Sorry we’re late,” she sincerely apologises. 

Jennie knowingly eyes her friend. “Not surprised.” 

Joohyun raises her a playfully challenging brow before slipping into the free seat next to Sooyoung at the end of the table, right across her partner.

“You ordering anything, Wan?” Seulgi asks between highlighting her page, offering her and Joohyun biscuits in individually wrapped aluminium packets.

Joohyun takes one and Seungwan nibbles on the edge of her biscuit, deep in thought. The group soon slips into the robotic rhythm of monochromatic scribbling, greyscale note-taking, typing, and intermittent snacking. Jennie slips away to order small desserts for everyone at the table. They thank her with shocked bows and hungry stares, unable to settle on one in the garland of appetising coloured treats on the tiny table.

“Sunbae, you’re like Santa Claus,” Seulgi happily attacks the New York baked cheesecake. “When did you order this? It’s like we were asleep and we just woke up to presents!”

Her bearish enthusiasm has an observant Sooyoung unconsciously smiling around her fork.

As the group tucks in, Seungwan thinks a group study date is the safest she can be in terms of being on the receiving end of any more of her senior’s teasing mannerisms.

Fortunately, Joohyun always surprises her.

A little later on, they’re discussing the historical impact of contemporary Korean literature. Right in the middle of a sentence, Seungwan’s concentration is shattered by a deep blush of raspberry when she feels a feather-light graze against her right Adidas sweatpant leg. She chokes, almond eyes shooting up from messy essay notes, silently begging for mercy. But of course, Joohyun’s serene, unbothered expression gives nothing away as she continues to ask for her opinion as though Seungwan is crazy for looking like a flustered mess. 

The frazzled junior doesn’t know what makes her head spin more; the fact that Joohyun, composed as ever, initiated a game of footsie right under both their friends’ noses in public… or that she secretly enjoys it.

Not that she’ll ever admit to the latter.

Small fists corkscrew the sleeves of her sky-blue Chrome Hearts hoodie as the desperation to hide the cherry-blossom tint in her cheeks builds.

. . . . .

It’s past midnight by the time they’re done, and everyone bids goodbye with ‘Z’s coming out of their ears. Much to everyone’s surprise, Sooyoung and Seulgi got along pretty well this evening and the taller girl had hastily agreed when Seulgi suggested they visit her favourite boba place. Yerim and Saeron were late for their movie, and Jennie was spending the weekend at her girlfriends’.

“Wait, are we dumb? Why did we book this now,” Saeron asks incredulously, “aren’t you gonna get wrecked by grumpy ajumma? Curfew ended like ten minutes ago.”

“Ah who cares, she’s always like that,” Yerim retorts with a dismissive wave. “I could fill a prison wall with how many strikes she’s given me and Seungwan and Seulgi unnie.” She slings an arm over Saeron’s shoulder, urging them to hurry. “C’mon, ads don’t take forever.”

“Wan-ah,” Seulgi calls back as she’s being dragged away by an eager Sooyoung, “if you order pizza can you leave some out for me!”

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy. Don’t wake me up.”

“Hyun-ah, you sure you’re not coming?” Jennie’s sleek midnight-black Vetements cardigan blends with the hues of the night sky, giving away how late it is. She swipes into her messages. “Chaeng said she doesn’t mind.” 

Joohyun laughs with mock disgust. “Thanks Jen, but I’m not crashing your date-nights anymore, thank you very much. I saw enough the last time, my eyes can’t take that kind of stuff.”

Waving goodbye, Jennie and Chaeyoung speed off, leaving Seungwan wondering what ‘kind of stuff’ Joohyun could be referring to.

The pair are drawn to the horribly lit bus stop and just about the only source of light for miles. 

Seungwan yawns silently, but she doesn’t mind waiting with Joohyun. It’s late and although her apartment is in the opposite direction, she’d be at ease knowing her friend got home safely.

The darkness is engulfing, allowing an overhead street lamp to bathe them in its flicking spotlight like stars in a West End Production. 

“We were pretty productive today, sunbae,” the younger tries to make conversation to fill the space between them. “Do you wanna come for next week’s session too?”

“Sure,” comes the reply. “Thanks for waiting with me. When’s your ride getting here? We should’ve booked at the same time.”

Seungwan nervously scratches the back of her neck, crinkling her worksheets in her grip. “Uh, I’m just walking home tonight actually.”

“Oh? Do you live closeby?” she asks in surprise, assuming they were both waiting for taxis.

“Ah, yes, I’m just– it’s just down there.”

Joohyun narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Down there… where.”

“Just a quick walk, past… past the duck pond,” the girl mumbles, staring down at her shoes.

“Q-Quick? Quick?” Joohyun stutters, malfunctioning at their severely clashing definitions of ‘close’. A delicate fist draws back and Seungwan flinches, Bae Joohyun looking closer and closer to doing what she did to Lucas to her poor, startled junior. “The duck pond near uni? Yah, Son Seungwan, that’s almost a twenty minute walk from here.” 

“Fifteen if I have my speed walking playlist on,” Seungwan tries, but she isn’t listening.

“A lot of dangerous things can happen in twenty minutes, you know.” She hurriedly unlocks her phone and clicks into the KakaoTaxi app, altering the destination to add a stop and shoving it into reluctant hands. “Hurry, put your address in.” 

Seungwan so badly wants to politely decline, not confident in her ability to sit in a moving vehicle with such a pretty person without hurling herself out the window at top speeds. But the latter’s glare dares her to try.

With shaky fingers, she successfully types in her address after three tries and hands it back. Joohyun checks it and confirms the change. Seungwan wants to comment on how her frantic nature is actually really endearing, but she resists, thinking she’s still cooling off from it.

“Thank you, sunbae,” she bows instead. She even tries to insist she pay her share of the ride, but Joohyun refuses, saying it’s what she gets for thinking it was a good idea to walk home alone.

Finally, a black Sedan pulls up to the curb and the driver winds down his window. “KakaoBlack for Bae Joohyun?” He checks, looking as ready as both girls are to go home and crash for the night. 

The girl nods, opening the door for Seungwan to get into the backseat and climbing in after her.

Grand streaks of neon dance across the car windows, falling behind as quickly as they appear. Seungwan tears her gaze from the rapid city lights when she hears her name. 

An almost child-like excitement masks Joohyun’s usually steely features when Seungwan hums questioningly, not having heard what she’d said. “I said unnie,” she repeats, “you should call me unnie now that we’re closer. Honestly, I wanted to correct you this evening, but I never got the chance to. Aish, everyone was so noisy.”

The topic of noise has Joohyun distracted, suddenly popping off on a tangent about how sound-proof couple study rooms should be integrated in cafes and student-dense areas alike. But Seungwan finds it hard to focus on anything other than those glowing eyes and that tiny, lopsided smile.

For the rest of the journey, the two exchange stories of their university life experiences, life outside classrooms and even a few laughs; mostly on Joohyun’s part at how Seungwan seems to have the most prankish roommates slash best friends in the world. She loses it at ‘carbonara shampoo’, finding the idea wickedly genius and hilariously absurd altogether. Uncontrollable cackling booms in the backseat and Seungwan can’t help but giggle too, ears saturated with Joohyun’s chimerical laughter.

Eventually, the street lights and the houses start looking familiar and they’re pulled into a student apartment lobby before either of them knows where the time went. Joohyun can see the grumpy ajumma at reception wearing a frown, but she doesn't know it’s because someone’s gone over curfew. Again.

“Goodnight Seungwan.”

“Goodnight… unnie.” Seungwan wishes, ignoring the way their new closeness unfolds her heart like a secretly passed note. “Stay safe, and message me when you get back!”

Making to get out of the car, she flinches when she’s unable to fully stand up. Gulping, she glances over her shoulder to see Joohyun holding her back by her bag straps. In her sleepy state, the younger can’t tell if that intently searching gaze is serious or not.

“By the way, when you were looking into the cafe from outside this evening, you weren’t checking Jennie or Sooyoung out, were you?”

Seungwan shakes her head truthfully. “Why?”

“Good.” A cat-like smirk graces her lips and Seungwan’s stomach drops. “Just making sure.”

. . . . .

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion Part 7. The Child

{Masterlist}

Notes: I screwed up the timeline of Star Wars because I didn’t think about it so, sorry. 

Ps. I stan big-brother Therapist Opress

Warnings: Swearing, reader is a panicky mess for a little bit, some suggestive language

Words: 3246

Taglist: @and-claudia // @tararuthven // @ravenclawlegacy // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol

<- Previous

………………………………….

Forever 

Forever indeed. It felt like Maul had been gone for forever. You hadn’t seen him in two months and they were some of the most excruciating months you’d ever lived through. What made it worse were the few and far between calls late at night that only made your aching for your unofficial husband grow. You were legitimately becoming concerned for as the time stretched on without contact, you began to feel sicker. Was it possible to get sick from missing someone? Is that what people meant when they described someone as ‘lovesick’? 

“Y/n, are you sure you are alright?” Ki-Adi’s voice shook you to the core as you were forced to refocus on the fact that you were currently in the middle of a duel with him. Your master had lowered his saber, one hand held up to stop you from pressing your advantage while he questioned you. 

“I’m fine, Master.” The reply was immediate and spoken without thought. You knew you were just being dramatic and that your life had to go on when Maul wasn’t around. You were to become a Jedi. He was a Sith Lord. Divergence from each other was what founded your relationship and when that manifested in not seeing each other for months, you had to learn to deal with it. The whole ‘feeling sick because my husband isn’t here to hold me’ thing was getting old fast. 

Your husband....gods, those words didn’t seem real. Legally binding or not, the fact of the matter was that you had married Maul in total secrecy two months ago. You could remember the moment he claimed you as his wife so clearly that on the most lonely nights it seemed to become the only thing that was real and untainted by hypocrisy, hubris, and politics. The knowledge that you were the only one who would ever know the feel of Maul’s hands on your hips, or the gentle nudge of his nose against your own as he pressed his lips to yours, or even how solid he felt when buried in-

You internally shook your head. Yes, the knowledge that you were the only one that would ever know how any of that felt was...intoxicating. And you were selfish. Maul’s love was a drug and you were the only one that had access to it. 

“Are you sure? You seem very distracted.” Ki-Adi continued, blocking the strike you levied at his side. 

“I’m. Fine.” You seethed, frustrated at your mind for wandering and at your body for how poorly you were fighting. 

Ki-Adi sheathed his saber and raised an eyebrow at you, hands finding a place clasped behind his back. He was disappointed. You sighed and sheathed your green saber as well, already preparing for the inevitable lecture. “I do not believe you, Y/n. You haven’t been acting like yourself since we returned from negotiations on Toydaria.” Ki-Adi stepped forward to grasp your shoulder, communicating his concern more clearly than his perpetually calm voice would allow. “Did something happen?” 

You shifted on your feet, knowing you would have to lie. There was no way you could tell him that you were lovesick but you could explain the physical symptoms your predicament had manifested. “No, master, nothing happened. Just...I don’t know how to explain it.” You carded a hand through your hair briefly. “For the past few weeks, I haven’t felt...like myself?” You tried, looking into your master’s calm face. 

Ki-Adi’s brows furrowed. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only curiosity. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean...I can’t remember the last time I got a good night’s worth of rest. For some reason, certain smells have been bothering me lately, I’m so tired all the time-yesterday I passed out in the library and Madame Jocasta had to walk me to my room because I couldn’t walk more than a few steps without feeling nauseous.” You let out an angry huff directed at the strange reactions your body was having to the absence of Maul. “But, every time I’ve considered going to the healers to see what is going on, the symptoms vanish.”

Ki-Adi was quiet for a moment as he digested the revelation. “Do you know what might be causing these reactions?” He eventually asked, taking a seat in the middle of the mat you had been fighting on. You followed his lead, sticking your chin in one hand and propping your elbow on your bended knee while your free hand toyed with a rogue string on your robe. You shook your head, eyes boring into the ground. “Are you, perhaps, nervous for the Trials?” 

You shook your head again, straightening up. “No, I mean...I am just a bit nervous but I know that these reactions aren’t originating from that. I was more nervous about making my second lightsaber and this never happened.” Your stomach gave an almighty lurch all of a sudden which caused you to clasp your hand over your mouth, the other shooting to your stomach. But, just as quickly as it had come upon you, the sensation vanished leaving you and your perplexed master. You groaned in frustration, almost wishing you would just vomit so that whatever was going on would cease. Ki-Adi sent you a sympathetic frown, helping you to your feet. “If I may forgo discretion, master?” He hummed to tell you it was alright. “I spoke with Luminara Unduli and she posited that it could just be an intense bout of pms. Which would make sense…” Because I’m late…Like,...two months late. And with that realization, a whole new plethora of issues became very likely possibilities. No, no...we...Maul and I aren’t even the same species. That can’t happen...or can it? Zabraks are classified as Near-human. In theory, we could...no, no. 

“Hmm, this is troubling. May I suggest that you go to the healers, Padawan? Even if Master Unduli is correct, I think it would be wise to receive confirmation.” Ki-Adi, ever tranquil in his approach, thankfully rescued you from the spiraling panic now coiling in your chest. “Come, I will escort you there.” 

…………………………………….

“Y/n?” Savage’s rumbling baritone voice pulled you back to reality and you suddenly realized that you had been zoned out for a very long time. When had you started deep cleaning the ship? Looking away from the floor of the cockpit you had started diligently scrubbing, you met the towering zabrak’s questioning gaze as he leaned against the doorway. “Are you alright? You’ve been cleaning incessantly since you woke up.”  

Briefly letting your eyes flicker over the various cleaning supplies strewn around you, you shrugged, mouth feeling dry. “I...I guess.” With a little more focus, you returned to scrubbing, eager for some distraction. “I’ve just...been lost in thought, I guess.” 

“I noticed.” Savage stated bluntly whilst crossing his arms. “I’m worried about you, sister.” You paused at his words, momentarily closing your eyes as you collected yourself. You could hear him approaching, long strides echoing around the small area as he neared until he crouched next to you and gently worked the rag out of your hands. “You have not been yourself for the past few days.” Your eyes snapped open and slid to the side to meet Savage’s gaze. His brow was worked into a frown and one of his large hands was hesitantly reaching out, as though he was unsure if he was allowed to console through touch. 

Opting to let him in, you reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m afraid seeing Maul in this state has...drained me. I just needed a reprieve and I guess shutting down was the way I went about achieving that.” As you spoke, you let your thumbs dig into his palm while you used him as an anchor. “And,” glancing around Savage to see into the makeshift sleeping area the three of you had set up, you took note of how Wild was still completely passed out which made it safe to make your confession, “and it isn’t helped by the lying on my end. I want to tell Wild the truth, but I’m terrified of how he’ll react. He’s lived his whole life believing his father to be dead. What will he do when he finds out that he’s not and that he was, in fact, a Sith Lord? I don’t want him to go into shock over it but how the hell am I supposed to adjust him to the idea organically?” You muttered more to yourself than to Savage who was still patiently crouched next to you, happily lending an ear. 

Savage’s breathing was the only thing you could hear, low and steady like the breath of a mythical beast. It was soothing to hear something other than your own panicked thoughts. “I wish I knew how to help you, Y/n. I care for Wild and I care for you too. The three of you are the only kin I have left.” He sighed and finally took a seat beside you, still allowing you to toy with his hand. 

“I hadn’t thought about that...how are you holding up?” You tried carefully, releasing Savage’s hand when he gently tugged it away from you. 

“Not well, if I am to be completely honest. Though-I have the benefit of not remembering what Maul used to be like.” Savage’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. 

Not entirely sure where to go from here, you opted to voice the most pressing anxiety that plagued you without ceasing. “Do you really think Mother Talzin will be able to help him?” 

“Help him? No. Bring back Darth Maul? Yes.” 

……………………………………..

“Padawan L/n, these results are...most concerning.” The words falling from the Mirialan healer are...disconcerting which causes you to sit up, propping yourself on your elbows as you rise from the bed to watch her movements. 

“Why?” You ask, sitting up a little further as your panic makes a resurgence. “What’s wrong? What do they say?” She didn’t reply nor did she turn to look at you as she raised a hand and flicked her fingers in unison to beckon you over. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and walked over to the screen that was displaying the results of the full-body scan she had run to pinpoint the epicenter of your troubles. The particular area of interest was a position that was decidedly not your stomach like you thought it would be. Oh no. “W-...what does that mean?” You asked, trembling. Your throat was swiftly closing up as you continued to stare at the red circle that blinked placidly above your uterus. 

“Y/n, you know what it means. Coupling the scan with your other symptoms, I think the issue is impossible to deny or misinterpret.” The Mirialan was bristling as she spoke, the sympathy draining from her voice with every word till it was sucked dry of any humanity. “I must inform the council immediately.” 

Inform the...shit. Whirling around faster than you thought humanly possible and leaping over the bed, you practically tackled the healer to keep her from leaving the room. “Dariada, listen to me. I don’t know how this happened.” You attempted to explain, hands grasping her left forearm in a vice. 

She made a noise of utter indignation that echoed in your head. “You don’t-how could you not know?! You slept with a man, Padawan L/n, that’s how this happened. You broke the code! They’ll expel you from the order for this!” She was livid. 

“They could if I had broken the code! But I didn’t! I didn’t sleep with anyone!” Liar. Liar. This baby’s mother is a liar. Maul, fuck, where are you? One hand shot to your front, gently laying over where your womb was. “There was no one. I swear.” 

“That doesn’t happen, Y/n. You had to have slept with someone.” Dariada shot back, hood dangerously close to flying off. Her vibrant green skin was a shade darker from the blood rushing to it in her anger. You had never liked Dariada, she was always far too self-righteous, but you liked her even less now. With what could only be described as a snarl, she wrenched her arm free and grabbed both of your wrists in an iron grip, already marching her way out of the hall and dragging you along with her. She held true to her word and informed the council of the...situation. 

Soon you were standing in the middle of the council members, begging for them to believe you that there had been no one. The lie felt like poison on your tongue, it seeped into your own system just as it flew at the council members. Plo Koon was the first to believe you. “I can sense much fear in you, padawan. Why?” The Kel Dor had asked amidst your muffled sobs. There was no hint of condemnation in his modulated voice, but, instead, compassion and empathy. 

“With all due respect, Master Plo, I just found out that I’m pregnant and I can’t even explain how it happened. I am not ashamed to admit I am terrified of what is to become of my baby.” You turned towards him, hiccuping and blubbering throughout your confession. 

“Only your baby?” Plo Koon asked, raising the ridge where his eyebrow would be. You were painfully aware of the gazes of each individual master on you. Ki-Adi’s was the heaviest of them all. 

With a swallow, you attempted to calm your nerves. Maul could help you. Maul would help you. You just had to get in touch with him. But what would his master do to him, to your baby? The tears began anew. “Only my baby. I can be expelled from the order and find a way to survive but what of them?” No answer was needed for your question. The implications were clear. 

“Padawan, approach.” Master Yoda’s voice called to you as he beckoned you closer with his three-fingered hand. His expression was unreadable. You did as he commanded and the old master closed his eyes and held his hand out in front of him when you were little more than a foot away from him. “A child of the Force, the babe is. Clouded is their future.” The grandmaster sighed heavily, letting his head and hand fall in time. “Expel her, we cannot. Powerful will the child be. We must not let either of them fall to the dark side.” Murmurs fell from the masters, sneaking past you as they slipped from loose lips. 

“But is she telling the truth, Master Yoda?” Master Tinn was the one to voice the question on all of their minds. 

“She has to be, Master Tinn.” It was Ki-Adi who spoke in your defense. “Dariada said that she was approaching nine weeks, in that time, the only instances where Y/n has left my sight was when she was in the temple. Y/n is predisposed to the light side and has never broken the code before, to assume that she would to this extent is unwise and unfair to my padawan.” You sent Ki-Adi a grateful smile as he rose from his chair and approached to stand beside you in front of his fellow masters. 

“What are you suggesting we do then, Master Mundi?” Mace Windu asked from your right. 

“Put Y/n’s training on hold and postpone the trials. We will keep her in the temple to watch over her and when the baby comes, I think it would be wise to look into training them.” Ki-Adi offered swiftly to muttered agreements. 

With a tap of his staff, Yoda called the room to him. “A wise decision that is, Master Mundi. Watch her closely, you must. Now,” He focused on you, eyes penetrating your defenses till his gaze seared into you, “fetch Master Qui-Gon Jinn, young padawan, know something of this occurrence, he might.” You dipped your head to bid the council farewell before skirting away from them. As you fled the meeting area, one thought remained. Where are you, Maul? 

…………………………………………………

Maul was being a nuisance. You had gone into the cargo hold in search of more ration bars and thought that he had still been asleep. You were correct, he was still in the same place you had left him last night. Or he had been until Savage came stomping in after you and woke him up. Now, he was acting like a feral tooka; hissing and spitting at Savage while you, once again, trapped behind him. Savage had backed off with his hands up to show surrender but Maul hadn’t relented and you were rather fed up with it. “Savage, go get me a damp cloth, I’ll try to calm him down.” You ordered whilst nodding your head to Maul. Savage was eager to help calm his brother and so, swiftly backed out. 

Meanwhile, you worked to soothe Maul once more, delicately coaxing him to lay down with his torso across your lap. Gentle purrs rumbled in his chest while you worked your hand into the perpetually tense muscles in his back. Savage entered once more, quietly this time, and handed the cloth he had gotten to you. You used the rag to dab at the junctures of Maul’s body. You hoped the motion would be soothing. His fever had broken sometime during the night but you were still trying to ensure he was kept comfortable for the remainder of the journey. 

Before the silence could persist for much longer, Savage broke it as he leaned on some stacked crates across from you. “Did Wild mention the tattoos to you?” 

Looking away from Maul and to the door to the hold, you made sure the three of you were alone. “Yes, he told me he had been talking to you about Dathomir and the Nightbrothers.” You brought your gaze back to Savage who seemed a little hesitant to continue talking. 

“Did...did he tell you why?” You shook your head. Savage sighed heavily and slid down to be seated. “I’m afraid Wild suspects we are hiding something from him.” 

“I knew he’d start to.” You muttered under your breath, subconsciously gripping the cloth tighter. “Did he say anything?” 

Savage shook his head, “No, but he was asking a lot of questions regarding Maul. I answered as many as I could.”

“Wild’s always been perceptive, I knew we couldn’t hide this forever. But, did he tell you why he wanted more? He told me you had offered to help him.” 

The yellow zabrak groaned, pulling one knee up to use as an armrest as he averted his gaze to Maul who had taken to playing with your free hand. “All he said was that he could feel something coming, something monumental.” 

Your brows furrowed. That was...news. Why hadn’t he talked to you about this? Probably because you’ve been keeping secrets from him, you lying piece of-

The door suddenly slid open to reveal the boy of the hour. His...cold saffron eyes zeroed in on Maul before flicking away to Savage and then yourself. His face was stiff. “We’re approaching Dathomir, I took the liberty of starting landing procedures.” His voice was clipped and serious, more than it normally was. With one last glare at Maul, he turned and stalked towards the cockpit. 

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