#that freezing up of your body. I guess some people get terror in different ways though. I freeze. others fight or flight. I just freeze.

[neverendingford]

.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

(I didn’t finish my last ask because i got a text and didn’t get to copy paste it either aaa! let me just drop the rest of it here :3)

Horus began to take your “serf” title quite seriously despite the clear (and fast fading) concern from your sons. They would understand in due time, they would give you the same cold and heartless look that he did after chaos began to consume him. Bruises and small cuts littered your body from arguments you had recently had with Horus, things you would never imagine him doing. For now though, you were still his wife. Your small and fragile form, once strong and courageous, was still by his side at everything from peace negotiations to meetings with other primarchs, and today was no different.

It wasn’t your first or second encounter with the great angel of baal, you’d seen him many times before, Horus’ favorite brother. It seemed that the ship had grown darker and more grey over the past few months, but the angel was no less radiant than he always was. Sanguinius seemed to eye the injuries dealt to your body by his brother, but paid them no mind, some people are just into that he guessed. The look in your eyes however, the way you looked terrified next to your once beloved husband, the bags under your eyes and the way your once full skin had paled… something was wrong.

Sanguinius, however, was not the only being who recognized wrongdoing. Horus saw the way you eyed his brother, reaching out to touch him with your gaze. It infuriated him more than it had in the past. He noticed the look of terror in your eyes too and chuckled to himself thinking it was because you now knew the truth about Sanguinius, never giving a second thought to the fact that he was the cause of your terror.

The brothers argued, and you sat with your head bowed, knowing Horus would take his frustrations out on you later. There was no love left for you in this legion. You were by his side, of course, but Horus had left you long ago.

Days, Weeks, Months passed before the chaos had fully taken over and you lay still in a dungeon-like cage at the bottom of Horus’ ship. He had no need for you anymore, besides the occasional hate-fucking, which he opted to do in your cage instead of the bed you once shared. You would die here within your shackles while the sons you lovingly put in his care would die within the brutal grasp of war. The bars were cold and the floor was as well, you slept with your warm cheek pressed against the freezing metal floor, shackles bound your arms and legs to the walls, ensuring you couldn’t come too close to the bars like Horus’ little pet.

But then the reaping came.

You were not in the hull or commons to see the red thirst in person, but you could hear the soldiers you once mothered and nurtured be crushed, broken, and ground to a pulp for every ounce of blood they had left. You held your face in your hands and sobbed, the ship feeling colder than it usually had.

The screams, the crunching, and the sound of rain above you continued until it did no more. Horus was away on a mission, and his ship had fallen under siege to the blood angels.

You hadn’t expected their primarch to be with them as golden light made its way into the area you were kept, it shined its way through the bars of your cage, and into your eyes. You opened your mouth to plead for the mercy of the great angel, to grovel at his feet and worship him like you’d always secretly wished you could, but your voice had been taken from you just as everything else had.

You made yourself as small as possible when presented with his glory, your lips trembling with fear and your shackles keeping you locked in place, but he stood and stared.

“my lord.-“ you called out to him with what little voice you had, a hushed whisper.

“i can’t hear you, sorry.-“ He gently laughed, sweet as honey. he was teasing you, taunting you. You bowed your head in response, pulling up all of the vocal strength you possibly could.

“the great angel, oh brightest one, my lord sanguinius.-“

He smiled as if he had consumed the sweetest blood in the galaxy. He broke the bars of your enclosure with little to no effort, kneeling down in front of you and lifting your chin with a mere finger. His touch was gentle and sent chills down your spine.

“wife of Horus…” he spoke to you with such softness that you forgot you were shackled as badly as you wished to reach out and touch the primarch. “i think you would look better in gold, yes?”

You seemed to melt into his touch as he used his other hand to break your shackles, which allowed you to melt into him further. Without a second thought, you nearly lunged into his arms, your craving for warmth and love insatiable as if you had been deprived (you had). He wrapped his wings around you like a cocoon, protecting you from the outside world and allowing you to be somewhere peaceful. He gazed down at you with his bright red eyes, full of admiration.

“I don’t know how my dear brother did it.-“ he laughed, his voice the greatest comfort you’d heard in what felt like years. “Rest now, little angel.-“ he caressed your face as you finally obtained your fantasy from the first time you encountered the angel, only now you would have to mourn the loss of your husband and learn to introduce yourself as Sanguinius’ wife. “From now on, may the pain you feel never be unwanted, little angel.-“

(it’s bad ahaha! I haven’t written in 4 years but angel boy awakens something within me”

You haven’t written for 4 years, and I haven’t written for 3 years. Not far from each other :) And I like the role of Sanguinius in this whole story. I couldn't think through his story, but you did it just fine. It seems like he is a savior, but on the other hand it’s still scary. Especially since Angel gets a broken reader. Good soup, thank you ❤️

[cinnamonest]

//fucked up, gore, npc torture, eye/finger stuff, kinda necro mention but it's not really necro there's just a dead body involved to the side, asphyxiation, fem reader, fearplay I guess?

I really liked the violent Razor post so now you get violent Childe post. I'm gonna start making more violence/gore posts bc I have a lot saved in my notes so block the tw: violence if you need to!

Childe does genuinely get off to killing.

Like, that's usually said as a joke but in all seriousness, murder sprees and acts of violence are a sex thing to him in some capacity. The psychology is not complicated: it makes him feel powerful, and feeling powerful makes him hard. Simple as that.

He's definitely jerked off over dead bodies before, the just-slain and still warm ones whenever the mission was one he completed alone. It feels like a fitting end to all that exertion. Not that he likes the bodies or anything, no, he's not *that* fucked up, it's more like he just likes the rush.

But anything he had before from regular mission work pales in comparison to once he has someone he loves. It feels a hundred, no, a thousand times better if he thinks of it as for your sake. Even if it *is* normal mission work, in his head he pretends he's killing for you, killing people that are in the way, he projects the faces of the ones in his life that he hates - the people he sees you talk to, your significant other if you have one - onto the insignificant faces of victims.

And, consequently, he starts getting far more brutal. Work is work, and usually the goal is to get in and out as fast as possible - direct shots to the vitals, slit throats and guts split open down the middle. You find the fastest way to get it done and hurry to the next task.

But now he's got a lot more anger than usual stored up. A lot more frustration. He thinks about you, he thinks about all the people who interact with you that he doesn't like. His brain is clouded with hatred and lust and it can only be alleviated with excess violence. Imagines it's all for love. Gives him that same rush, soothes the burning inside.

It becomes slower, messier, he ends up with a lot more blood on him than usual. There's no need for limbs to come off, chests to be split open, bones to be snapped and crushed, heads to be caved in, organs to spill on the floor, but he likes it that way.

It's a lot like sex, when you think about it. Repeated motions over and over, stabbing the other party -- well, with different... Instruments, but a sort of "stabbing" in both cases nonetheless. Sliding in and out of their body, like he'd like to do yours, but just replace the knife in his hand with his dick and tongue and fingers and their torso with your cunt. Over and over. They squeal and scream, noises he'd like to hear from you. It's all leading up to that moment of climax - they convulse, jolt, spasm, and finally collapse... and he likes to imagine it's you instead, making those motions for a very different reason.

Sometimes he gets blood on his skin. He likes to take his gloves off, scoop some of it onto his fingers, rub the fluid between his thumb and fingers - it's warm, wet, viscous, and if he closes his eyes and ignores the coppery smell he can pretend it's clear grool slicking out of your tight little pussy when you cum on his fingers.

The littlest things make him think of you. Organs and entrails spilled out on the ground sparks the word "insides" in his brain and he can't help but think of your insides - in a much different sense of course, but something so unrelated can keep his mind distracted for an entire day.

Sometimes he has to interrogate people, and by "interrogate", perhaps "torture" is a better word - do what's necessary for information. The parts make him think of you.

Dismembered fingers or hands cleaved off - they're from some dude's gross sweaty calloused hands. Not like yours, so fragile and soft. Makes him think of you holding his hand, how warm it would feel. A gouged eye in his hand. When he closes his fist, it mashes with ease, the gelatinous tissue dribbling down onto the floor from between his fingers. The eye is - well, was - a different color from yours, not nearly as pretty. It makes him think of how much he likes your eyes, and when you look at him. This one was dull and empty, but yours sparkle, full of light.

They scream so loudly, it's unpleasant, the shrill shrieks and deep bellowing hurts his ears. Your voice would sound so much prettier shrieking like that. Not that he'd ever do this to you, but, maybe scaring you would make you squeal. Maybe you're a screamer in bed. Who knows. He hopes so.

Sometimes people don't give in too easily, and he ends up with a corpse on his hands. Most of the time he just throws it onto the ground, rolls it off a cliffside with a kick. But sometimes, when the body is smaller and still warm, he likes to princess-carry it to the edge, picture in his head it's you, wrapping your arms around his neck while he carries you. Unfortunately, rigor mortis has already set in, so he can't exactly move the body's arms to mimic that, and half the time the arms are severed from the interrogation anyway.

And admittedly, you're cute when you're afraid, when you're horrified, so maybe he was subconsciously aiming for this, even if he didn't realize it. Going about it when you were close by. Hoping you'd hear. Hoping you'd walk in on it. You freeze up, you can't move even if you tried, your body won't listen. Your eyes go wide and fill with tears. You tremble, you retch and cover your mouth and grab your stomach as your body finally allows you to take a step backwards, and you stumble and fall flat on your back, scrambling back up on shaking hands.

And you definitely hear him say wait, but, well, you'd definitely rather not, so you bolt out the door anyway, screaming at the top of your lungs. Dumbass. You were dragged all the way out to this abandoned place for a reason. No one's gonna hear you, and you won't be able to reach civilization before he can catch up. He finds it funny, really cute to be honest, you're crying and squealing even though he promises you he's not gonna hurt you or anything. Feeling the warm fluid on his hands when he grabs your arms, watching it create dark stains on your clothes even visible in the nighttime darkness, it only makes you panic more, thrashing and crying, but it doesn't do you any good.

And as tempting as just fucking you out here is, he realizes that deep down, he's wanted this for a long time, so dragging you all the way back is worth it. He can restrain you with one hand, use the other to undo the bindings on the now-cold limbs of the unfortunate bastard on the table and slide his body - well, what's left of it - off, letting it crash down onto the floor. Slamming you down on the table in it's place. The room is cold, the outside is cold, but your body and your insides are so warm, and the panic and terror makes you so tight. You're not screaming so much, letting out little sobs mixed with some lewd little mewls you can't keep back. Your wide, terrified eyes keep flicking to the side, staring down at the body. Even when he grabs your jaw to keep your head from turning, your eyes still move, and it's actually really annoying. He already told you he's not gonna hurt you. So instead he just grabs your throat. The more you look away, the more tight his grip gets, and likewise the more you look at him, the more oxygen you can take in.

The cum and squirt mixes with the blood that's already on the table, and once you're sitting back up, some of your tears get added to the mix. You tremble, you go numb and still and you lean forward into the warmth. It's all you can do to just bury your face in his chest so you don't have to look at it anymore. It's nice, really, he likes it when you cling to him for comfort. You two will have to do this again sometime.

[vampiredecay]

Hey dear, i have a weird request but could you do a Lost boys X reader or Marko x reader Where all the boys (Marko Dwayne David paul Micheal all of them or just marko Dwayne David paul) see the reader re put bandages on his scar but the scars would be like carls in the walking dead and they see the scar ( i wonder how they would react to it?)

thank you so much for the request, sorry it took me a hot second to post! its longer than my other stories on here so far, so i hope that makes up for it. i also hope that you like what i did with it!! its angsty in the beginning but it gets fluffier <3

Scar Tissue

rating: teen

word count: 2,908

tags/warnings: swearing, mentions of being in pain, mentions of scars, mentions of being in the hospital, harassment, fluff, the boys being sweet, the lost boys x male!reader, male pronouns used, poly!lost boys

--

You could have never predicted how your life had gone so sideways. Not in a million years- before the accident, you were pretty much an average joe. Decent family, decent friends, decent existence. Nothing was ever really exciting, but you were okay with that. Life didn’t need to be crazy or unpredictable to be fulfilling.

But, you supposed, the price of being a living being on this Earth was that life could never truly be predictable at all. It couldn’t be, with the events that followed you losing your eye, and pretty much all normalcy you grew to live with.

It was extremely painful at first, physically and emotionally. You had lost a vital part of your body, and you could never get it back. It was disorienting, and uncomfortable, like an itch you could never scratch. The skin around your eye was incredibly sensitive, the lightest movement or touch sending shockwaves of burning pain through your nerves. Tears were always on the brink of spilling over anytime you or a doctor had to replace medicine and bandages to keep the wound clean.

In the end, the pain wasn’t the worst part about it. No, you could deal with the pain. The people in your life, however, suddenly changing and disappearing was way, way worse.

Friends slowly stop coming to visit you at the hospital, calls go unanswered, gazes averted. Your parents supported you, of course. They still loved you, and you knew nothing could change that. But sometimes even they got this look in their eyes, something a little too close to pity.

It was an incredibly lonely first couple of months.

But the loneliness and the heartache slowly healed, along with your eye. The scarring lightened and stopped bleeding, and your skin no longer felt as if it was on fire every time you turned your head. You still had to keep it under wraps, to keep out infection, and to keep other people from seeing how bad it was. You knew that people seeing the bandages would cause looks and questions, but it was better than people actually seeing the wound, which would surely cause reactions that you didn’t have the patience to deal with.

As you were healing, you were also relearning how to do things in your daily life. Your sight and depth perception drastically changed, so things like walking and doing simple tasks had to be practiced all over again. You had to take things slow, which you hated, you couldn’t leave the house very often until you got used to walking without bumping into things.

The first place you wanted to go once you were able to was the boardwalk. It was one of your favorite places in the world, so loud and full of life and happiness. It was absolutely what you needed after all of the hardship you had to deal with lately.

So one night, when it got late and your parents turned in for the night, you went out and caught a bus to the nearest stop to the boardwalk. From there you walked until you saw the bright lights and heard loud screaming and chatter and laughter. You smiled as you took in the sight of the people and the games and the rides, it felt like you were breathing for the first time in months.

The first thing you did was buy a big thing of cotton candy and a soda, roaming the boardwalk and consuming sugary goodness. As you walked, you noticed that some people were giving you looks, but you ignored them, focused on just having a good time and living your best life.

Walking around for long periods of time still gave you a bit of trouble, you were starting to get a little dizzy, so after a bit you sat down on a bench to give your brain time to catch up with the rest of your body. This was nice too, you got to relax and just watch people for a bit. There were all sorts of people out tonight, families and tourists and couples, teenagers and surf nazis and locals, all in one spot, the heart of Santa Carla, enjoying the wonders it had to offer.

There was a group of guys that caught your eye, though. You didn’t mean to stare at them; in fact, you knew not to, you’ve seen them around the boardwalk in the past, and heard the rumors surrounding them. But, in your defense, it has been a while since you’ve been there, and you forgot how magnetic they can be.

They were milling near their motorbikes, smoking and talking and lightly harassing anyone that happened to walk by. Three blondes and two brunettes- had there always been five of them? You could have sworn there was only four- all dressed in black and leather, looking dangerous and infuriatingly hot. You would have noticed more, but by accident you make eye contact with one of the guys and you rip your attention away from them.

Shit, god damnit, you’ve been spotted now. There’s only one thing to do, and it’s to walk quickly away and hope you don’t run into them later.

You get up too quickly though, and you stumble straight into a man walking with who you assume to be his girlfriend.

“Hey! Watch it-” He starts to say, pissed off that someone ran into him, but then he takes a good look at you and lets out a laugh. “Oh, I guess you really can’t, huh?”

The girlfriend lets out a giggle, smirking behind a hand over her lips. You mumble out an apology and try to go around them, but the man blocks your path. “What was that? C’mon man I can’t hear you, you mute too or something?”

You look up at him and scoff, anger building inside you. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? Without thinking, you say “Yeah, real funny and original. Bet lines like that really score you in bed.”

There’s some laughter around you, making you realize that a crowd has been drawn. The man’s face turned bright red, his mouth curved downward into a frown and he got up in your space. “Oh, so you’re a tough guy now, huh?” He pushed you in the chest, making you stumble back. You get dizzy and almost fall, but you don’t hit the ground. Instead, your back hits someone's chest. You freeze, then slowly turn your head, to see a guy with spiky platinum blond hair staring at the man who pushed you. The four other guys with him were also there, glaring at the crowd of people just watching.

You turned to look back at the man who pushed you, all the color was drained from his face. His girlfriend was clutching his arm, trying to pull the man away but his feet were glued in place. The blond behind you smirked.

“There a problem here?”

The silence that swept over was deafening and unnatural, it was like all of the boardwalk was holding its breath waiting for an answer. The man swallowed, eyes gliding over the gang behind you, not focusing on one spot. “N-No, man. No problem.”

You let out a breath as you watch the man and his girlfriend back up, and the crowd starts to disperse. The man behind you gives a shark-like grin and chuckles deep. “Wonderful.” He says, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you away. You can hear your heart thundering in your chest as you walk away with them, listening as they laugh and push each other.

“N-No m-man, n-no p-problem!” One of the blonds says in a mocking wavering tone, “What a fuckin pussy!” The gang starts laughing again, it feels like the ground underneath your feet is rumbling from the force of it. After a little more walking, they stop in front of a different bench and gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a load off, little man!” You snorted as you sat down, grinning despite the slight lightheadedness. Two of the blonds sat next to you, one with a wild mane of hair and a smile to match swinging an arm behind you. You look at all of them, nodding your head a little bit. “Thank you,” You said softly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The spiky blond shrugged his shoulders and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N” You said, and he nodded. “I’m David. This is Dwayne, Michael,” He gestured to the two brunettes, one with curly hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt, the other with longer straight hair and not wearing a shirt at all. “And that’s Paul and Marko.” The two blonds next to you do little waves, the one that wasn’t right next to you has curly hair and a jacket so cluttered with patches it must be heavy.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N!” Paul says, nudging his knee against yours, making you smile more. “It’s good to meet you guys, too.”

After the introductions were out of the way, David offered for you to hang out with them, but you declined, saying you needed to get home. At that David offered a ride instead. You hesitated, but accepted in the end. Riding behind him on his bike was terrifying and exhilarating, you clutched his middle tightly the whole way home, but the blond didn’t seem to mind.

“You should come to the boardwalk more often,” David said as you got off his bike, now at your house. He smiled at you like he was letting you in on a secret, “We’re there all night.”

From that point on, you couldn’t ignore the boy's siren call. The next couple days you would take the bus over, wander until you found them, and then do stupid shit with them all night. A lot of it consisted of them terrorizing people who even looked at them funny, but you didn’t find it scary anymore. You found it powerful. It was the best you’ve felt in a long time.

It wasn’t long, though, until the questions started. You supposed you should have seen it coming, but hanging out with them honestly made you forget.

“So Y/N,” Paul said one night, it was just you and him and Marko. You were leaning against the railing in front of the carousel, waiting for the others to get back from getting food. When you looked over at Paul, he asked “What’s up with the eye?”

Marko punched Paul's shoulder, giving him a look, and Paul threw his hands up dramatically. “What? I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just curious.”

You sighed a little bit, mulling over what to say. You weren’t mad that he asked, you just hated talking about it. “There’s nothing much to say.” You said after a couple seconds of silence. “I was in an accident. Got fucked up. End of story.” Paul and Marko both nodded, taking the hint not to ask anymore. The taller blond wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head. A silent apology. You smiled a little and leaned into him, letting him know it was okay.

After that, David, Dwayne and Michael arrived back with food, and once everyone settled down at a nearby table to eat, David proposed that they go back to their place after eating. You were nervous to accept, but they were cool guys so far, so you didn’t see the harm in it.

Before you could voice your opinion, however, a sudden cold, wet substance suddenly splashed all over your face. You yelped and got up, trying to shake off whatever the fuck it was, when you heard laughter getting distant. Suddenly, the boys were all getting up and shouting, someone was holding onto your shoulders, and when you wiped at your eye you could see it was Dwayne. He looked absolutely livid.

“What the fuck just happened?” You asked, looking down at yourself, disgusted to find that your clothes were soaked now too. The brunette gripped your shoulders a little tighter, not enough to hurt but the pressure was there, “Some people have a death wish.”

You would have asked him to elaborate, but then something dawned on you. “Oh shit!” You exclaim, hand going up to your bandaged eye. “Fuck, I have to get home, I have to change this, fuck!” Dwayne's eyes widened a little, and he nodded, calling attention to the other boys, who were all talking angrily to each other. They all looked over, and when they heard that you needed to change your bandage, they all hurried over. “Our place is closer. Michael, take Y/N to get the supplies he needs. We’ll meet back up at the hotel.” David all but commanded, and everyone seemed to be in agreement. The rest of the boys took off on their bikes while Michael steered you in the direction of a small convenience store on the edge of the boardwalk.

“You okay?” Michael asked, worry written all over his face. You nodded at him, though in reality you were feeling gross, sticky and anxious as hell. You thought it was so nice of them to help you out, really, but you knew this meant that they would probably end up seeing your eye. Seeing your scars. The thought alone was enough to make you slightly nauseous. The brunette could tell that something more was going on with you, so he gently took your hand as you approached the shop. You looked at him, and he smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently. You gave a light smile back and looked away.

After buying the necessary wrap, tape and some bottles of water, you both get on Michaels bike and ride off to their place. You were just thinking about it now, David had said the word “hotel”. Did they stay at an actual hotel?

It didn’t take you long to figure out. When you arrived at the hotel, that was really more of a cave, you were in absolute awe of the place. It was massive and beautiful, you couldn’t believe these guys actually lived here. You had so many questions, but now that you were here, they would have to come after.

Michael led you over to a slightly dusty couch and you sat down, holding the items in your hands nervously. Everyone was sitting around you, you had a very attentive audience that you didn’t really want.

“Is there, uh, a private place I could do this?” You asked, and your heart sank when they shook their heads. “Most of the rooms collapsed when the earthquake hit. There’s not much left, and the parts that remain are too dangerous to go into.” Marko explained, and you sighed. You supposed there was no getting around it.

“Okay, well. Just, don���t say anything, okay?” You got out the bandage wrap from its packaging and took a deep breath. Slowly, you unwrapped the dirty bandage from around your face, revealing your eye to the boys.

All of their facial expressions changed, some more surprised than others. David looked the least shocked, eyes of steel trained on your face, just looking. Dwayne and Michael looked a little more concerned, Michael especially, but otherwise they tried to keep their expressions neutral. Paul and Marko looked intrigued, if anything. Like they wanted to ask questions but were reigning themselves in.

Overall, they kept quiet, and they didn’t shy away from your appearance, so you counted your blessings as you cleaned and dressed your eye as quickly as possible. When you were all finished, Marko and Paul launched themselves at you, sitting next to you with wide smiles on their faces.

“Dude! You’re so badass!” Paul shouted, and Marko was quick to agree. “You should get an eyepatch or something. Crank up the badass factor.”

You laughed at their antics, blushing a bit at their words. You could tell that they really thought you were actually cool. It warmed your chest and you smiled as they went on about eyepatch ideas.

Eventually, David dragged the two away, saying it's getting late and they should probably take you home now. You nodded in agreement, letting out a yawn. You didn’t realize just how tired you were.

Dwayne was the one who ended up taking you home, the ride was a lot gentler and smoother than it usually was, which you were grateful for. When you arrived at your house, and you got off his bike, Dwayne pulled on your arm before you could leave. You looked at him, confused, but then he got off his bike, and he stood in front of you, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You froze, heart pounding. Dwayne pulled away and let go, giving you a small smile. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard as he got back on his bike. “Yeah- you too.” You stumbled out, making him chuckle. He then rode back off into the night, and you were left stunned on your front lawn.

You didn’t know what would happen now, you had absolutely no clue when it came to the gang of bikers. But you found yourself at peace with it.

Life could never be predictable anymore. And you were more than okay with that.

[sitaarein]

None Stand Equal In This Dark World

A/N: Officially my largest ever fic so please. Just read it and be nice sob because I’m kinda proud of some of it

Written for @grishaversebigbang 2021!!!

Corporalki: @homicide-depot​

Materialki: @generalnabri (x), @kolarpem (x), @aivicart (x), @maximumbluebirdpatrol , @niadrawing (x)

 (Summary: A murder mystery AU featuring Zoyalai, twists and turns, moral dilemma, and then some more

Read on AO3

Chapter One

The apartment door was wide open.

 In retrospect, that alone should have set off the alarm bells in Zoya’s head. No one left the door to their place wide open. She can’t imagine why she simply dismissed it. 

 Scratch that, she knew why. She’d been tracking this idiotic Grisha for a month now. She was tired and desperate. 

 But it appeared that- who would’ve thought- not being at the top of your game has consequences. 

 Consequences like staring down a man who’s been tied to a chair and gagged in the middle of, what Zoya guesses is, the lounge, eyes wide with terror.

 Zoya is mad at herself for not managing to guess it was a red herring- the damn door - and very, very mad at the Grisha who has, once again, slipped right through her hands. 

 She nods to one of her men, and he immediately drops to the man’s level to untie and presumably interrogate him. Zoya doesn’t stick around for the details- she trusts her people to give her good reports. Instead, after a cursory look around, she tips her head back to face the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, and leaves the apartment. 

 The weather outside took a dramatic turn in the fifteen minutes she was inside- it had been sunny before, or at least as sunny as Ravka ever could get. But now, the sun has all but ceased to exist, and the bitter cold is back once more. 

 Zoya prefers the cold. 

 (She doesn’t, not really, but no one needed to know that.)

 Zoya starts walking, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her mind races, trying to connect all the dots, trying to figure out where her investigation had gone wrong. Start from the beginning. Don’t miss anything. The most minor of details are the most important.

  The beginning. A woman showed up to their headquarters about her missing family. Those cases were usually dismissed completely, handed over to the police forces- Zoya’s force was Grisha-centric, other cases, no matter how large or important they were, did not concern them. But this case was different.

 The woman was Grisha. 

 Her family weren’t, evidently- and neither did they know that she was. They’d been missing for six weeks, and the odds were pretty heavily stacked against them still being alive. The woman was detained (she was Grisha, this was Zoya’s job ) and a group of officers were dispatched for a search and rescue.

 The officers never returned.

 Alarm bells were now ringing, and the General assigned Zoya to the case. In the time since she officially took over, twenty more disappearances were documented, and all of them in Os Kerva alone. Saints knew what was happening in the rest of the country.

 But Zoya had never believed in Saints, so she found out what was happening in the rest of the country.

 The total number of disappearances in all of Ravka that had this case’s signature mark- an eclipsed sun left wherever the victims were seen last- was an estimated three thousand . Zoya couldn’t believe no one had connected the dots before her. Then again, the entire of the force were filled with incompetent idiots, so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her. 

  The series of events . Zoya travelled up and down the country with the best of her underlings, talking to anyone who knew the victims, searching their last known places with tooth combs, building up working hypotheses, using all the resources they had available. Zoya was not an idiot. She knew exactly how capable she was. 

 And she also knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

 And so, when she got a call from one of her top detectives about a confirmed Grisha she’d been trailing for some time now who’d begun suspicious activity, she was clutching at straws and willing to take anything that came her way. She met up with her agent, and a few days later, they got the address of the apartment she was currently pacing in front of.

  The present . This part could be summed up fairly quickly. Zoya is, once again, at a fucking dead end . 

 Before she can kick something (or someone) out of frustration, A faint ringing reaches her ears, and frowning, Zoya stops in her tracks. Her phone is never not on silent. Calling Zoya Nazyalensky for anything was utterly pointless- she never picked up. 

  But the GIA has ways of getting into contact with its members regardless.

 Muttering a curse, Zoya digs around her pockets, looking for the infernal device with its grating, high-toned ringing. Finally locating her phone, she jabs the answer button without looking at the caller ID.

 “Yes?” she asks bluntly. 

 “Zoya,” Alina’s voice greets her.  

 Zoya immediately forgets everything that had been on her mind. When Alina calls, it’s rarely for a friendly chat. 

 “What’s wrong?”

“You need to get back here. As soon as possible.”

 “Understood. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 Alina hangs up immediately, and Zoya pockets her phone, mind racing.

 She orders one of her lackeys to send her a report when they're done, grabs the keys for the van they’d used to get to the apartment from a rather distracted officer, taking off.

 Zoya reaches the Grisha Investigation Authorities in approximately half the time she’d given to Alina, and she may or may not have disobeyed quite a few traffic laws to get to her destination as quickly as she did, but that was frankly unimportant. 

 She strides through the doors, not bothering to acknowledge the many who’ve halted their paths to nod to her or, in the case of a few particularly stupid (or courageous, however you wanted to see it) people, attempt to strike up a conversation with her. She didn’t break her pace even once, until she’d reached the door to the meeting room they usually used to meet up for serious issues. After taking a moment to compose herself, Zoya pushes the door open.

 Inside, she finds all of her fellow Commanding Officers assembled- Adrik, Leoni, Alina, and Genya. Frowning, Zoya scans their faces, and mentally shifts whatever’s happening even higher on her scale of terrible shit to take care of immediately.

 Because not even Leoni, who can find positivity at a funeral, is smiling right now. There’s barely a hint of her optimistic and eternally cheerful personality in her countenance. 

 Zoya carefully takes the seat left for her around the circular table. Her gaze flits from one worried face to another, and she decides to be direct.

 “How bad is it?”

 The question seems to jolt Alina out of her reverie. She looks up, and Zoya feels her breath catch, because she looks so… helpless. Terrified.

 Genya takes it upon herself to answer Zoya’s question with another question, her mouth set in a grim line. “How’s your investigation going?”

 “We lost the suspect,” Zoya admits, her earlier frustration returning with the reminder of the infernal case. “We’re right back to where we started- but without the hope and the general idea of where to start.”

 “I’m not surprised,” Adrik mutters. “Considering who your delightful suspect is…”

 Zoya furrows her brow, and glances back at Genya. “Explain.”

 Genya looks as if she would rather do anything else, but after coming to the realisation that no one else is about to, she sighs and does so.

 “I’m presuming you remember Alina’s case that went cold about two years back?”

  A little too well. Even years later, that case haunts her- the truly horrific killings, from corpses with their body parts stuffed down their throats, to children who had clearly been still alive when burnt, the utter dead ends, Alina’s far too close brush with death, and… the person behind it all.

 “You don’t think it’s the same person??” Zoya demands, horror spreading through her veins.  She can not handle another Kirigan. 

 In lieu of replying, Genya nods to Leoni, who pushes forward a large envelope. Dread pooling in her gut, Zoya opens the package to find pictures from Alina’s investigation.

 “We revisited these when your disappearances started,” Genya says. “And… found more similarities than we’re frankly comfortable with.” 

 Zoya shifts the photos around, and then freezes at one, having caught sight of a mostly blurry but still distinctive calling card. “That’s…”

 “The eclipsed sun,” Adrik provides grimly. “You’re screwed.”

 “Hey, now,” Leoni protests. “We don’t know that.”

 Adrik snorts. “Don’t we? Need I remind you of the damage this person wrecked to the GIA and our country?”

 “How do we know this isn’t just a copycat?” Zoya breaks in. “None of the bodies of the victims this time around have been discovered,”

 “Copy cats still tend to have their own twists on kills, a signature, a mark that’s theirs. While none of the killings for either case have many similarities, they also don’t vary in terms of said signature.” Genya says.

 “Killers are proud creatures,” Adrik inputs.

 “And this one’s no exception,” Leoni says, eyes grim. 

 Zoya looks up. “What do you know?”

 Leoni hesitates, but then gives in. “We got a note this morning. A photocopy should be in the envelope too.”

 Zoya overturns the envelope, and sure enough, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up, reads it, and crumples it up. 

 “You’re sure this isn’t a stupid joke?”

 “It was in the Director’s office.” Leoni says. 

  Shit.  Zoya glances back down at the crumpled mass she’s still clutching. You will burn on your mistakes. What mistakes? 

 She ignores the faint voice in the back of her head. You know what mistakes.

 Zoya takes a deep breath, focuses her thoughts, and then exhales. “How’s the Director doing?”

“He’s terrified.” All of the COs seemed to be equally startled to see Alina was the one to speak. Her mouth is set in an angry line, and Zoya can guess the track of her thoughts, because they were the same ones that had crossed her mind upon hearing the words- who is he to be terrified? What right did the Director even have to feel scared, when he himself never so much as interacted with the cases???

 Adrik sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Which is what has led us to our current predicament.”

 “And what do you mean by that?” 

 Genya exhales in a huff. “He wants the Mentals on this case along with all of us.”

 “He what.” 

 Alina, lips twisted in a sardonic smile, gestures to nothing in particular. “You heard correctly.”

 “Why ??? This is my case, and I will handle it.”

 “He doesn’t want a repeat of the bad press that came with my failing last time, I’m guessing.”

 “Bad press,” Zoya spits out. “I wonder how much bad press he’ll get when I-”

 “Do not,” Genya warns. “This could be helpful to us.”

  But also a personal disgrace , Zoya finishes the sentence in her head. The Mentals were practically a legend of the GIA- they were special, elite investigators, a whole mix of people ranging from scientists to- if the rumors were correct- ex-spies, who ended up with the cases no one else in the force could solve, and somehow, without fail, solved each of them within a week at the least. 

 It was irritating as hell.

 And having them assigned on your case meant that the Director did not trust you to be successful on your own. 

 Absolutely wonderful.

 “So when are these... spectacular detectives arriving?” Zoya asks. 

 Genya opens her mouth, and then closes it, before starting, “Well-”

 “I hope I’m not too late to this marvelous party?”

 Zoya swivels to see who this truly abnormally cheerful person is, and then blinks. She turns back to face the others once more- Adrik still looks glum, Leoni is smiling her most polite smile, Alina seems to have perked up and Genya is genuinely smiling. They all look… unsurprised.

 Of course they were hiding more secrets up their sleeves.

 “ What,” Zoya finally breaks and asks. “Is the damned PR guy doing here?”

 The aforementioned PR guy pouts. “Is that really what I’m known for around here? My PR duties? That’s quite depressing. Why would you focus on that when you could talk about my stunning good looks, or my undeniable charm, or even my ability to-”

 “Nikolai,” Alina interrupts. “Shut up.” she looks at Zoya, a hint of dry amusement in her eyes. 

 “Zoya, this is Nikolai Lantsov, and he is indeed our PR guy, but he’s also… head of the Mentals.”

 Zoya blinks. He’s what??? And then, wait… they knew who the special investigators were? How long have they known? Why was I not informed?

 She doesn’t voice any of her thoughts, choosing instead to stare, unimpressed, at the blond, who grins at her in response. 

 “If I had known you possessed such astounding grace and beauty, Miss Nazyalensky, I would have made your acquaintance sooner! I’m sure these upcoming days will prove to be an absolute pleasure, provided I get to spend them in your delightful company.”

 “Saints save me,” Zoya utters faintly. “The Director assigned an idiot to my case.”

 “Hey, now!” Nikolai protests. “You haven’t even met the rest of my team yet!”

 “An idiot who talks too much,” she deplores. 

 Genya and Alina both snort at that. In fact, all of her fellow COs seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in this situation. Zoya hates all of them. 

  “Well, now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way,” Nikolai says, to which Zoya distinctly hears Adrik mutter “pleasantries?” under his breath, “I think now would be a wonderful time for me to introduce you to my brilliant team,”

  Genya sits up immediately, looking eager. Zoya wonders what that’s about. 

 She finds out fairly quickly.

 Nikolai ushers in a group of people, and she recognises one in particular, one who she has, in fact, known since her college years -

 David. Genya’s husband, David Kostyk, is a part of the Mentals. Harmless old David. Zoya can’t believe her eyes. 

 She scans the rest of the group, but the others barely seem familiar. The two Shu right in front of David look similar enough to be twins, apart from the height difference. Right next to David is a woman that, with a jolt, Zoya recognises as Adrik’s sister from what she’s heard and seen of her. Bringing up the rear is a man who vaguely resemblesNikolai himself, ducking his head shyly as he enters the room. 

 “Now that your merry party is all assembled,” Adrik says glumly. “Any ideas where to start?”

 “Shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?” Adrik’s sister asks.

 Adrik stares at her. “I’ve known you since I was born.”

 “We’re not the only ones in the room, Adrik.”

 “Oh, aren’t we ? I can’t say I noticed.”

 Nikolai interrupts their glaring match to finally provide Zoya with names to all the unfamiliar faces. 

 “Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and Isaak, meet the officers we’ll be working with for the next few weeks or longer- Alina, Genya, Zoya, Leoni, and Adrik,” he gestures towards each person in turn. Zoya briefly wonders how he already knows their names, before realising that just because the GIA didn’t know who the special investigators were didn’t exactly mean they didn’t know the GIA either. 

 “And now,” Nikolai beams. “Let’s get comfortable. It’s time to discuss our present conundrum!”

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

I don't think people are giving lavinia enough love so allow me to start: could someone write a fic where mc gets hurt by someone and lavinia just sort of...snaps? Afterwards she comforts mc making sure she's alright? Thank you in advance!

You had never seen so much rage in Lavinia’s face, not even when she had discovered someone had trampled with the spell on her heart. You squint, dazed, mind too numb to remember what was wrong but still alert enough to recognize her expression.

There was something unhinged about it now, nothing but a murderous avalanche, and for a second you feel something spark within you at the sight. Your body is already moving, automatically seeking to match Lavinia’s rage with pure stubbornness, before your mind finally registers the fact that her ire isn’t directed at you at all.

“Oh,” you mumble, logic trying to pierce through the fog ruling your mind. “Why—”

Lavinia’s saying something. No, she’s screaming it, body heaving with the force of it, and you wonder why you can’t hear her until the raging wind that you had been somehow ignoring until now hits you with its full, frigid force, and what the hell is happening why is Lavinia so mad why is your side hurting so damn much—

“Rebecca!”

You fall into someone’s arms. It takes a second for you to recognize Nora, her expression marred by sheer terror, eyes wide and trembling like a crumbling autumn leaf under the first snow of winter.

She holds you absentmindedly, focused on something behind you before your yelp of pain draws her attention, magic already swirling at her fingertips as she murmurs something under her breath.

“You’re going to be okay, I swear,” she says — her hands are quivering. Maybe it’s from the cold. You hope it’s from the cold, and not something else, someone else.

“Lavinia, why is — what happened?”

“You got attacked by someone and—” she freezes for a split second when she sees the yellow glow on her hands before frowning, her earlier fear melting away by her usual laser-sharp focus. “No wonder you’re so out of it! The blade she used was cursed!”

“Oh, yey, another curse.”

“This is going to sting.”

“What? Wait, what are you going—?”

Nora is always prepared, it seems. Your gaze locks on the potion she’s suddenly holding, worried by its grey color, but Nora has already turned it over before you can express your concerns. For a second it feels as if someone has injected atmosphere-cold into your veins, and your mouth opens in a soundless scream before everything suddenly becomes clearer.

Right, right, you had been in the forest with Lavinia, trying to get through her — for the third time this week, by the way, because the Ice Queen was determined to avoid you and was being frustratingly successful in doing so — when there had been this flash of red and blinding pain. Nora must have been close by… collecting herbs, maybe?

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the pain coating your side, and turn your head at the right time to see Lavinia slamming another woman onto the floor as if she were nothing but a broken doll, specks of snow thrown into the wind by the impact. At some point during the fight, Lavinia had turned the forest clearing into an ice ring, adding a whole blizzard on top. The snow swirled around her like angry, tiny knives, and you had no doubt the other woman hadn’t stood a chance.

A small shiver ran down your spine, not of fear, but of the pure awe, rushing into your soul like spring water.

“This is all I can manage. My magic is limited here,” Lavinia had explained not too long ago, blue eyes twinkling soft and distant like moonlight, and you wonder how much she is really capable of if this is all she can work with right now. What would she be able to do in her world? What could she do with the sheer force of winter at her beck and call?

You can’t help but marvel over the thought, at how your body feels light and small when you contemplate it.

But then her eyes snap in your direction, two tiny pinpricks of pure rage, her gaze carrying the power and danger of a natural disaster. There’s a small flicker of a season change — of a thaw — when she sees you’re okay, but it disappears when she focuses on the person beside you. Time seems to slow down.

For a second you think the situation is going to escalate horribly. For a second you think the blonde might have mistaken Nora’s help for another attack, and by the way Lavinia’s hand twitches that’s her first impression, but she remains frozen on her spot like a faraway, pale star. She’s still half-crunched over her opponent’s unconscious body.

Slowly — very, very slowly, as if fate threatened to cut her string as soon as she made a sudden movement — Nora edges away from you. “I— I’ll just… go.”

Lavinia’s shoulders lose their tension as if hit by summer’s heat. She nods, stiffly. “Thank you.”

Nora spares a look at you, laying on frost-coated grass and propelled by your elbows like a bad model from some cheap magazine, and seems relieved you’re no longer in danger, disappearing a second later.

Lavinia is next to you immediately, frowning at the gash there. It isn’t bleeding, even though you both know it should. The Ice Queen leans forward ever so slightly, her touch feather-soft, and you’re struck by how different she is now. A moment ago, she had been a merciless avalanche, a Wendigo wreaking havoc, but now the genuine softness and worry in her eyes make you want to melt. You can’t help but lean into her, letting her act as your anchor.

She pauses when you flinch at her gentle touch near your wound. She frowns.

“She used a Velbetro infusion? But that would mean you were—”

You catch the way her eyes flicker towards the discarded weapon that had injured you, a dark shadow falling over expression. You guess what she’s going to say. Your hand cups her cheek, applying just enough pressure to make her look at you again, and the sweet surprise that thaws any dark thoughts she was about to have makes your skin buzz with energy.

“Slowly amassing an impressive collection of curses? You bet I am.”

She blinks, taken aback, the twitch at the corner of her lips indicating she found your snark reassuring. “Might want to dial it back a little, then, chaos girl. Good thing the Velbetro neutralized this one.” She focuses on your side, again. “How’s the sting?”

Truth be told, with her so close — too close — the pain had taken a secondary priority. Now that she reminded you of it, the pain crawled back with a vengeance. Once again, Lavinia remains an anchor as your hand tightens on her arm, nails digging into her skin. To her credit, the blonde doesn’t even blink.

“That bad?” She asks, tone surprisingly kind. “Let’s wait a moment, then. We need to go back to your house and dress the wound before the effect disappears though. You’ll start bleeding then — and badly.”

“Yey, yet another thing to look forward to.”

“…I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I would have been able to prevent—”

“It’s fine.”

“It should have been obvious, though. Of course she’d take the chance to hunt me down when my magic is weak, and of course she’d target you—”

“Your magic isn’t weak at all, you totally schooled her!”

“Only because she was too distracted gloating. I—”

“I’m fine, Lavinia. C’mon, help me get to my house.”

Her eyes are faraway portals of grief, but she nods anyway, falling quiet as she helps you up with extreme care. The way back is silent, fast. You hadn’t been too far from your house to begin with. Lavinia loops an arm around your waist and presses you to her, expression stony and neutral, but you’re still eternally grateful to her.

[elwenyere]

Helps to Relieve My Mind

Hello fam! I wrote my first little Sambucky ficlet today in an effort to tide myself over until Friday’s new episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. If such a thing would help tide you over as well, please feel free to give it a read. I very much hope you enjoy! <3

Tags: Sam/Bucky, 1.8k words, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together

CW: descriptions of falling and panic attacks

Read it on AO3

“Is it too late to go back to therapy?” Bucky called over the comms.

It had been less than forty-eight hours since he and Sam had decided to ditch Walker and go after the Flag-Smashers on their own, and they were already getting their asses handed to them again. They’d gotten side-tracked on their way to see Zemo by a tip from Torres: a group of hijackers matching the description of the missing super-soldiers had been spotted loading up a cargo plane with medical supplies in Kiev. Bucky and Sam had showed up just as the Flag-Smashers were readying for takeoff, and when Sam had flown straight through a rain of gunfire and into the open cargo bay door, Bucky had had no choice but to follow, cursing under his breath as he ran to catch the taxiing plane. 

He’d managed to haul himself inside just as the wheels left the ground, only to have his back slammed into the metal wall of the cargo hold a minute later, a serum-enhanced fist clutched tightly around his throat.

“You could always change your mind about following me,” Sam offered, a rhythmic series of thumps and clangs from the other end of the bay revealing that he was dealing with problems of his own. “I bet you could even get another ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card if you agreed to up with -”

“Don’t say it,” Bucky growled, grabbing the wrist of the soldier holding him against the wall and twisting it viciously.

“- John ‘Wingman’ Walker and his partner,  Battlestar,” Sam finished, the grin somehow audible in his voice.

“You’re just lucky all my other options suck even worse than this,” Bucky muttered, taking a deep breath and bum-rushing the man in front of him.

“Yeah, ‘lucky’ is definitely how I’ve felt every day since you ripped the steering wheel out of my damn car in the middle of the highway,” Sam retorted. Bucky could hear the sounds of bullets ricocheting off metal, and he glanced over to watch Sam reemerge from behind a stack of crates.

“Even the Winter Soldier has some fond memories,” Bucky reflected, ducking a roundhouse kick from the redhead who’d booted him out of the truck in Germany and then sweeping his arm back to catch her solidly across the jaw. 

He’d just turned to reassess their situation when he saw one of the soldiers poised by a lever on the side of the wall.

“Shit!” he yelled. “Sam!”

And then an explosion of air knocked him off his feet, and he felt himself yanked backward, scrabbling for purchase on the floor of the aircraft as he slid toward the open door. Unfortunately, it was his fleshy hand that finally found it. Just as he was about to run out of room, he wrapped his fingers around the lip of the lowered door and then let out an involuntary grunt of pain when his full weight caught against the hold, his legs whipping behind him in the open air.

“Shit,” he swore again, trying to strengthen his grip so that he could risk making a grab for the door with his metal hand.

“Bucky!” Sam yelled, and for some reason the change in his tone sent Bucky’s heart rate rabbiting even faster than the scramble across the floor. “Hang on! I’m on my way!”

A metal crate went flying over Bucky’s head, and he winced automatically, sending a jolt of pressure through the fingers clinging to the plane. And because he was always aware of Sam’s position in the fight, he knew there was no way he was going to make it in time.

“Sam, you should know -” 

His words were cut off when the plane banked abruptly to the left. Bucky’s legs jerked sideways, his hand spasmed, and then he was falling through the air.

It was different than the last time. He could still hear what sounded like screaming - either a voice calling his name or the air hurtling past him, rushing away from him and refusing to bear his weight. He could still feel the terror claw up his throat and curl into the back of his mind, covering his thoughts with a white, electric blanket. But this time he knew what it would feel like when he hit the ground. He could already feel the rocks cracking through bones and tearing at the sinews of his arms, and all he could do was grit his teeth and hope to wake up somewhere better than he had before.

He twisted in the air so he could see the end coming, every muscle in his body wrenching tight in anticipation. But then he felt a hand curl around the back of his head, and a weight slammed into him from the wrong direction, shifting his momentum abruptly to the side. Before he knew it, there was soft grass under his knees, pressing up against him and holding him still.

“I got you,” Sam said, his arms still wrapped tightly around Bucky’s back. “I got you.”

Bucky felt like he was sucking air through a straw, his head dizzy with a flood of adrenaline as he clung to the fabric of Sam’s uniform and curled up against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the vertigo, but in the darkness all he could picture was an avalanche of snow and ice and unforgiving rock, and a second later he opened his eyes again with a gasp. His muscles were still screaming with the effort of bracing for collision, and he struggled to even out his breathing, willing himself to concentrate on the weight of Sam's arms around him, grounding him.

As the haze gradually began to clear, Bucky became aware that Sam was still repeating the same words, his cheek pressed against the top of Bucky’s head. But the tone of Sam’s voice seemed to have shifted, so that what had started as a reassurance now sounded like a kind of desperate chant.

“I got you,” he repeated, his own breathing coming sharp and fast. “I got you.”

Suddenly Bucky remembered the photo in Sam’s wallet when he paid for drinks in Germany, the story Steve had told him as they sat on a hill in Wakanda.

Fuck.

“Sam,” Bucky whispered. 

Sam’s arms tightened almost convulsively, and Bucky reached out to rest his hands gently on Sam’s lower back. 

“Hey, Sam. I’m okay,” Bucky continued, listening to Sam’s breathing slow down. “I’m here. I’m okay. You caught me.”

Sam straightened up slightly, one of his hands moving to cradle Bucky’s head as he'd done during the fall, and Bucky pressed his forehead against Sam’s.

“You caught me,” he repeated, and this time it sounded like a brand new idea. Sam had caught him. Bucky had lost his grip, and Sam had been there to cushion the fall.

“I’ve been trying to catch you, you idiot,” Sam replied, shaking his head with a faint echo of exasperation. “Do you have any idea how scary it is to think you might not let me?”

He gave the back of Bucky’s neck a gentle squeeze, one thumb sweeping up into Bucky’s hair, and for the first time in decades, Bucky’s body responded to an instinct that hadn’t been carved into his brain with a knife: he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Sam’s lips, sighing at the warmth of Sam’s skin against his.

A moment later he froze, pulling away with exaggerated slowness and wiping all traces of expression carefully from his face. Sam was staring back at him, wide-eyed, and for a second Bucky felt like he was in free fall again, his stomach heaving as he plummeted through space.

“That was - uh,” he tried to explain. “Sam -”

But before he got another word out, Sam had hauled him in by the back of his neck and was kissing him thoroughly, his mouth soft but hungry against Bucky’s, and something hot leapt through Bucky’s chest that seared deeper than any of the afterimages or second-hand shocks that had passed for getting his life back.

When they finally broke apart, it was because Sam had started laughing.

“Seriously, man?” Bucky protested, a small smile tugging at the corner of his own lips. “I know I’m out of practice, but if you make a crack about being cryogenically frozen, I swear to God.”

“I was going to say that if the kind of healing you’ve been looking for is less Sigmund Freud and more Marvin Gaye, you could have just called me back,” Sam retorted, giving Bucky a grin and a playful shove on the shoulder. “It would have been the world’s easiest alley oop. Lord knows I was giving you more assists than John Stockton gave the Mailman - and that is a crack about being in deep freeze, by the way. You could be understanding that reference right now if you hadn’t been ghosting me instead.”

Bucky scanned Sam’s face, drinking in the warmth and openness that he had always found infuriatingly, impossibly brave.

“You’re the only number in my phone other than my shrink,” Bucky explained finally.

Sam tilted his head, his eyebrows raised significantly.

“That’s kind of my point, Bucky.”

“No, I’m trying to tell you that’s why I couldn’t call,” Bucky continued. “I have a list of people I’ve hurt in the past that’s so long I can’t even see the end of it. But when I turn to the list of people who are here for me now?” He held up a single finger and then jabbed it toward Sam’s chest. “You’re it. Just one. So if I take a chance, and I fuck that up -” He shook his head ruefully. “Well, let’s just say it felt safer to imagine you might still be out there than to know for sure that you weren’t.”

Sam’s face softened, and he opened his mouth to reply, but Bucky waved him off.

“And that was total bullshit: I know,” he said quickly. “More importantly, it was selfish. What you said yesterday about me not understanding what you were going through - you were right. I never once asked how you were doing. I guess I was in such bad shape to help anyone that it was easier for me to believe you didn’t need any help.” 

Sam regarded him thoughtfully.

“Therapy, huh?” 

“God, it’s the worst.”

He gave Sam a smile, this one feeling a little less like a mask someone else had drawn. Sam smiled back, reaching up to trace the edge of Bucky’s lips lightly with his thumb.

“One of those things you might not understand about me is that I’m not very good at needing people either,” he said, dropping his hand to rest on Bucky’s metal shoulder. “But I think I’m going to need you on this, Bucky.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably true,” Bucky agreed. “Seeing as you just let the Flag-Smashers get away again.”

“Maybe next time you could try to stay inside the vehicle,” Sam suggested. His tone was light, but the squeeze he gave Bucky’s shoulder telegraphed some of the fear still clinging to the lines of his face.

“You’ll catch me,” Bucky shrugged, trying for casual assurance and landing closer than he would have thought possible.

“Always,” Sam promised.

[evarcana]

Taking it out on you

Ev attends the court meeting only to learn that sometimes the second impressions are just as bad as the first ones.

characters: Ev Panopolis, consul Valerius and brief appearance of Volta

words: ~3k

warnings: alcohol (as expected)

notes: On some point I gave up on the idea of Ev being the apprentice, as she just does not have this "MC energy". So this is an introduction to her story, because there is no better way to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of this blog than to remember that a very long time ago I used to write fanfiction.

It has been almost a month already. Almost a month since she came to Vesuvia, almost a month since she was told that her services were not required here. The thought makes Ev frown, but she keeps a quick pace, the sound of her impatient steps on the marble floor echoing through the palace corridor.

It is just before eleven o’clock, and the last of crisp morning sun pours over the rich mauve of lustrous silk drapes and the gold leaf of intricately carved murals, drawing out the warm scent of orange blossom and beeswax from the polished panels of precious wood. Vesuvian palace is exactly what she was promised - a great wonder, and yet Ev doubts it could give any lesser impression while the backdrop to its striking opulence is the city torn apart by disease and grief.

There are no servants or visitors in sight, and Ev’s only company in this seemingly endless corridor are paintings on the walls, depicting what she can only guess are some of the proud moments of Vesuvian history - people and places so foreign to her.

She does simple math in her head: two months and two days ago she was marching down the corridor of a very different palace, eager to be on time for the meeting with Crown Princess Nafizah despite the quite literal last minute notice, and not knowing yet that she was about to hear details of this so-called diplomatic mission.

Back then it sounded straightforward enough. Prakra couldn’t ignore the news of Count Lucio's tragic death, not least because that meant Princess Nadia, the youngest daughter of the Prakran royal family, was left widowed and with the daunting task of handling the red plague epidemic in Vesuvia all on her own. Any ruler could do with an extra pair of hands and any country could benefit from the alliance with Prakra, especially in times of crisis like this. And it would have stayed straightforward if only the discovery of Countess Nadia’s mysterious illness and the unexpected, unreasonable, outrageous hostility of Vesuvian court did not bring this crisis to the whole new, now personal, level.

In theory, Ev did not have to deal with any of that. She could use the excuse that it was only appropriate to deliver such unsettling news about Nadia in person, go back and forget everything that happened in this palace like one of those unpleasantly bizarre dreams you get after a night of drinking. But Vesuvia was still the city Prakra cared about, Nadia’s city, and as far as Ev knew none of the people who came to be in charge of it were appointed by her. Prakran diplomatic presence was perhaps the only way to look after Nadia’s interests until she woke up. Even if Ev had no actual power over the court, returning to Prakra without accomplishing at least something felt like a failure, and failure has never been an option for Ev. With that in mind, she pressed the seal with enough force to imprint Prakran royal crest on the desk and not just on the drop of red wax marking the envelope, and stayed.

Now, after a month of living in the city, she has learned to see that there is more to her new role than just misfortunes. Her relocation allowance is generous, her new place is nicer than what she had in Prakra and she is getting rather used to the convenience of the wine shop next door. Even if parts of it are foreign and unwelcoming, Ev feels at ease in Vesuvia. The tension in her body relaxes, and she thinks maybe this palace can eventually get used to her too, but the thought faints away as soon as she sees the salon door. Ev presses a pile of papers closer to her chest and tells herself that she can think about everything else another time - the court meeting is about to start.

She pushes the door open but immediately freezes on the spot stricken by the gagging wave of nausea - nails dirty with soil and blood, sickly sweet buttercream pastries and rustle of feathers covered in mud. It is no more than a faint impression but even through the fogged mind Ev recognises the feeling - it is vestige, the afterimage of magic. She has felt it before, many times and in many different forms but never has it made her feel physically sick. What is even more unusual is that such a revolting sensation is coming from the palace quarters. One would expect tingles of bubbles from the charmed fountains of never ending sparkling wine or at least the impression of whispers, premium tea, treacle and bitter ambition from the walls which have been magically given ears, and not... whatever this is. Ev draws a deep breath, pushing down into her diaphragm and looks around the room. The salon is not set up for the court meeting, instead there is a tray of food and stacks of empty plates towering on almost every flat surface. Her eyes stop on greasy remains looking terribly out of place on the delicate porcelain plate and she unconsciously covers her mouth. Maybe she is mistaken after all - it is the strange smell of food and not some kind of creepy magic, and, more importantly, maybe this is not the salon she was looking for.

Before Ev gets a chance to mentally blame the chamberlain for giving her the wrong directions, a tiny figure appears from behind the chair. The white cornette is instantly recognisable and Ev is about to ask procurator Volta whether she is here for the court meeting too when she sees that behind the commotion of dark robes Volta is frantically trying to push the whole roast rack of lamb down her mouth. Dear gods. Somewhat unsurprisingly, one of the bones appears to be stuck. Clearly having not expected to have an audience, the procurator widens her eyes at Ev in a mixture of terror and shame. Unable to speak, after a few incoherent squeaks, she throws her tiny hands in the air helplessly, spattering herself with gravy and gestures to the open French doors leading to the balcony. Without giving it too much thought, Ev gives Volta a quick nod and takes an opportunity to escape the awkwardness of the scene.

Wrapped in the soft shade of the balcony, consul Valerius is casually leaning back in the chair, with the usual glass of wine in his hand. Even before she reaches the doors, Ev sets her eyes on his face. The consul is looking away, his face carved and unmovable, the tight knot of dark eyebrows making him look ireful and disgruntled, like one of those statues of stern gods she saw growing up in Zadith. Her next step lands much quieter and then, there steps in, Ev stops and stands very still wondering what thoughts could possibly bring this storm to Valerius’s face. Sun would suit him much more, she thinks, her eyes curiously trailing down the golden glints of his hair.

A loud snort catches Ev off guard and she realises that Valerius is now facing her, looking considerably more displeased than before, no doubt because of her. That’s more like it. How could she forget that this man is the very cause of her problems.

“Could I please have some of your time, consul?” she asks, heading straight towards him. Greetings seem excessive, they didn’t necessarily part on friendly terms last time.

“I didn't expect to see you here again.”

Ev allows herself a smirk. “I know.” I am not here to do what you expect from me. She stops inches away from his chair looking down at him, apparently enjoying the close proximity which, considering their formal relationship and the consul’s well known bad temper, could be regarded as both highly inappropriate and potentially reckless. But Valerius only turns away, more interested in his drink than in her.

“I have been studying the treasury records,” she continues, searching his face for any kind of reaction. His lips curl up in a sneer as he takes a sip of wine, but his eyes are still firmly fixed on the horizon. Ev follows his gaze expecting to see some radical change to the surrounding landscape, but there is only faint outline of the city roofs behind the lush green of the palace's vast grounds, - no columns of smoke, no ominous looking storm clouds gathering in the distance, nothing that could possibly be more interesting than her. Whatever. “Your tax system - ,” she hands Valerius neatly arranged papers, which he completely ignores,“- it is not working.”

“Vesuvian tax system remained largely unchanged for the last two generations, this is how these matters are handled traditionally,” says Valerius, once again denying Ev courtesy of eye contact.

Ev’s mouth twists at the sound of the last words. Too worried the conservative mindset might be contagious, she quickly withdraws her hand and takes a step back.

“I trust you understand that sometimes one should focus on what works, and not what is traditional,” she says, doing her best to disguise the growing irritation. “You don’t attract nearly as much foreign trade as you used to.”

What comes next is a very profound, uncomfortable silence. Ev sighs.

“Consul, you had plague in the city, people died,” her voice is louder now, “lots of people died”, and the irritation is obvious. “And Vesuvia cannot exist without its people. Somebody needs to bring food from the farmlands, make clothes, teach children, attend to the sick. Yes, in the past you could always import whatever you did not have but now people are scared to come because of the plague. You -”, she pauses in anticipation noticing Valerius shifting in his seat, but he only reaches for the bottle to top up his glass, “- you need to do something to make it attractive for them again. Lower the customs, lift the taxes for people whose skills you need, sell empty real estate cheap. There is plenty all around the city!”

Deep down Ev knows that none of these is going to work long term, but she doesn't care - she wants to do something and she wants to do it now.

Yet, nothing changes. She is still standing there, and he is still looking away. Ev would prefer him to disagree, start arguing with her - anything really, as long as it breaks this silence.

“Fine! If you don’t feel like changing this traditional system of yours, even temporarily, at least fix your mistakes.” Ev starts chaotically flipping through the papers searching for the one she needs, which would be a much easier task, if she was less flurried and if Valerius offered her a seat. She wonders whether he is now watching her, sneering at her struggle. “Your approved accounts, here,” this time she brusquely puts the paper in front of Valerius’s face blocking his view, “your numbers do not even add up! ”

For a split second she sees something on his face - a twitch, a flick of rage, and thinks that she has gone too far. But his question comes out in a calm, almost disinterested tone: “What makes you think that somebody like you is even qualified to check the city’s budget approved by the esteemed procurator Volta?”

A moment passes before Ev is able to break from staring at Valerius in disbelief. She glances to the salon where, judging by the sound, Volta has freed her mouth only to move to the next dish. Seriously? Perhaps she should be impressed that he managed to say it with the straight face.

And then there is a chilling sensation at the pit of Ev’s stomach. She asks herself what is going on here? What is this city under the reign of a person who questions everything and everyone except the obvious mistake in the accounts? And what is she - ? Angry, she reminds herself, is what she is, and throws a look at Valerius, who is taking another sip from his glass as in triumph. You don’t need to be qualified, you just need to have common sense. And you, Valerius, either don’t have it or you were not even bothered to look at what your court approves.

She pictures him lazily drinking wine, legs on the desk, his shirt unbuttoned, while completely ignoring his state duties. The image is irritating and yet not entirely unpleasant.

“We both know that I come from a family of alchemists and merchants. Trust me, I know how to count,” she says with a smile. It sounded right in her head, a ridiculous answer to the ridiculous question.

“I thought that during our last meeting you said that you had nothing to do with your witchcraft family.” A perfectly raised eyebrow, and that infuriating smirk.

Ev opens her mouth in protest but gives up quickly. Those were her exact words after all, save for the witchcraft part.

She begins to pace around the balcony avoiding looking at Valerius as much as possible. The consul clearly has a way of getting on her nerves, and she needs all her concentration if she wants to explain what exactly will happen to this goddamn city if they carry on with this approved budget.

“Think about the consequences for the people if this mistake is not corrected!” she shouts, her voice much louder than she would like it to be, and quickly turns to Valerius expecting a blowback. But the pale eyes are looking down, studying something on the floor, or on the edge of the fabric of her long sleeve, she really can’t tell. Oh gods, he is not even paying attention.

***

Valerius has firmly decided that he is not going to pay any attention.

The time of plague was exhausting: the palace suddenly full of people of all kinds and intentions promising to find a cure, pleas for help on the streets which he could not escape even behind the doors of the most expensive carriages, the count who was growing more desperate everyday and the white smoke of the Lazaret carried by the sea breeze towards the city, the memory of which still haunts him. And now there is the Satrinavas’ new pet here having an audacity to talk about his city’s problems - the problems which, out of all people, he should know the most about, he is the consul after all, and a Vesuvian.

Vesuvia he inherited is haggard and sad, and on top of that an enormous responsibility. The last thing he needs is a stranger questioning his authority, as if the incompetent court and the city demanding their beloved countess back have not been tiresome enough. Valerius lets out a short, barely audible sigh. He just wants this farce to be over so he can go back to thinking.

But the witch is not planning to stop, if anything she seems to be enjoying it. Look at her. Absorbed by herself and her ludicrous ideas, she is loud and talks too much with her hands. Her dress keeps slipping down the shoulder draping around the soft curve of a half barred breast every time she does one of these unnecessary, overconfident gestures. Valerius has absolutely no idea whether this is deliberate or she is simply unaware of the indecency which keeps drawing his eyes.

He tries to distract himself by taking a drink of wine only to discover that his glass, just like the air around him, is full of this loud perfume of hers. Harsh cinnamon, incense and patchouli, very much alike their owner, have no concept of the personal space ruining the perfect balance of his red. The wine is not helping. He catches himself looking at the shoulder again. In fact, absolutely useless. He sets his unfinished glass aside on the small table. Valerius has had enough.

***

“Enough!” Valerius shouts. His voice is suddenly deep and rather forceful and Ev hates that it has the desired effect on her. She stops and looks at him. “You were not invited to the court meeting.” The consul’s face looks awfully angry now.

Ev narrows her eyes. “And what exactly are you doing at your court meeting?”

“That should not be a concern of the Prakran subject”, Valerius says, his words dripping with poison, “or whoever you are.”

“I am a diplomatic emissary -,” she does not get a chance to finish.

“Leave!”

Ev wants to scream and protest, but even she knows better than to yell at somebody who outranked her. She draws a breath. One, two, three. All right.

“I only came to give you the papers”, she says coldly, her eyes still locked on his, and leans forward to place the documents on the table. “But I am taking this away, one should work without the distraction of wine.”

With these words Ev snatches the glass from the table, turns away and heads toward the exit as fast as she can without breaking into running. She does not want to look like she is scared that Valerius will grab her by the arm. If anything she is slightly disappointed that he doesn’t.

“My regards to the court,” she raises her hand and waves the glass in the air without looking back. Behind her there is a sound of paper being torn apart.

***

Ev only slows down when she reaches the main staircase.

Suddenly feeling very tired, she leans against the handrail. Again, what is she doing here? Why did she need to turn up in person when she could send a letter? Ev closes her eyes and rubs her fingers together as if feeling for answers in the whorls of her own skin, and remembers about the glass in her hand. Another bad decision. It would have been wiser to take the bottle.

She raises the glass to her lips and breathes in the wine. It’s pleasant. Perhaps she would prefer its company to the boring palace affairs too. Ev twists the glass in her hand, eying the smooth rim before drawing one long sip. It leaves a blush mark of her lips firmly planted on the surface which she studies for a few seconds. “You better be as angry as I am now”, she says to the dark liquid at the bottom of the glass.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Ten

A/N: Well what do you know? This story ain’t dead after all! I AM SO SORRY to anybody who has been patiently waiting for this story to update. I had an absolute temper tantrum meltdown breakdown identity crisis with a heaping dollop of doubt to sift through before I felt comfortable bringing this sucker back, and while this chapter is largely filler, I am re-invigorated with my drive to finish this beast and the next chapter is a whole entire doozy. Without further ado, welcome back, Din and Nav! 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: Having just barely escaped an assassination attempt with their lives, Din and Navina agree to help each other untangle all of the knotted threads that they have run into. But Navina may have ended up with a little more than she bargained for when she kicked the conversation off by asking him about the Darksaber. With her history of searching for it so that it could be destroyed and his current role as Mand’alor, will they be able to get past their differences? 

Warning: mentions of violence, trauma, death  

Word Count: 4.9k

Nevarro. 

“Are you in possession of the Darksaber?” 

Navina’s question hung in the air of the cockpit, the lingering vibrations of her words still audibly humming around them even though several beats had gone by without an answer from the Mandalorian. 

I shouldn’t have led with that.  

Gunning straight for the Darksaber was a bold move and one that had clearly shocked him. Being encased in beskar made it difficult for her to interpret his body language but not impossible, and the abrupt swivel of his helmet to bring the darkened visor in line with her eyes as she asked the question told her everything that she needed to know. He has it. Or he knows where it is but it… he wasn’t expecting me to ask that. 

Though she didn’t know him well, she knew him well enough to assume that not many things caught him off guard. He had just demonstrated that with how quickly and instinctively he moved to get her to safety under fire, and she’d seen it in the way that he fought the reptavians the last time they were on Nevarro. But since this was a conversation and not something that he could shoot his way out of, a situation where he couldn’t just rely on reaction or muscle memory, it caused him to freeze up and for a few seconds Navina wondered if he wasn’t considering trying a blaster anyway. 

Wouldn’t be the first time my conversational skills got me shot at, but… 

But he hadn’t reached for his weapon. He hadn’t clapped her in binders or told her to get off of his ship, hadn’t left her stranded in the middle of nowhere out in the lava flats. Perhaps most importantly though, he hadn’t outright refused to answer. Navina’s eyes drifted to the sculpted signet on his shoulder, the vacant eye of the Mudhorn skull staring back at her as she waited for him to break the silence. She recalled what Firo’s mother had told her about what she’d seen and heard; about the two Mandalorians in Diadem Square and the words she had heard them say. Aliit. Mudhorn. Mand’alor. 

He has it. He has it, he’s just not sure what to tell me because he- 

“Are you planning to challenge me for it?” He tilted his head down slightly, the angle suggesting that he was glancing at the same spot on his pauldron that she was. 

What? She snapped her head up to find his eyeline already waiting, the darkened visor boring into her as her heart pounded in her chest. Challenge him? That would be crazy… and he knows that. Swallowing, she slowly shook her head, her long, thick braid tugging heavily at her nape as it swung like a rope.  “You didn’t answer my question.”  

The Mandalorian crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his seat. “Neither did you,” he pointed out.  

Navina let out a breath in a short burst. “No.” Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips as she narrowed her eyes. “No, Mando, I’m not planning to…I don’t want it.” I want to get rid of it.

“But you know what it is. You know what it…  means.”  It wasn’t a question, but she nodded in answer anyway. I sure do. “Then why should I believe that you wouldn’t want it for yourself?” 

She winced, though she knew why he had to ask. Because everyone else who has looked for it has wanted it for its power. Wanted to use it. The thought of owning the Darksaber, of wrapping her hand around its hilt and igniting the fabled crackling, black blade made her stomach turn. Before she could stop it, the image of her mother’s empty helmet skipping over the cave floor like a smooth stone over water, the visor cracked and the bottom edge smeared with blood, flashed in her mind. If it weren’t for that thing I might still… my family might- Stop. 

Swallowing the emotions that had started to build up in her throat, she leaned forward to brace her forearms on her knees, hands gripping her opposite elbows. “I guess you don’t have to believe me.” She shrugged, eyes landing again on the Mudhorn on his shoulder. “But I-

“You keep looking at this.” He cut her off, lifting the arm bearing his signet. “So I think you know the answer to your question.” Straightening, Navina sat back in the bucket seat she occupied, her attention back on the man’s dark visor, on the hard lines and sleek angles of the helmet obscuring his face. “But what I want to know is how you found out. You aren’t Imperial.” He spat the word in such a way that made her thankful that he at least seemed to believe that she wasn’t working for some remnant of the Empire. “You’re not a Jedi.” She scoffed and he continued with a slight shake of his head. “You aren’t...haven’t sworn the creed.” Navina winced again. Not Mandalorian. That’s what he was going to say, and he’s...right. “So how do you know about the Darksaber?” 

By then, she had lost track of how many questions had been asked and left unanswered by both of them. This is...we’re not getting anywhere like this. Gritting her teeth, she took a second to let out a controlled breath. But if he wants a holochess match, I’ll give him one. “Not a lot of people speak Mando’a anymore, do they?” 

The lights of the cockpit’s dashboard bounced off of the beskar as he shook his head, the leather of his gloves groaning as he clenched his hands into aggravated fists. “What does that have to do with-” 

“There were two Mandalorians seen on Corellia recently.” Navina chose her words carefully as he fell silent again. “They were wearing cloaks over their armor and whispering about you, Mando.” She stuck her chin out towards him as she stood and turned to lean against the wall panel. “Didn’t catch every word” I didn’t  but they were definitely speaking the Concordian dialect…they mentioned the Darksaber. Called you the Mand’alor… they talked about your signet, your clan… your aliit.” 

In the same way that the memory of her mother’s helmet had torn through her mind, she felt another flash cut through her thoughts as she spoke the Mando’a word for family. This one was different though, bringing with it the sound of her father’s booming laugh, her mother’s clear voice as she sang to the little one, his eyes wide as he happily clapped along. It brought a warmth that almost filled her chest, sloshing up the sides and swirling once around her heart to remind her that she still knew what it felt like before it drained back into the icy bittersweet depths of her past. It reminded her of the devotion and the love she would always have for her family, no matter where they were now, and it was the one word that she knew would get his attention, make him listen and believe what she was saying. 

Because if he has a family… this is where he’ll make his move. 

He proved her theory right instantly, the man rising quickly to his feet to pace the small space. “The kid?” 

Kid? Navina felt her own eyes grow in surprise. Finding out that the Mandalorian had a child was the furthest thing from her mind when she dangled the word aliit. A riduur, maybe, or else just other loyal sworn clan members, but a child? And he said ‘the kid’ not ‘my kid’... She tried to drown out the sound of her heartbeat as it thundered in her ears. Does that mean… a foundling? 

Sucking in a breath, she was hit with another memory, this one slicing deep enough that she could feel the old scar across her back, searing in pain like it had when she received the wound that left it. “Protect him, Ina! Keep him safe!” The task her father charged her with as he and her mother sprung into action to fend off the attackers echoed in her skull.  There was the clash of weapons against beskar, the scrape of blades against stone, and her own blood rushing in her ears as she saw a blaster raised and pointed at the place where the foundling sat crouching behind a boulder. No! Without a second thought she flung herself through the air, wrapping her arms around the smaller child’s tiny body, crying out as heat streaked over her shoulder blades. 

If they know he has a kid they might be… She shuddered, recalling not just the pain but the absolute terror she felt as she cradled the small bundle to her chest in the memory. They might try to go after his kid to get to him. Like they did with my parents. 

After all, it had been other Mandalorians who had attacked them on Yavin, other Mandalorians who had killed her mother. If they were looking to strike at a weakness, other Mandalorians would know how to find one.

“No.” It came out blunt and firm, breaking her from her thoughts. “Naasade kar’tayl. No one knows where to find him.” What? Find him? What does that mean?  “I... made sure that I was the only one who knew how to-” Swiveling his head, he seemed to make another connection then, reaching for Navina’s left bicep and making a tight grip. “You said these Mandalorians were on Corellia?” She nodded, his fingers only digging deeper into her arm. “Where?” 

Clearing her throat, Navina brought her right hand up across her body to place it over his, her palm making contact with the cool metal of the raised triangle adorning his gauntlet in an attempt to make him loosen his hold on her. “Coronet City,” she answered, eyes flicking from his visor down to her arm where their hands were stacked. He picked up the cue, releasing her but not stepping away, staying close enough to her that she felt his sleeve brush the exposed skin above her elbow as they both dropped their arms. “Why? What does-” 

The Mandalorian leaned forward then, placing his hands on the edge of the dashboard to look out the windshield at the crater where her ship once stood, at the smoldering remains of the vessel that had tracked and attacked her. “The bounty hunters that followed you here...” His shoulders lifted and sagged as he took a breath, the curve of his helmet lowering with the slight dip of his head as he spoke, almost as though he felt guilty for something. “They were hired in Coronet City.” 

Oh. That’s… a new development. “So, what? You think,” Navina turned to line her vantage point up with his, joining him in surveying the scene. Dark plumes of thick smoke still rose from the burnt, melted bits of metal littering the cracked ground. An eerie shiver went up her spine, climbing one vertebrae at a time until it reached her brain. “You think that the same people are after both of us?” But that’s...that doesn’t make any sense. Unless- 

“I think there’s a chance that they…” He muttered a swear low under his breath, Navina only able to make out the derogatory intonation of his voice and not the word itself. “That they might have targeted you because of me.” 

Ruusaanyc. Trust him. Tell him what you know. 

They were her own thoughts, but they felt foriegn. Her inner monologue almost never came to her in Mando’a, and trust was a rarely used word in her vocabulary no matter the language. Where did that come from? Without realizing she had pulled it out from under her shawl, Navina looked down to see that she was clutching her pendant, the thing emitting a faint violet glow through her fingers as though it was trying to will her to share what she knew with the Mandalorian. 

Ruusaanyc. 

Huffing out a sigh, she let the Mythosaur fall against her chest and shook her head. Here goes everything. “I don’t know about that, Mando… I think…” It was her turn to mumble a swear into her shoulder as he turned away from the windshield to face her. Now or never. “I think I know who it was and… and I think they’ve been after me for a long time.”  

“What does that mean?” Some of the edge was back in his voice and she could tell that he was done with the volley of questions, done with trying to interpret her answers or encode his own. It was a small relief, if she was being honest, to drop the pretense and just lay it bare. This is the Way, right? “Who do you think it was, and why would they want you dead?” 

Our enemies think we are enemies. 

She heard the deep, smooth voice of the stranger from her dream; the man in the brown robes who her family encountered as they fled from Concordia, the mysterious wielder of that purple blade, the figure who had entrusted them with the care of the foundling and then held off their pursuers as they made their escape from the very group of Mandalorians that they had previously supported. 

Death Watch. 

No. The people who attacked us, who hunted us, they weren’t… they became something else. 

Her parents had been members of Death Watch, her mother raised as a foundling after being taken in by one of their warriors, and her father born on Mandalore into one of the oldest clans that never bowed to the pacifists. They believed in a return to the ancient Way, adhering strictly to the most literal interpretations of the tenets of Mandalorian life. They believed in protecting their clan and their tribe above all else. Even if it meant defecting from the ranks. They believed in preserving their traditions and their history. Even if it meant teaching it in caves. They believed in supporting Mandalore. Even if it meant rebelling against the Mand’alor. 

At some point in their exile to Concordia, Death Watch had become an incubator for corruption and hate. At some point, the focus had shifted from reclaiming their home planet from the Pacifists and the Republic to attaining a mythic weapon and the power that came with it- even if it meant forming some highly questionable alliances. And at some point, even that had not been enough. Not for her. 

Navina blinked, suddenly aware that too much time had elapsed without a response. Say something. Tell him something… Trust him. Swallowing, she brought one hand up to her forehead, raking it back over her hair. Her palm came away smudged in black soot from the earlier explosion, and she stared at the way the lines and cracks of her hand looked caked in sweat and smoke. “There was a… a rift in the Tribe my family belonged to,” she began, taking a breath and lifting her eyes to find him watching her, standing stock still and silent as space with his arms at his sides. 

“A rift?” The jerk of his helmet served to punctuate his question. Be more specific, he’s not going to be patient forever, he’s- “A splinter sect?”   

She raised one eyebrow, mouth falling open for a second. He knows about Death Watch then. He knows that it… how it went. Outside of  the Mandalorian’s ship, night was beginning to fall on Nevarro. The typically vibrant red of the setting sun was tempered by the smoke in the air to create a darker, subtle maroon hue. On a normal night, it wouldn’t be long before the sky was pierced by millions of stars, signaling that it was time for sleep. But despite how utterly exhausted she was from the events of the day, Navina felt adrenaline pulsing through her body with each beat of her heart.  “Y-yes,” she finally managed to sputter out. “They were a part of-” 

“Of Death Watch,” he finished with her, his modulated voice completely eclipsing hers and increasing her heart rate by double as she bobbed her head in a nod. “My original covert,” he sighed and she noticed him opening and closing his hands, tipping his head down to look at the backs of them as he spread his fingers wide. “My Tribe? We were known as… as the Children of the Watch.” 

The entire galaxy stood still, all sound vanished as he spoke. The Children of the Watch. That’s…

“That’s...my parents, that’s the…” She was vaguely aware that she was speaking, but seemed unable to arrange her words into anything resembling coherency, her chest starting to heave slightly from shock. “That’s the name of the covert my parents were… that they wanted to find...to join.” 

“They’re the good guys, Ina’ika.” Her father had promised her as he soothed her in the aftermath of the attack, her mother’s callused hands rubbing an herbal salve over the wound on her back while the little one slept off the terrifying encounter. “The good guys that we can trust.” He took both of her small hands in one of his, closing it around them. “Do you remember how to say it in Mando’a, ad’ika?” 

She’d sniffed, no tears in her eyes as she nodded and answered her buir. “Ruusaanyc.” 

Her eyes snapped shut then, the corners stinging sharply. She hadn’t cried at eleven years old, and she refused to do so now. Not in front of him. Not… not now. 

“Your family wanted to… to join my tribe?” He paced as he asked, seemingly as shocked as she was by the connection that they almost shared. “And they were… you were attacked because of that?” 

Navina opened her eyes to see the swish of his cape as he turned to face her. Sort of. “Not because of...of which covert they wanted to join. It was more because they left in the first place… it was-” Tell him. 

“Navina?” He closed the distance between them, stepping close to her again like he had when he grasped her arm, though this time he wasn’t as forceful. “Why was your family attacked? What… made them leave?” 

A dry laugh completely devoid of humor tumbled from her lips. “It’s obvious, isn’t it, Mando?” She combed some of the soot caked strands of her hair back with both sets of fingers as she spun and returned to her  seat. “The Darksaber. The leaders of Death Watch… they gave in to its power. Used it to... “ She had to stuff down the stories that her parents had told her about the “leaders”, the demagolka, the real life monsters that they’d almost followed into the pits of corruption- Gar Saxon. Rook Kast. Maul. Bo-Katan Kryze. Instead of naming them, she shook her head. “My parents didn’t want that. They didn’t want Mandalore to fall under the control of… of people who defiled the title of Mand’alor.” 

“Your parents were zealots.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it an accusation even if it was abrupt. “We...the Children of the Watch, other Mandalorians have referred to my covert that way, too.” 

She let out another scoff. “It was a little different for them, I think.” That was putting it mildly and she knew it. “They… they believed that the Darksaber had to be destroyed.” 

“Destroyed?” He echoed. “I don’t understand. Why would it need to be destroyed? Couldn’t they just challenge whoever had it last?” 

He doesn’t see. “They didn’t want it any more than I do. They…” Her forehead furrowed and her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, darting back into her mouth tasting of the ashy white residue still stuck to her skin. “Mando, do you really know what it is? What that weapon- how it works? How it...behaves?”

“Behaves?” His head moved backwards, nearly hitting the rear of his helmet against the wall. “It’s a weapon. It doesn’t behave, you learn to use it.” 

Though she had never seen it ignited in person, she pictured the unstable, broken currents of energy that her mother had described to her, imagined the harsh sound of it spitting and snapping at itself and anything it touched. Comparing it to the smooth beam of consistent, controlled purple light of the saber that the nameless man that had bestowed the foundling upon her family used, it was clear to her that the Darksaber was a cursed iteration of what it was originally intended to be. 

When she spoke again her voice was low and small, barely making it out of her throat. “If you’ve ever used it then you know that’s not true.” She moved her head from side to side, eyes stuck on the blackened T of his visor. “You know that’s not what you really believe.” 

“It’s...powerful,” he admitted. “I don’t… I’m not quite sure that I know how to wield it yet, but it… it’s just a weapon, and it-” 

“It was never made to have so many masters.” She’d heard it so many times she hardly noticed it slipping out of her mouth. 

“What?” Yeah, I get it, it sounds ridiculous, but… She narrowed her eyes. But he wants to believe me, doesn’t he? 

Navina gave him a half shrug. “It was something my mother would say. She said that it was never meant to… bond with so many souls. That it was never meant to be a symbol, that it was only ever meant to serve its maker.” 

“Bond with people’s souls…” He shifted to the edge of his chair. “Like the Force? The...the Jedi?” 

“I don’t know, Mando. Maybe? I-” she let out a heavy sigh to empty the buildup of tension and frustration in her chest. “I’m not an expert, I… I didn’t get to learn everything that she had to teach me.” It came out with a tinge of venom that he didn’t deserve and she immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry, that-” 

“It’s fine,” he said, letting out a sigh of his own, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling the same way; Short changed on knowledge, clinging only to the scraps of what he had been taught and completely clueless about the rest. It’s not fine. Not for either of us. “It’s… there’s still a lot that I need to learn. Things that I don’t really understand but that I… need to.” She thought he was done speaking, a full twenty count going by with nothing but the hum of the air filters and the consistent flash of the starter, alerting the pilot that the ship was fully fueled and ready for takeoff at a moment’s notice, when he finally spoke again. “I didn’t want it, either.” 

Something in the depth of his voice made her heart ache for the man. He’s not like the ones who held it before him. He’s not… I believe him. “But you have it now.” 

“I… I do. But it was never what I… all I wanted to do was protect my- the kid.” 

I believe that, too. If the way that he had put himself in harm’s way to keep her safe was any indication of how far he’d go to protect his own family, she knew that if nothing else, she could believe him on this. But something that he had said earlier circled back to the forefront of her brain, and though she still didn’t doubt him, she needed to ask. “Mando? Where is your… you said he was safe, and that only you could…” He turned quickly in her direction, the motion coming off defensive. No, not because I want you to tell me. She held up her hands then, smudged palms facing him. “I’m only asking because I don’t want anything to…” This isn’t coming out how I… “Mando, I’m only asking, because if the same people who attacked my family are the ones that were looking for you, too… if it's them? Their clan or...or cult? They’ll look for any way to get to you. So if they know about your...son? They came after me when I was a child, held a blaster on the foundling we were caring for and… I don’t want that to happen to you.” Or your aliit. 

Her explanation seemed to satisfy him, his hands relaxing against his thighs. “Your family cared for a foundling.” Again it was a non-question, but again she nodded. “Then you know that according to the Creed, if you are able to...reunite them with their kind then that’s what you are obligated to do.” The strange ache she felt for him deepened as she came to the conclusion before he said it out loud. Oh. She noticed his right hand hovering over one of the pouches of his belt, almost as though he were going to open it, take something out. He didn’t though, returning his hand to his lap and telling her what she had already guessed. “I did that. I… he’s with his kind now and they’ll… he’s safe there. No one but me knows how to get in contact with his… the person taking care of him now.” 

“You’re still his buir, Mando. Still his family.” Big round eyes and pudgy green cheeks flashed in her mind. You’re still my family, too, ad’ika. “You always will be.” It was odd, comforting him this way. He was a stranger, but he wasn’t. His story was different, but familiar. In another life we could have grown up together. 

He must have found it odd, too, though if he did he didn’t say anything, and she wondered if he wasn’t also thrown by the way that their lives were both parallel and in opposition of one another’s. “Thank you,” he eventually said, and she saw his chest rise and fall with another sigh. “For everything that you told me. I… have a lot to think about.” 

“I...you’re welcome, Mando, I… I want to help you, if you’ll let me, I… maybe we can help each other. At least until this threat is… handled. And then…” Then I’ll disappear, let you lead your people however you… however you think is best.

“I’d...like that. I want to be able to think of you as an… an ally.” Navina dug deep and found a smile to offer him then. An ally. Alright. “But I… I still can’t… don’t feel comfortable bringing you back to the new covert location. Not because I don’t trust you, I… I need to find the people who did this. Who are doing this, and I can’t have them follow me back to where the rest of the Mandalorians are because they’re following you.” 

He didn’t mean it to be hurtful, just tactical, and even though she was used to feeling the leaden weight of clanlessness in her heart, hearing him say it felt like he had hefted more weight into it. “It’s fine, Mando. I’m… I can find a place or I can go back to-” 

“No.” He cut her off and reached one hand out, placing it lightly on her shoulder, the cup of his palm covering the whole cap of her sleeve, thumb ranging towards her collarbone. Though it was a completely innocent touch, it immediately acted as a ballast for the weight of his previous words.”I do need to go… to get back there right away to… to check on things and discuss all of this with some of the others but I’m not just going to leave you unprotected either. Not until all of this is… done.” 

He wants to protect me? But… why? 

Ruusaanyc. Trust him. 

From her peripherals she could tell that the stone in the center of her pendant was shimmering again. “You… you don’t have to do that.” 

He shocked her when he pressed his thumb and then the rest of his fingers gently into her flesh, just enough to dimple the fabric of her shirt. “Yes, I do. I am the Mand’alor, and it’s my responsibility to… to make sure that no one in my own covert is a part of this. And to… to keep all Mandalorians safe.” 

But I’m not… It occurred to her suddenly that maybe, to him, she was. 

This is the Way. 

“Alright.” She nodded, focusing on keeping her throat from choking around her words as she spoke them. “Then where will I… I don’t know anyone here, on Nevarro. Firo isn’t anywhere close, so I-” 

“I have an idea,” he tilted his head and from the angle alone she could tell that it wasn’t going to be her first choice. “Remember my friend, Marshal Dune?”  

The smirking face of the woman who had originally identified Navina as a thief and an imposter came to mind and she groaned. “I do... she didn't like me very much if you recall though, so I'm not too sure she's going to be thrilled about this.” I'm not thrilled about it but... he's got a point. I'll put his whole Tribe at risk if I go with him right now.

He actually laughed, another shock from the man encased in thick beskar. “Cara's not as tough as she wants you to think she is. She's... she's a good friend. She'll give you a place to stay and make sure you're... safe.”

There were about a million retorts she would have lobbed if it were anyone but him. I can keep myself safe. She's not a better fighter than me. I don't need a kriffing babysitter. But instead she bit the inside of her lip and slapped the smile she'd just pulled out back on. “Alright, Mando... call the Marshal.”

.

.

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags or you can fill out the form on my masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @commanderlola @greatcircle79​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @dihra-vesa​ @marauderskeeper​  @disgruntledspacedad​ @littlemisspascal​ @mishasminion360​

[voiceless-terror]

all those sleep prompts are so killer and such big jon vibes!!! i would love to read anything on "- a character who refuses to share a sleeping space with anyone else, and it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb others/doesn’t want pity/is ashamed of his nightmares" with jon. bonus points if tim is involved and extra bonus points if tim also has experience with insomnia/nightmares, either himself or used to taking care of someone in his life with those issues...

Hey there! Here I am, finally writing the promised Jon/Tim that I should have written ages ago. Feels good to be on this train! I’ve placed this in pre-canon, when Jon and Tim are researchers and have just started dating. Hope you like!

“That was...really nice, Tim. Thank you.”

“Thank you? Jon, we split the check,” Tim throws an arm around his shoulder and it’s heavy and warm in all the right ways. “You know my policy on that. The person who asks you out pays the bill! Ergo, me.”

“I know, I know,” Jon relents under the pressure and burrows into Tim’s side. The wine’s gone to his head, he’s sure of it. Shouldn’t have had those three glasses. But the waiter was so attentive and Tim’s smile was infectious so he couldn’t help but say yes, of course, thank you, to every pour. “I just...I really enjoyed myself, is all.”

“I did too,” Tim’s voice goes to that soft, fond register he’s only just started using with Jon. Before it had been all gregarious charm, winks and nudges that he used interchangeably with friends and acquaintances alike. When Tim first asked him out, Jon thought he was joking; he rolled his eyes and went back to work, ignoring Tim’s look of hurt. Jon was used to practical jokes of this nature- he’s not exactly an attractive prospective partner, and several people have implied he was more trouble than he was worth. But a week later, on their usual coffee run, Tim offered to buy him dinner, his voice serious and shy and utterly unlike him. The look in his eyes was genuine and Jon had to say yes; who could refuse him, in the face of such sincerity?

It’s been a month and they’ve fallen into a sort of routine. Every week is a new spot- Tim’s a bit of a foodie, and he overheard him making a list of places with Sasha. It took up an entire page in his notebook, and Jon wonders if Tim will get sick of him before they finish it.

He stumbles on the sidewalk and Tim catches him with a steady hand on his waist. The cold air should be bracing but it is not; his dizziness increases two times over and it’s a long journey home. Tim knows this, which must lead to his next suggestion.

“You can spend the night at mine,” he says, voice purposefully light. Jon freezes. They hadn’t broached the topic yet, but he thinks Tim has some sort of idea. Rumors abound in research, after all. Tim must notice his nervousness because he stops walking, turning to face Jon with that same unbearable sincerity. 

“Nothing untoward, I promise,” Tim says, and Jon believes him. Tim hasn’t lied to him yet. “I just don’t feel comfortable putting you on the tube, and you’re a long way from home while I’m right around the corner.” Jon still doesn’t respond, so Tim continues. “No pressure, honestly. I could call you a cab, it’s not a big deal-”

“No, that’s-that’s too expensive.” Living in London is hard enough, especially on a researcher’s salary. But to spend the night at Tim’s, as innocent as it may be, fills him with dread. There’s a reason he lives alone. There’s a reason it took him almost a year before he stayed the night at Georgie’s.

Sleep has never been kind to him.

Jon has nightmares. Terrible, horrifying visions of make-believe that leave him screaming and crying and choking on his breath. Georgie had been about ready to call an ambulance the first time she witnessed it, but Jon was able to talk her down.

“These happen every night?” she’d asked, her face a mix of pity and concern. 

“Not every night,” he insisted. It was true. If he stayed up late, working himself to exhaustion, he could usually manage a dreamless sleep of at least five hours. But that came with its own difficulties; crankiness, irritability. It put a strain on most of his relationships. 

Tim, though- Tim is kind and understanding. Beneath the mask of sociability and flirtation lies a serious, determined person. Compassionate, loving, but in a quiet way and with small gestures. He makes lists. He puts in time. He asks Jon what he wants when they go out to eat and he doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes when Jon carries on for too long. 

“We can go to your place,” he whispers. “I-I think I’d like that.” Tim smiles and hooks an arm through his and Jon knows he’s made the right decision. Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe the wine will dull the terror that rules most of his life. The night is dark and Jon’s flat is cold and lonely. 

Tim’s flat, on the other hand, is warm and cozy. It’s neat and organized, but cluttered enough to give it personality and charm. There’s a couch calling his name and he answers it, practically collapsing in the cushions as Tim lets out a little laugh.

“No going to sleep yet,” he instructs and Jon can’t help but let out a groan. The warmth and safety of the spot and the closeness of Tim has suddenly made him comfortably tired, and he’d like to slip off to sleep in this pleasant haze. “Not until you’ve had some food and water. I’ve even got those crusty little granola bars you like so much.”

“They’re not crusty,” he grumbles, his voice stifled by a pillow. But he’s not in a fighting mood and his mind’s currently swimming with the fact that Tim stocked his favorite snack. 

“Very crusty, indeed,” Tim’s nudging him up into a sitting position and forcing water into his hands. “Drink up!”

“You’re very irritating, I hope you know,” Jon says as he leans his head onto Tim’s shoulder. Tim makes for a comfortable pillow. 

“Aw, you love it.” 

Maybe he does.

By the time he’s choked down the last of the bar, his eyes are fluttering and he can’t keep in his yawns. Tim puts a warm hand on his arm and it burns pleasantly as he pulls him up. “Time for bed, I think.”

The words startle Jon out of his haze and he blinks his eyes open, focusing on Tim’s gentle smile. “Er, I think-” he doesn’t want to disappoint the man, but he would rather be as cautious as possible. “I think it would be best if I slept out here.”

“On the couch?” Tim asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh- would you rather sleep alone?” Tim doesn’t seem too miffed about it, just confused, so Jon answers as honestly as he can.

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to, not really. But he needs to.

“Alright,” Tim agrees easily enough. “But you should take the bed, then. The sofa’s comfy but I know you have a bad back-”

“It’s fine for one night,” Jon responds. Forcing Tim to sleep on the sofa in his own flat seems terribly selfish.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jon assures, trying to convey his affection in a gentle smile. Tim returns it.

“I’ll just get you some sheets, then. Change of clothes, too.”

By the time Jon’s head hits the pillow, comfortably attired in Tim’s old joggers and t-shirt, he’s already half asleep. He thinks Tim’s already left the room but then he feels the warm pressure of a kiss to his forehead.

Perhaps he dreamed that, though.

__________

There’s a thread and it’s pulling Jon forward.

It’s not comfortable. Jon would rather stay here, in the library, surrounded by books and dim lights and knowledge he has control over. But there are whispers in the hallway, and someone’s telling him to go, go, go. 

And go he does. Down stairs, so many stairs, more stairs than the institute ought to have. There is something watching and something pulling; Jon is being split in two and somehow this is worse than actually seeing the spiders and the eyes that have haunted him all these years. This, he feels in his soul. Something is at stake.

There’s a door. This is how it always ends, you see- with a door. And Jon’s fist, small and childish and grubby, raises to knock against the wood. It echoes too many times as Jon tries to step back, get off this porch and out of this nightmare but it is too late, the deed is done and the door is opening and a single, spindly black leg creeps out of the door hello, Mr. Spider-

“Jon!”

There are limbs holding him but it’s not the many-legged creature of his nightmares- they’re familiar and strong even as he thrashes against them but someone is screaming and the sound is haunting and painful-

And it’s him. Jon wrenches his eyes open to find himself safe and sound, held in place by Tim’s arms. His heart continues to stutter and he wheezes- Tim’s got a hand on his back and a soothing murmur going.

“You’ve got to breathe, Jon. Slow.” Tim takes his shaking hand and puts it to his own chest. “Like this. In and out. There you go. Nice and slow.” The words are calm and practiced; Tim’s done this before, with someone else. As his heartbeat resumes a normal rhythm, he wonders who. 

There’s a hand on Jon’s face, gently wiping away tears he wasn’t aware he shed. Tim’s eyes are far-away, sort of, like he’s just going through the motions, slow and loving. “There we are,” he says as he finally meets Jon’s eyes. “Better now?”

“Y-Yes,” he croaks back. His hand is still gripping at Tim’s shirt but he doesn’t let go until the reality of the situation sets in. “Oh God- I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Is that why you slept out here?” Tim asks, his voice patient. “Does this happen a lot?”

“M-More than I care to admit.” Jon feels a sudden need to explain himself, to let Tim know he tries to keep it under control as best he can. “I’ve tried everything- tea, therapy, p-pills- it doesn’t work.” A note of frustration creeps into his voice. “Something doesn’t want me to sleep, I guess.”

“Just thought you were a workaholic, to be honest,” Tim pulls him into his side and Jon melts, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Should’ve known better. We work at the Magnus Institute, after all.” The laugh that comes from both of them is bitter. “D’you want to sleep in my bed, maybe? Just- just for company. I’ve been told that helps.”

“I-I don’t want to wake you.” The argument is weak and the both of them know it.

“You already have, love.” The endearment slips out unnoticed by Tim, but Jon hears it. “You’ll wake me either way, but I’d rather you didn’t wake up alone.”

“O-Oh.” There’s a lot of care in those words. Jon doesn’t know what to do with it, except agree. “Yes, I’ll- if, if you don’t mind-”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” He wouldn’t, Jon knows. Tim always means what he says when it comes to him.

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.” Jon opens his eyes.

Tim never mentioned a brother; it never came up in any of their conversations. Tim knows Jon is an only child, that he was brought up by his grandmother and had a lonely childhood. He didn’t realize, in all of their time together, that he knew so little of Tim’s own background, besides his publishing career.

Nobody liked to talk about what brought them to the Magnus Institute. It was like some unspoken rule, some shared trauma that somehow kept them all silent and apart.

“Your brother?” he whispers, turning over to see Tim’s face. Its dark, but he thinks he can see a brightness in Tim’s eyes like unshed tears. 

“Danny.” Tim says the name like he’s asking for forgiveness that Jon can’t give. He sees a tear drip down the man’s face and he reaches for it, just like Tim did before. “He was...he was my little brother. And he was so, so good.” Tim’s voice breaks and something in Jon breaks too. “And something took him from me.” His expression is hard but his hand reaches out to lovingly trace Jon’s face, as if trying to memorize its shape.

“I’m sorry,” Jon knows his apology is not enough, that it will never fill the gap in Tim’s heart. Instead, he finds words spilling from his lips, as if sharing his own pain will help too. “I-I saw someone get taken, once. I didn’t- I didn’t love them, but- but it was because of me.” Tim’s hand is in his hair, tucking a curl behind his ear as his voice wobbles. “It should’ve been me.” 

Tim draws him close and squeezes; Jon buries his face in the crook of his neck and inhales. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jon,” Tim whispers as he runs a hand down his back. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Jon isn’t Danny and Tim isn’t offering him absolution but it’s fine, for tonight.

Jon doesn’t dream.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494077

[chimchimsauce]

XS (IX - Jesus)

“Give me just a little bit MORE”

Being the son of the largest gang in the country, Kim Taehyung might as well be a prince. He is more powerful than any one man should be and is not afraid to get rid of anything - or anyone that gets in his way.

So when a man is unable to pay back the gigantic loan he owes Taehyung, the heir is all too happy to take his life. Moments away from pulling the trigger, a girl more beautiful than he’s ever seen bursts in and offers her life for her father’s. Taehyung knows right away that he wants her.

And Taehyung gets everything he wants.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

YN would have never thought that gangs would be so formal. She supposes they must be, to make sure no one steps out of line. Still, it's never been something she's thought about until this moment.

Rows and rows of tatted and terrifying men stand in identical black suits, all expressionless in the grand hall the ceremony is taking place in. YN can't even see the back of the crowd. There's no way this can just be the higher-ups in the gang. This has to be everyone.

In the very front of the room, YN stands to the left of her husband. Taehyung is sporting a bright red suit, something so eye-catching that you'd be able to pick him out of the crowd from a mile away. On YN's left, Jungkook and a few other people YN hasn't met yet stand in their own black suits, a single red rose in their breast pockets. It makes YN nervous. Her eyes scan over all the assembled gang members, wondering if any of them are going to try and pull something that could get her killed. Taehyung notices YN's slight squirming and moves to hold her hand, squeezing it. YN gets the message and stops moving, hoping that she hasn't pissed him off too much.

A few feet away from Taehyung, Taehyung's father and his wife stand mirroring YN and Taehyung, the older man beaming with pride.

"I always knew you'd be the perfect heir, Taehyung," his father says quiet enough for just the four of them to hear, "You've always been tough, so much stronger than your brother."

"Brother? Taehyung has a brother?"

Out of the side of YN's eye, she notices the stiffening of one of the men she hasn't had the displeasure of meeting yet. She guesses that he's probably Taehyung's brother. YN looks at him as discreetly as possible. This nameless man does not look a thing like Taehyung. Their body builds, heights, and face shapes are vastly different. But now that YN is looking, she can tell that this man is definitely Taehyung's brother if for no other reason than he looks a lot like Taehyung's father.

He looks over and locks eyes with YN and she gasps slightly in surprise, looking away from him. She doesn't want to make any enemies and she thinks the best possible way to do this is to not have anything to do with anyone. It'll be incredibly lonely, but at least she won't be worrying about getting attached when she eventually finds a way out of this.

Someone must have sent out a signal because the entire room's atmosphere changes. If YN thought it was stiff before, it's stifling now. An elderly man opens the door at the far end of the other room, walking incredibly slowly. It gives YN flashbacks from yesterday's wedding and she's glad that it's not her going down the aisle anymore.

It takes several tense minutes for the suited old man to make it to the front. His face is wrinkled like a pug's, rolls of skin covering his eyes his cheeks drooping. He walks with the assistance of a golden cane he grasps tightly with his liver-spotted hand. The old man struggles to make it up to the stairs and no one moves to help him, even though YN would if she wasn't afraid of the possible consequences.

It makes it after forever and stands between Taehyung and his Father, reaching out to both of them and placing their hands in his own, folding them one on top of each other gently. He stands as still as death, whispering something in what YN believes is Italian but could honestly be Greek for all she knows. He prays for several minutes with his eyes closed and YN is captivated.

She hasn't been here for very long but already she can tell how oddly religious this gang is. There are paintings of Catholic saints all over the walls in this room and a giant marble Jesus statue is behind them.

The irony is not lost on her. YN has never met a man as unholy as Taehyung.

When he's done, the priest slides a ring Taehyung's father is wearing and slides it onto Taehyung's finger. The old man raises Taehyung and his Father's hands above his head before releasing them. Taehyung and his father turn wordlessly and walk to the Jesus statue, dipping their hands into a basin of water in front of it. The old man wobbles towards them and flicks water on Taehyung before reaching into his white robes and pulling out a bottle of ash. He smears it on Taehyung's forehead and then replaces it into his clothing, inching his way down the stairs and slowly exiting the room.

YN allows herself to relax. It's finally over.

"Get ready to hit the deck," Taehyung says, leaning over and pretending to kiss her forehead.

"Wha-" YN starts.

She never gets the chance to finish her sentence. Taehyung drops to the ground and rips YN's ankle towards him, causing her to fall flat on her back. The breath gets knocked out of her when she hits the ground hard. YN doesn't have time to process what's going on as the other men next to her fall just as quickly, all of them as close to the ground as possible.

Looking into the crowd, YN sees why. People wearing red scarves around their heads have barged into the room carrying guns of all shape and size. Men scream as bullets begin to fly overhead, landing in several of the attendees.

"Taehyung?!" YN shrieks, looking back at her husband in terror.

There's a massacre going on.

He doesn't look the least bit bothered, beginning to army crawl deeper onto the stage they're on.

"Crawl unless you wanna die, Spitfire," he says, grinning at her.

A psychopath. Taehyung is a psychopath.

Still, she crawls after him, all of her body aching with every movement. A bullet flies into a marble pillar next to her head and she screams, freezing and putting her arms over her head. It's too much. She doesn't know what to do, frozen in fear.

A hand touches her waist and she whips her head around to look at who it is. It's that driver.

"Come on," he says, "I know you're scared, but we gotta go."

YN looks at him through wet eyes and nods once, determined to get out of this alive. She tries to tune out the gunshots and the yelling as best she can, focusing on crawling after Jungkook's gigantic black shoes. It takes all of her mental strength to move her arms and drag herself across the floor. The driver flanks her directly, shielding her from behind.

Once she's behind the gigantic Jesus statue, YN can see an opened hole in the ground. Jungkook hops down confidently and shaking badly, YN chucks off her heels and slides into the hole, worried that the drop will be too high.

"I got ya, Princess," Jungkook says, grabbing YN's waist and helping her into the darkness. The driver drops down immediately after and closes the latch, closing it and locking it with the mechanism in it.

The small tunnel they're inside of is lit will slights every yard or so. The group waltzes down the path like they haven't just escaped a shooting. YN can barely stand.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Jungkook says patronizingly.

"Fuck off," she hisses.

Ignoring the way she trembles, YN yanks her stupid long dress up as high as she can, walking barefoot. She must look a mess.

"Awe, looks like she can do something for herself," Jungkook sneers, "Taehyung, you really should have picked someone a little smarter."

YN really wants to give him a piece of her mind but right now it's everything she can do not to pass out. She barely got any sleep, her body hurts from everything Taehyung did to her and she hasn't eaten since she was first kidnapped.

"You're such an asshole," is the best she can do.

"She's so pretty though," Taehyung says, causing YN's skin to crawl, "I don't mind her being a little slow."

She hates him. The group falls silent. For several minutes, no one says anything at all.

"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?!" YN asks, frustrated and terrified.

"Don't ask questions, darling. That's not very becoming for a woman," Taehyung says, turning his head around and smiling at her, "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

Taehyung waves his hand in the air.

"But don't worry, YN. You'll find out soon enough."

YN doesn't dare press him further. Dread lays heavy in her stomach.

After traveling for quite some time more, Taehyung stops at what looks like just another piece of the hallway, rapping his knuckles against it three times. A secret door swings inwards and Taehyung steps into it, everyone following them.

When YN is inside the room, she sees a few more men with red ties around their heads. They stand with a hostage on his knees, the man's face concealed with a burlap bag.

"Good job, men," Taehyung says.

They bow their heads to him in appreciation.

"Let me see him."

One of the guards pulls the burlap sack off and YN's eyes widen.

Chapter Ten

Tag List

@naajix @nomimits7 @krystle1990 @mayla548

@dorerenjun @veronawrites @nervouskiwi @tatastaetae @naaji @sunshinechim-98 @hopefilledtrash @heystobitbeach @queensavage1245 @kofikats @lilacdreams-00

[perriewinklenerdie]

Say you’ll be mine (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! How we feeling? We did it, fam, we finally got it. The myth, the legend, the 30 diamond scene. As always, I did a rewrite, putting my own spin on it because I am a hoe like that and I just couldn’t resist. 

As you can probably guess, this piece is NSFW, proceed at your own risk.

Summary: Chapter 12 diamond scene rewrite. As the rain pours outside, their emotions and feelings bleed out of them too.

edit: don’t mind me, being a colossal dumbass that makes an edit and then forgets to put it into the post :)

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble @akshara16 @maurine07 @natzz-b @aylamreads

Enjoy! <3

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

Ethan steered the car towards the curb, right outside her apartment, rain falling aggressively from every direction. The warmth that surrounded them didn’t do anything for him, his entire body still feeling as though it was still in a freezing grip of panic that hasn’t left his side for days.

“Are you okay?” Claire’s voice broke through the thick mist that fell over his mind, pulling him into the reality that was like a breath of fresh air. Her forehead was creased with worry, her usually bright eyes now dull and pensive. “I don’t think I’ve asked you that yet.”

His breath was shaking when he replied. “No, you haven’t. And no.” he shook his head, trying to shake away the cold shiver that ran through his bones at the mere thought of what had happened only days ago. “I don’t think I am okay.”

“Danny and Bobby dying hit us all hard. I’m not sure how we can ever be okay with that.” She wondered, her voice small and empty. Ethan found himself shaking his head in disagreement, his own thoughts miles away from what she was talking about.

“It’s not them I’m worried about. It’s you.”

Unable to look her in the eye and let her see all the ghosts that haunted him, all the nightmares that he suffered from, he turned his head away from her. He felt the muscles of his face tense up as his head tried, once again, to deal with the anguish, the horrific images of the moments he realized that he’s come so close to losing her. He’s felt that way before, when he decided to spend the night with her, not knowing if she would wake up in the morning.

“When Naveen was sick, I could still focus on work.” Despite his best efforts to not dwell on the past, he couldn’t help the memory of his mentor and friend, dying as all he could do at the time was watch, the mysterious illness practically eating him alive. Even though it shook him to his very core, he still managed to wake up every morning and work as though nothing was happening. The very opposite thing was happening to him now. “But now… it’s entirely different. You’re sitting here, with me. You’re completely fine and healthy, nothing endangers you, and yet all I can think of is how terrified I was that I was going to watch you die.” He felt his throat close up with incoming tears, his voice dropping an octave as he fought to speak clearly. “That I’d never get to see you again. That you’ll never hear me say…”

She interrupted him, searching with her hand for his, the touch so small and careful that it might as well have not been there at all if it wasn’t for how tuned into her presence he was. He continued after a while, all of his thoughts and terrors spilling out of him as the dam broke once again.

“I keep worrying that if I lose track of you… if I leave you alone… that it could happen again. That I won’t have the power to stop it in time… to save you.”

“Ethan, I promise, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” She squeezed his hand, looking at him with such certainty, hoping it would hold both of them up so they wouldn’t fall. Ethan looked at their joined hands, breathing in and out deeply, gathering courage to finally confess what’s been wandering his mind for weeks now, too afraid to come to light until now.

“All of it makes me realize that I just… don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t know how much time we have together. All I know is that I don’t want to waste a second of it on worrying what other people might think.”

Claire’s face lit up in surprise, her expression still guarded, making him realize just how much pain his pretended indifference must have caused. “What are you saying?”

“I’m done pretending. I’m done acting like I don’t think of you every moment of my day. Like you’re not in my head all the time. I need you, Claire. Like I’ve never needed anyone else before.”

Their eyes meet in the low light of the car, illuminated only by the streetlight. He doesn’t need a mirror to know just how his eyes look. His feelings are crystal clear to him, at last, he’s able to name them all, and he knows is that it’s all her. She nodded her head gently.

“I need you too, Ethan.”

With Herculean effort, he looked away from her for just enough time to pull the car into more safe space along the sidewalk, parking it in a safe distance, no one in their immediate neighborhood that could interrupt them. The vehicle was now stable, but not a single muscle of his moved to open the door. His eyes burned with unshed tears, his vision blurring.

Claire noticed. Of course, she did.

“Don’t worry, I’m not sad… just overwhelmed.” He rushed to assure her, blinking rapidly a couple of times to will the tears away. “What you said that night in the hospital got me thinking.” Just when he thought he had a grip on himself, he slipped again, falling into the pit of despair once more. “The idea that I’d never touch you again… it was almost more than I could bear.”

His fingers shook when he reached for her hand, brushing them against her skin like she was made of glass. As though any harder contact would turn her into thin air and his worst thoughts would become reality.

“Claire, you know what I was like when I first met you. A cynic, sometimes a bully. I was burned out on seeing all those interns coming in each year, making the same mistakes over and over again.”

“Excuse me, I like to think that my mistakes were brand new, thank you very much.” she interrupted him, by some miracle maintaining a serious expression. He wasn’t that successful in it, a grin cracking his façade.

“Your mistakes were more creative than most, I’ll give you that.” They shared a quick laugh before the tone of their conversation flew back into a more serious one. “When I thought that you wouldn’t be on my team, that I wouldn’t be responsible for your development as a doctor, I thought maybe there was a chance… if the only thing at stake were my reputation, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Not even a moment.” He allowed his eyes to search for hers, watching all the emotions playing out in them as he spoke. “Once you joined my team, I worried it wouldn’t be fair to you. That I wouldn’t be able to teach you, to push you the way you needed to be pushed. And the mere thought of someone suggesting that you slept your way onto the team made me furious.”

“I mean, clearly.” She smirked, pointing out how tense he’s gotten at the simple mention of it. He laughed, nodding his head in agreement.

“You earned your place.” He continued, staring right into her eyes, his gaze conveying all the belief he had in her. “I thought I was strong enough to hold my feelings back so I could support your career. That I could… I’m sorry if I...” he trailed off, unable to gather his thoughts. She smiled widely at how flustered he was.

“Don’t be.”

“Now, I realize how foolish I was. I’ve spent days worrying about your life.” his voice cracked, tears appearing in his eyes once more. “I just can’t bring myself to care about any of those things anymore. That is, of course, if you’re feeling the same way.” he finished, uncertainty and self-consciousness finding their way into his words. His hand squeezed hers again, trying to convey all that he didn’t or couldn’t manage to say to her through the simple touch, their gazes still tightly locked, their faces subtly leaning into each other.

Before he can think even once about leaning away to give her space, she captures his lips in the softest kiss he’s ever experienced. All existing thoughts fly out of his head, wiping it blank. Hospital, isolation room, the funeral, all the people, gone in an instant. Nothing else exists, nothing else is real. Only their lips, the slow dance of their tongues, the warmth they share and the heat in their veins, ignited by even the smallest of touches.

She muttered his name against his lips before he pulled her right back in, kissing her gently once, twice, three times before he, albeit reluctantly, leaned away. His expression revealed how torn he was, between what he wanted and what he knew she needed in that moment. Or, at least, what he thought she needed.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t the right time, I know. I should be trying to take care of you, not…”

“No. It’s good.” She protested firmly, steadying her gaze on him.

“I just don’t want to push you into something you don’t want. I understand, really Claire, I do.”

She shook her head, pressing her lips to the corner of his, remaining there for a moment. “I want this. I want you.”

A wide grin spread across his face, making him look younger. “You can’t imagine how much I was hoping you’d say that.”

Ethan lifted his hand towards her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone with his index finger. Every place they touched sent sparks through him, a heat wave following soon after. He noticed how flushed she was, undoubtedly feeling the same sensation as he was in that exact moment. If that wasn’t proof enough, the fogged up windows of his car would have to do. Rain still rang heavily against the outside of the car, managing to almost drown out the sound of blood, rushing in his ears.

“Is that all you were hoping for?” she panted, her breaths shallow as she waited in anticipation for what was to come. The smile couldn’t leave his face.

“Honestly? No.” he stole one kiss after the other, futile attempt to satiate his need for her. “But I want you to tell me what you need right now. Tell me what you want me to do, Claire.”

With a cheeky grin, she winked at him and then proceeded to climb over the console to the back of the car.

“Where are you going?” he asked with wide eyes, confused. Once seated comfortably, she crooked her finger, inviting him to join her.

“So much more space…” she trailed off, smirking suggestively at him. Placing her hand at the seat next to her, she patted the leather slightly, silently asking again. Wordlessly, he got out of the car, rushing to get back inside through the back door. Rain was dripping from the ends of his hair and trickling down the material of his jacket.

“That’s cheating.” She called him out, wiping a droplet of water from his cheek.

“No, that’s dignity.” He corrected her teasingly, taking a breath to steady himself, waiting for her next move.

Claire rolled her eyes and immediately after, her hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him down on top of her. He fell into her embrace before he could catch himself, keeping himself slightly above her with his arms. His lips found hers immediately, a soft sigh slipping out of her at the sensation.

Hesitantly, he allowed his hand to trail over the curves of her body, paying attention to them all. Sneaking beneath her back, he blindly found the zipper, breaking the kiss for long enough to lean away, his eyes carrying the question, laced with doubt. She nodded, kissing him again, a bit surer, a bit harder. Tugging on the zipper, he followed the line of her spine, letting his fingers dip beneath the material from time to time, her skin feeling feverish in comparison to his own, cold from the rain.

He skimmed over the hem of her dress, drawing out the moment. As he raised the material along with his hand, he willed his mind to remember this. To commit to his memory the scent of her perfume. The little sounds she was making in the back of her throat when their skin touched. The way her lips fit against his so perfectly.

She raised her arms above her head, helping him undress her, shaking her head shortly to move hair away from her face. He brushed the remaining locks away, looking at her as though she was the eighth wonder of the world.

“You’re beautiful.” His words were nothing more than a mutter against her lips before they came together in a fleeting kiss. Ethan sat up, taking in the way her pale skin contrasted the black lingerie in the dim light. His fingers ran down her legs with featherlight touches, stopping at the straps of her heels. Taking his time, he undid the clasps on both shoes, looking up at her from time to time, the atmosphere getting more and more electrified with each passing glance they shared. He pressed a soft kiss to her ankle before letting her feet rest on either side of him.

Claire sat up, wrapping her hand around his tie, and using it to pull him closer. The damp material of his jacket contrasted with her naked skin, causing a shiver to run through her. She undid the tie with controlled moves, using it to keep him near her, their lips almost touching, but not quite. He took the jacket off, letting it fall to the space beneath the seat, next to her dress and shoes. When she reached for the buttons of his shirt, he caught her hand, smoothing the skin over her knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

“Let me.” he mused, hastily getting rid of his shirt, shoes and socks following closely behind. She ran the tip of her index finger along the hem of his pants, watching how the muscles there contracted. He shook his head, a shuddered breath leaving his mouth when he finally got rid of the pants too.

They touched each other tentatively, reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. Ethan’s lips left hers, dragging a slow, hot line down the slope of her neck, paying close attention to every inch of her skin he could reach. He bit her right above her collarbone, a low moan of hers filling his ears not even a second later.

Listening to her, he allowed his tongue to dip beneath the fabric of her bra, with just enough force to tease but not enough to satisfy. Claire’s fingers flew to his head, tangling gently in his hair as he explored her body. His stubble tickled her stomach when his lips followed the line of her muscles, at last reaching the line of her panties. He kissed and bit his way from one hipbone to the other, spurred on by her breathless pants that kept on coming in waves. She moaned when his lips touched her directly through the lacy fabric.

“I’m just getting started…”

With a smirk she’s seen before, he slid her panties down her legs, slowly, without a single care in the world. Any protest she had, had died down when he reached the apex of her thighs, swiping his tongue against her folds slowly. Her head dipped back at the sensation, the grip she had on his hair tightening before she let it lose, instead threading her fingers through the strands.

His mouth closed over her clit, focusing all of his attention on that spot, guided by her moans. She looked down at him, finding his eyes almost closed, but still focused on hers. She was getting so close to the release that she could taste it, her legs beginning to shake with each move he made and it was at that moment when he leaned away, climbing back up and kissing her fiercely, with wild abandonment. She made a sound of protest, pressing her finger to halt him for a second.

“Don’t stop now.”

“We’ve got all night.” He grinned, kissing her finger and then her lips, again and again, short and sweet kisses passing through to her how happy he was in that moment. “No need to rush…”

She hummed, sitting up and placing her hands on his shoulders, pretending to lean in for a kiss. When he took the bait, she pushed him backwards, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists on either side of his head. Her hair fell around them like a curtain, blocking out their surroundings, leaving only her face in his field of view. She pressed her hips down, their bodies rubbing against one another, his helpless moan getting lost on his lips when she took his mouth in a searing kiss.

“No need to rush, huh? After you’ve made me wait for so long?” Claire asked, both of them breathing the same air. “I want to savor it. I’ll tire you out.” She whispered right into his ear, leaning back to capture surprise on his face that morphed into want when she grinned mischievously, grinding against him. She let out a soft sigh, feeling him growing harder from her ministrations. “I’m going to make you beg for it.”

“Don’t be so certain.”

“Sounds to me like a challenge. And we both know I’m not one to back down from a challenge.”

Adjusting her grip on his hands, she peppered light kisses against his mouth, pulling back when he began to kiss her back, and going back in. She treated his neck like a map, discovering spots that made him breathe heavier. Her teeth sank into his earlobe, pulling on it playfully. His hum of approval made his throat vibrate, tickling her gently.

Claire sat up again, keeping him in place with her legs, letting go of his hands so she could scrape her nails down his chest as she aimed for his underwear. Without a preamble, she hooked her fingers beneath the material and pulled it down, freeing him effectively.

She kept her eyes trained on his face firmly as she lowered her mouth. Her hot breath fanned against him, her hair brushing the sensitive skin of the inside of his thighs. She kissed him gently, running her tongue against his length, then took the tip into her mouth and sucked. Ethan moaned lowly, wanting to close his eyes but finding himself unable to look away from the sight of her working him.

She moved slowly, controlling her pace, alternating between her teeth and her tongue, his hips moving up and down, matching her rhythm. His hand gripped the edge of the seat, leather creasing under the force of his hold, while his other hand made its way to the back of her head, stroking her hair. She’d almost let him go, sucking gently, then take him back in, cries falling from his lips over and over again, following no particular pattern. Just like he’s done to her, she brought him to the brink, one more move of hers and he’d be falling recklessly, which is when she released him with a quiet sound. She let him have a moment to breathe, then went back in with barely-there touches, pulling him in and then pushing him away.

“You win! You win! I’m begging.” He laughed quietly, surrendering to her, gripping her hips when she straightened herself. Looking up at her, he couldn’t believe how long he managed to resist it. To resist her.

“Now?” Claire asked, smiling cheekily at him, squeezing his thighs together with her own as she waited for his answer.

“Now.” he nodded, helping her settle herself over him. Their eyes found one another, stares locked tightly as she guided him inside and lowered herself slowly, taking him inch by inch. A shuddered breath slipped past her lips, eyes falling shut. His arms closed around her, keeping them together while he adjusted, resting against the door, ignoring the way the arm rest was digging into the skin of his back. The new position allowed them to be even closer, enabling them more freedom of movement in such a small space.

Her back arched against him, their hips meeting at a frenzied pace, guided by his hands pulling her closer and her thighs raising and dropping her onto him over and over again. The way their position worked allowed him free access to her neck and chest, alternating between soft kisses and teasing nips across her skin.

“Come here…” Claire moaned, pulling his face up to meet hers, lips crashing in a hurried and intense kiss, taking their breaths and stealing their minds.

What started out as playful and light act of affection, quickly changed its tone. His hands strayed from her hips, running all over her body; with each new patch of skin he pulled her closer, more and more desperate to touch her, to feel her being alive. Alive and with him.

His hips shot up, meeting her halfway, changing the angle. The sounds they were making were getting louder and bolder, but Ethan couldn’t remember just why he would want to keep quiet. Claire didn’t do anything about it either, too far gone and lost in him to care about anything else than what they had in that moment.

Her name rang in the crammed space of a car when he groaned against her, his movements becoming less precise and more frantic. Both of them chased release, pushing each other further, higher, harder, neither aware of how much time has passed. The thing that pushed her over the edge was the way he looked at her. Complete certainty, utter happiness and endless bliss that made her feel as though she was about to fall apart and be put back together just by the movement of his body against hers. Crying out his name, she came around him, her spasming muscles tightening around him. With one thrust, he followed her, drowning out his desperate groan with a kiss on her lips.

Exhausted, although satisfied, they lied down to their best ability, cherishing the closeness that they could now allow themselves to experience. Ethan’s arms kept her as close to him as he could, his chest moving up and down rapidly, heart racing. Claire’s lips barely left his skin, kissing his cheek lazily and slowly, relishing the feeling of freedom that being so openly affectionate with him gave her. They basked in the afterglow of their closeness a while longer, neither saying anything, which left plenty of time for her mind to wander.

“You’re quiet. What are you thinking?” he ran his fingers through her hair, twisting the ends aimlessly. He could feel her smiling.

“I was wondering…” she craned her neck, looking up at him with a lively twinkle in her eyes. “Can we maybe do this inside next time? We wouldn’t want your old bones to get sore or worse, injured by closing ourselves in such small spaces.” Teasingly, she stroked his hip, tracing random patterns. His laughter rang in the car, sounding so carefree and rich, filling her to the brim with warmth.

“We can do whatever you want.” he promised, leaning down to make their lips brush together, eyes intense when he looked straight into hers. “Wherever you’d like.”

“That’s a potentially dangerous invitation.”

“I hoped you’d see it that way.” smirking, he made their lips meet properly, unhurriedly brushing his tongue against hers.

They decided against getting dressed just yet, opting for only their underwear. A sudden shiver shook her body, goosebumps spreading over her arms. Ethan noticed, picking up his jacket and helping her put it on, refusing to take no for an answer.

That’s how they spent the next hour or so, sitting in the back of his car, their legs tangled and hands clasped together tightly, talking quietly. He observed how her eyes glowed happily, his mind throwing a four-letter word at him. There was nothing left for him to hesitate about. He knew.

Her wild gesticulation got interrupted by him when he caught her hand, starting a line of hot kisses up her arm, biting her shoulder lightly before he claimed her lips. He leaned onto her, following her body as she lied down, her hands gripping the sides of his face, refusing to let him get too far away.

“Didn’t you say we’d be inside for the next time?” Claire’s laughter shook her entire body, making them rub against each other, pulling shaky gasps from them both. He touched his forehead to hers.

“Time after this one, then? Or the one after that too, just to be sure.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She grinned, wrapping her leg around him and hauling him onto her with a light laugh.

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Why are you here?

Prompt: Peter and Y/n cannot stand each other, they’re both childish, hard headed, and determined to win whatever weird completion they're always in. They can hardly handle being in the same room as the other, so what happens when they have to go on a mission together?

Warnings: Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, Fluffy as FUCK (Both Peter and Reader are out of high school at this point and endgame never happened)

A/N: “So they hated each other... but then... there was only one bed!” I know this trope is so over used but I love it so fucking much, it never ceases to amaze. So here ya go, hope you enjoy! 

“Peter fucking Parker!” I screamed through the compound, probably waking some of the other avengers since it was still early in the morning, but at this point, I didn’t care, this was too fucking far.

“Yes?” Peter asked, leaning in my doorway, looking at me innocently, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Care to explain?” I asked, motioning to my ceiling, and the numerous items of clothing, bags, personal items, and of course my entire fucking dresser that were webbed in place above me.

“Huh...” He looked at the ceiling, feigning a look of curiosity. “Wonder who could have done that?” 

“Who could’ve-  you’re the only fucking person who can shoot webs out of your hands!” I yelled. Usually when he pulled little pranks like this, I would just roll my eyes and move on, but today was different. I had just gotten back from a two day mission, having not slept the entire time, and was already irritated when I got back. He knew this. He was trying to piss me off, and by the way he was fighting to smile, he knew he was succeeding.

“Aww what's wrong y/n, one little mission too hard for you? Got you all frustrated?” He said in a mocking voice and that was it, I ran at him.

He sprinted out of my room and down the hall, me close on his heels before he turned quickly and webbed my feet to the floor, causing me to fall hard, knocking the wind out of me slightly. He stopped and smiled, which then immediately turned to a look of shock as one of my knives flew past his head and stopped, landing in the wall directly behind him, only inches from his head. I wasn’t going to kill him obviously, I just wanted to send a message.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Peter yelled at me.

“What's wrong with me! What's wrong with you, You almost broke my face!” I yelled back.

“You could have killed me” Peter retaliated.

“Believe me Peter, If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead all ready.” I said, adjusting myself so I was now in a sitting position with my feet in front of me, making getting to work at cutting the webbing at my feet.

“Why you little-”

“What the hell is going on out here?! Why is there a knife in my wall!” Tony suddenly yelled, coming around the corner and taking in the scene in front of him.

“Y/n threw a fucking knife at me!” 

“He tried to brake my face!”

“Only because I was stopping you from chasing me”

“I was only chasing you because you flipped my whole room upside down!”

The bickering went on for a few more second, Tony pinching the bridge of his nose before raising both of his hands and shouting.

“That's enough!” Peter and I both stopped dead in our tracks, our stomachs dropping to the floor at the thought of the punishment that was to come. 

“You two are too old to be acting like this, I’m fucking sick of it.” He said, taking a moment, and Idea coming to his mind “I have a two day mission coming up, I was just going to send one of you, but now you’re both going” Tony said, crossing his arms and looking at the both of us.

“But they-” Peter started, but Tony raised a hand cutting him off.

“I don't want to hear it! In fact, if you two aren't the best of friends by the time you get back, you’re both grounded for... two months!”

“You can’t ground us we aren't children” I said said.

“Then stop acting like it! Otherwise you’re both facing the consequences, got it!” Tony finished, waiting for our reactions. We nodded quietly, not wanting to make the situation worse.

“Good, now Peter, go fix whatever the fuck you did to Y/Ns room, and Y/N get this knife out of my wall!” Tony said, walking back down the hallway muttering to himself.

“Nice going y/n” Peter said sarcastically.

“Shut the fuck up” I retaliated. This was going to be a long, long two days.

The next day we were dropped of by the Quin Jet in Switzerland. Our mission was to get information about a possible underground terrorist group living in the woods that wanted to overtake a nearby city. There was a cabin set up about a 2 miles from the supposed terror base, and a three hour walk from where we were dropped.

We made it about half an hour before the bickering started.

“Will you catch up? I want to get there before nightfall and we freeze to death” Peter jabbed, causing me to glare at the back of his head.

“Well in case you didn’t notice, were in the middle of fucking nowhere, where people could come out and kill us at any point, so sorry I’m not stomping through the trees like some sort of idiot” I shot back.

“Would you shut up?” Peter said, turning to look at me for a second, before continuing on the trail.

“Would you stop being a dick?” I asked.

“God, why are you even here?” Peter muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

“I’m sorry what?” I asked

“Why are you even here?” Peter said, turning to face me, stopping me in my tracks. “You don’t have super strength, or healing abilities or anything like that. You’re just some random person who can throw a punch. There's nothing special about you, so why are you here? Why did they choose you?” Peter said, anger in his voice. I stared at him, a shocked expression on my face before he suddenly turned and stormed off on the trail. Leaving me behind, frozen on the trail.

Three hours later, and I was arriving to the cabin. It was exactly where Tony said it would be, a few miles off the trail, hidden in a grove of trees. 

The past few hours I had been walking alone, thinking about what Peter said. I had a past that trained me to be the way that I was. I had been raised to be a weapon. But then again, so was Natalie, but she had a better connection with the other Avengers than I did. Sure I was new, but It was still hard to find a sense of belonging among them. They were all warriors, the best, the strongest, the smartest there was. And then there was me. Why me?

As I approached the cabin, I could see its full state. It was tiny, with boarded up windows and a deck that looked like it could collapse at any minute. I could see a bit of light escaping the closed off window, and assumed Peter was already setting up a fire, seeing it was starting to get dark out and the temperature had dropped significantly.

I opened the door and looked around. It was a large open room, with a separate restroom in the back corner. There was a wood burning stove, some logs piled in the corner, and a single bed. Great.

As I walked in, I noticed Peter sitting in front of the stove, poking the embers in the stove with an iron rod. His head snapped up to see me as I walked in. He had this expression on his face, his mouth open like he was going to do something, but as quickly as I noticed the expression, It was gone, and he was back to poking the flames in the stove.

I was a little disappointed. What he had said in the woods was hurtful to say the least, and I was hoping for at least an apology, but I guess he was to pre-occupied to notice that what he said literally tore my heart in two.

When I first started with the Avengers, Peter and I got along really well, then I started going on more missions, and something changed. We grew apart, and then we were bickering, and then we somehow started hating each other. Well, he hated me. I didn’t know what I felt anymore. I really liked him when we first met, one would even go as far to calling it a crush, and even after all the hurtful things we’ve said to each other, I can’t seem to let those feelings die.

I let my eyes linger on him for a bit before turning away and walking towards the bed, before suddenly thinking better of it and walking to the wall opposite of the bed, putting down my pack and grabbing a blanket from a closet in the back, laying it on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked suddenly. His voice was softer than it was before, like he was talking to... well anyone but me.

“What does it look like?” I snapped, not wanting to show the emotions I was still definitely feeling from his statement in the woods. Anger, heartbreak, pain, all rushing through my body. But I have been trained for this. Trained to not show my emotion. To act like everything was normal.

“It looks like your trying to sleep on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed that we can use.” He said, a little more sharpness to his voice, but still not as much as usually when we talked to each other. Was he ok? Did he get hurt or something?”

I turned to face him, to be met with his eyes already looking at me. He didn’t look hurt, or sick, but he looked different. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, not wanting him to see what I was feeling.

“No offence, but I don’t like sharing a bed with insects” I jabbed, and then his face was back to how I know it to look while he’s around me. Stubborn, hard, angry.

“Fine take the floor, see if I fucking care” He said, turning back to trying to keep the fire going. It felt weird. Usually we would be angry with each other for a minute, and move on, but this, what I was feeling, it was different. I would never be able to forget what he said to me. I was confident that whatever chance we had at maybe re-kindling our friendship was long gone.

A few hours later and I was wearing all the layers I had, with a blanket wrapped around me and I was still shivering. The fire had gone out not to long ago, running out of wood early on, and the cold took no time to crawl its way inside, completely swallowing any sort of evidence that the cabin was once warm.

“I can hear you shivering from all the way over here, just come use the bed” Peter said, sitting up to look at me from the other side of the room. His special abilities were able to keep him warm in these sorts of situations, allowing him to be comfortable in just a t-shirt and shorts. I however, wasn’t as lucky.

“I’m fine” I tried to say venomously, but the shattering of my teeth made the statement come out much weaker than I would have liked.

“Y/n, you aren't going to get any warmer and if you don’t get rest you’re going to be off your game tomorrow and then were both fucked. So please, just come get in the bed” Peter said, that same softness in his voice from earlier. 

He was right though. There was absolutely no way I was getting any warmer, and its pretty much impossible to fall asleep in this cold. So, reluctantly, I got up and walked to the opposite side of the bed from peter, pulled back the covers and got in. It was warmer, but not by much, Peter too far away to really supply any body heat, so I closed my eyes, and focused as hard as I could to fall asleep.

“You know” Peter said after a moment, a hint of humor in his voice “You’d probably get warmer faster if you took you clothes off”

“Fuck this” I said, going to get up “Jokes on me for thinking you could be fucking decent for a few hours” I turned to leave, I had just put my foot on the floor when peters had suddenly grabbed my wrist, keeping me from moving. Jesus his hands are so warm.

“Ok, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad” He said. Was that sincerity in his voice? What the fuck was happening? “But its also true, you don’t need to take off much, but the more skin to skin contact the faster you’ll get warm”

I don’t know what it was. Whether it was the way his voice made me feel like he actually wanted to help me, or the fact that his hand was so warm it made me want to cry to have to go back to the cold floor. Whatever it was, it was convincing, because I soon stripped down to just my T-shirt and underwear and was back in the bed, scooting as close as I could to Peter without actually touching him, facing away from him.

I was only there for a few seconds before I felt Peter shift behind me, wrapping his arm around my torso and bringing me closer so my back was pressed against his chest. I thought about protesting, but he was so warm I genuinely couldn’t care less that this was the closest we had ever been.

“Jesus you’re cold” Peter said as soon as I was touching him.

“Wow, how observant” I said sarcastically, but there was a softness to my voice as his body heat took over mine, warming me up almost immediately and causing my shivering to stop.

We laid like that for a minute. I could tell Peter was still awake from his breathing, and I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes. As crazy and unfortunate this whole situation was, I didn’t want to wake up and have it all be a dream. I missed this boy. Not the guy who constantly teased and made fun of me, but the boy who wanted to make sure I was ok. Who was my friend. Who I almost loved.

“I’m sorry” Peter said after a while, causing me to jump a bit, surprised my the sound of his voice so close to me.

“What for?” I asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this.

“For what I said in the woods. It was so fucked up, and I didn’t mean a word of it. I’m... The team is so lucky to have you. You’ve helped so many people Y/n, you’re not a nobody” Peter said quietly, almost like he was whispering. There was another moment of silence as I tried to contain the tears that suddenly filled my eyes.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I asked, causing Peter to tense for a moment behind me. I turned to face him, trying to read his face in the little amount of light that filled the cabin. He looked... sad.

“I don’t hate you y/n” Peter said quietly, almost too quiet for me to hear. “When we first met, you were the coolest person I had ever met. You were strong and talented and so fucking funny and I was so happy to have you as a friend”

“Then what happened” I asked, wanting to hear his reasoning for his actions the last year or so.

“You started going on more missions, and I got so worried every time you left. Terrified that each time before you left it would be the last time I saw you. I couldn’t eat, or sleep, or work, I just didn’t know what I would do if you got hurt” He said, tears were returning to my eyes and I didn’t bother to try and force them back this time. “I needed to put my job first, and I couldn’t do that when I was constantly worrying about if you were safe, or hurt, or if you... or if you even felt the same way about me. It was so selfish, and I’m so sorry Y/n I should have never-” His voice was shaking now, tears threatening to spill over, but I didn’t let him finish. I had heard enough. 

I closed the space between us and kissed him. I felt his breath catch, and for a second I thought I made a mistake, that he didn’t want this. I started to pull away but Peter stopped me, pulling me closer while his other hand went up to cup my face, mine moving to rest on his face as well.

We finally pulled away after a moment, catching our breath, before connecting our lips once again, this time with all the passion and ferocity I had been holding back all these years of wanting to kiss him, but never finding the courage. None of that mattered now, we were here, sharing the same feelings, and getting lost in each other.

Later the next day, The Quin Jet came to pick us up. Natalie was flying and Steve had come along to I guess provide some muscle if things got heated between me and Peter. He heard about the knife incident. But to both of their surprise, we were completely civil, even friendly, sitting across from each other of the flight back home, giving secret glances to each other the entire ride back, which did not go un-noticed by Nat.

We got back to the compound and debriefed, having enough information to get a head start on an attack plan against the terror group. Peter and I didn’t yell, argue, or even look at each other in a certain way the entire talk, causing Tony to raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything.

Finally, we were released, allowed to go shower and get some grub before bed. Peter and I were walking side by side down the hall, and as soon as we were out of sight, Peter pulled me down one of the adjacent hallways and pushed me against the wall, causing me to laugh.

“Do you think they suspected anything?” Peter asked, a huge smile on his face.

“That we suddenly aren't trying to kill each other every two seconds? Nah” I said semi sarcastically, making us both to laugh before Peter ducked his head to connect his lips to mine, my arms moving to rest around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. The kiss was just starting to get a little deeper, Peters hand moving up my back underneath the fabric of my shirt, when suddenly-

“What the fuck?” Tony yelled, causing Peter and I to jump apart, refusing to look each other in the eyes, or at Tony. “How long has this been going on?”

Suddenly both Nat and Steve walked by, seeing the state Peter and I were both in.

“Oh yeah, that just started” Nat said Casually, causing Tony's eyes to basically fall out of his head.

“You knew? Any you didn’t tell me?” Tony basically shrieked, still not able to comprehend what he had just seen, especially since I threw a knife at Peters head not even two full days ago.

“Yeah, we’ve had a bet going on for a while, You owe me twenty bucks by the way” Nat said, looking at Steve who groaned, digging through his pockets to find his wallet, paying up to Nat.

“You couldn't have waited like, two more weeks?” Steve asked, now looking at Peter and I, now starting to laugh at how weird the whole situation was.

“I cannot believe this” Tony said, looking at Peter and I, then to Nat and Steve “We need to have a talk about what kind of information needs to be shared around the base, because I should not be finding out like this” Tony finished, walking off in the other direction, not being able to handle this conversation anymore.

“Congratulations!” Nat said, before walking in the other direction with Steve,

“Well, guess they knew” Peter said, and then we were both keeled over laughing.

After a moment, we were finally able to catch our breath and look at eachother.

“I thought we killed Tony for a second” I laughed, wiping the tears in my eyes,

“Oh believe me, I saw his soul leave his body for a second” Peter replied, also finding his composure before walking back towards me, grabbing both of my hands and looking down to me.

“Anyway” He said, leaning in a bit “Before we were rudely interrupted”

“Ah the young people are together!” Thor suddenly bellowed from next to us, causing us both to jump again. “Congratulations to you both!” He said, before walking down the hall, leaving us alone again.

“Your room?” I asked

“My room” He agreed, grabbing my hand before running down the hall, causing me to laugh.

_______________________________________________________________

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1

- Chapter 2 -

It turned out that the party had been a meeting of important cultivators, sect leaders, and that meant, of course, that his father had been there.

His father. No wonder his mother had been so excited!

And even knowing that nothing had come of it, that his mother had returned empty-handed, despite himself, when he heard it, Meng Yao was excited, too, feeling a frisson of hope run down his spine. He regretted, now, that he hadn’t been able to go to the party as a server, thinking of the might-have-beens if he’d gone, if he’d done something to impress the man, if his father had finally decided to take them away from this place –

“He was too drunk to recognize me,” his mother said, sad and eyes distant. “And some of the younger girls had gotten to him first…I couldn’t catch his eye, and in the end they sent me away with one of the other sect leaders.”

As a joke, she didn’t say, an old whore with a man too drunk to tell the difference, but Meng Yao wouldn’t guess at that truth, the source of so much bitterness, until much later.

“Not Wen Ruohan, right?” Meng Yao asked, and breathed a sigh of relief when she shook her head.

“You shouldn’t refer to your elders by name, A-Yao,” she reminded him, always trying to teach him etiquette – though now that he thought about it, Nie Mingjue had used the man’s name directly, too. Maybe it was his way of trying to make the man seem less scary. “It would be ‘Sect Leader Wen’…and how do you know any of the sect leader’s names, anyway?”

“A cultivator came here last night,” Meng Yao explained. “He gave me a qiankun pouch, and some money –”

“In return for what?” His mother’s voice was sharp. “A-Yao, I told you, you’re not allowed to make deals with people –”

Meng Yao’s shoulders went up by his ears. He knew what she really meant, that he wasn’t allowed to sell himself or his body because it’d give him a bad reputation in the future; he wasn’t allowed even if it meant the difference between a hungry night and a full one, a freezing one and a warm one.

“I didn’t do that,” he muttered. “I just –”

“There’s no just. No deals at all, A-Yao; if you get into the habit of seeing everything as something you can buy or sell, then it’s only a matter of time before someone buys you.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Meng Yao protested. “He gave me a pouch, and he said –”

It was the wrong thing to say, especially after a disappointment like last night, and his mother started scolding him fiercely, alternating with tears, and in the end he decided it was better to say nothing.

Nie Mingjue would come back with the manual, the way he’d come back with the money, or else he wouldn’t, and either way there was nothing Meng Yao could do about it.

And anyway, after a few months, he realized he had bigger problems.

It started pretty unnoticeably: a tightness in his mother’s face, an unusual refusal to take on clients for the more lucrative type of engagements, spending more on food than usual…at first Meng Yao thought that it was only that she was happy to have money again, even if it spilled through their fingers like sand on getting her new clothing and better make-up, larger shoes for Meng Yao and a warm coat, only slightly torn from previous use.

He’d been worried, although not unduly so, when she’d started being sick sometimes – she’d claimed it was food poisoning, and they had been eating more meat than usual, so maybe…

Foolish.

One of the other ladies called it out one day in mockery, not a single doubt in her voice, and his mother didn’t deny it. Meng Yao’s stomach dropped, his heart frozen in terror.

Pregnant.

Again.

And she hadn’t taken any steps to get rid of it, the way she should have – whores had their ways, even if they weren’t perfect, and his mother knew enough of them. He knew that she would have been acting very differently if she intended to abort, would have been less cautious, less resistant, less –

She’d bedded a sect leader at that party, he remembered, doing the miserable math on his fingers. Not his father again, no, she wouldn’t make that mistake twice - would she? She’d gone there to see him, after all.

No, in the end, she was still counting on Meng Yao to earn his way into his father’s graces on his own, for the sake of both of them. But she had gone to bed with another one, and if it had taken…

Meng Yao knew his mother loved him, but for the first time in his life, he feared losing that love.

He tried to keep his fears to himself, tried not to burden her, but in the end he was a child and not yet good enough at hiding his expressions; she spotted him soon enough, took him into her arms and coaxed his fears from him.

“You silly goose, A-Yao. Don’t you know it’s for you?” she whispered in his ear, putting his hand on her belly. “I’m too old and sick to have a strong child, all the doctors said so; even if this one is born, he’ll be weak and sickly, likely to be swept away by the first chill of winter. I don’t need that sect leader to support me – we know already that they won’t do that. I just need him to feel guilty enough to take you with him back to his sect as recompense for having burdened me with a child that was lost.”

Meng Yao felt a touch of ice run down his spine. “But...what if the child lives through the winter?”

“There are many ways for a child to die,” his mother said, and her voice was calm and gentle, a pool undisturbed by the ripples beneath, just the way she’d always taught him. “Only some of them are winter.”

Meng Yao knew his mother loved him, but for the first time in his life, he feared what that love might mean.

His mother had grown cunning since his birth and more cynical since his father’s most recent rejection. She decided not to write to the sect leader with the news at once – that would be risking a rejection, a dismissal, an accusation that the child could be someone else’s son, or worst of all a blow to make her miscarry. She planned instead to wait until the child was almost here and only then she would summon him, knowing he would come to check just in case it was true. It was said that cultivators had a means of testing birthright, the way regular people didn’t, and that they were very cautious about such things.

That way, when the child died at birth or immediately thereafter, there would still be enough time for the sect leader to feel guilt and to be coaxed into taking Meng Yao in as a disciple, and once Meng Yao had learned the basics of cultivation, he could make his way to his father’s place to prove to him that he was worth taking in, that it was time to make good on all the old promises he’d made.

It was a good plan, if a cold one.

It would have worked, too, if Meng Yao hadn’t blundered his way into something better.

Perhaps that was giving him too much credit: he wasn’t the one who did the blundering. That was all Nie Mingjue, who six months after he’d made a crazy promise to return had actually gone and done it.

“You live in Qinghe,” Meng Yao said accusingly instead of greeting him, because he’d gone to listen to the gossips talk until he’d managed to figure out where the cultivation sect surnamed ‘Nie’ resided. “That’s not even in this part of the country; how can you be back so soon?”

“I promised you I would, didn’t I? I keep my word,” Nie Mingjue said with a smile, as if it was that easy – as if a child could make decisions like that, ones that involved crossing mountains and rivers and going deep into another sect’s territory, when Meng Yao couldn’t even walk too far down the street without the brothel owners cursing him out as a would-be runaway. “Don’t worry about it. The Jiang sect doesn’t really pay attention as a general rule, and even if they did their current leader’s too busy with his angry wife to care about who’s traveling through his domain.”

Meng Yao rolled his eyes - he’d heard that gossip, too. But he didn’t care, that wasn’t what mattered; there were more important things to focus on. “Did you bring it?”

Nie Mingjue produced a manual out of his sleeve. The quality of the paper was far better than any of the ones Meng Yao’s mother had bought for him, and he knew at once by looking at it that this was no fake. He tried to grab at it with both hands, but Nie Mingjue pulled it back.

“Cultivation is dangerous,” he warned. “You need a guide, at least at first, to make sure you don’t make any mistakes – it’s easy to make mistakes, especially at the beginning, and that can lay the groundwork for a qi deviation in the future. I’ll let you read it, but you have to promise that you’ll only practice with me for the first week or so, okay?”

“You’re staying a week?”

Nie Mingjue’s cheeks flushed red. “Uh, well – I was planning on two, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course I don’t mind! You can stay with me in my attic.”

“I brought enough money for a room at an inn –”

“We can use the extra to buy more meat,” Meng Yao told him, already pushing and shoving him, and Nie Mingjue was easily convinced.

He was easily convinced to follow him back to the brothel, too, which was a little frustrating: how could anyone be that naïve? If Meng Yao had wanted to sell Nie Mingjue, he probably could do it, cultivator or no; there were a hundred things to fear in a brothel, hidden in the tea or the incense or the smiles of seemingly friendly strangers.

Nie Mingjue was lucky that Meng Yao had longer-term goals in mind for him.

They passed the day quite pleasantly, eating meat skewers and dragon’s beard candy and discussing the basics of cultivation – Meng Yao read the book (his book!) and asked questions, and Nie Mingjue did his best to answer them – and then in the latter part of the afternoon the women at the brothel roused themselves, coming out to prepare for their nightly work, his mother included.

She was fairly heavily pregnant now, but there were men who liked that sort of thing, as long as there was something she could do for them, and the brothel owners wouldn’t waste their money by kicking her out no matter how annoyed they were at her for keeping the child. She wasn’t allowed to roam too far out of her room, being as she was a specialized service that might frighten regular customers, and so it wasn’t until she came to find Meng Yao to make sure he was all right that Nie Mingjue saw her for the first time.

“This is my mother,” Meng Yao said, his back stiff with expected insults even though Nie Mingjue hadn’t said a single word about Meng Yao living in a brothel so far.

Nie Mingjue stared at her with eyes so big and round and surprised that Meng Yao irritably wondered if he’d never seen a whore before, or perhaps it was the idea that one might be stupid enough to get pregnant and keep it. Maybe he would save his insults for that, instead, and Meng Yao would be forced to try to break his handsome face…

“You’re the lady they sent to my father’s room,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice faint and shaking with shock. “You’re – is that my brother?”

It turned out that the Nie sect, unlike the Jin sect, cared a great deal for matters of blood and children born of it; Nie Mingjue didn’t even demand a test or anything before he’d insisted that they come back to Qinghe with him, both of them, absolutely certain that his father would be overjoyed by the news.

Meng Yao and his mother exchanged looks, each of them skeptical and cynical to the core, and tried to convince him to slow down a little. To write a letter, perhaps –

“No! You have to come right away,” Nie Mingjue insisted, his cheeks pink with excitement. “We have doctors to care for you, and, oh, he’ll need a saber, someone will need to start on that right away – and anyway, a Nie should be born in Qinghe.”

“There’s still some months left to go,” Meng Shi said, though Meng Yao could see that she was a little amused by Nie Mingjue’s earnest enthusiasm. “Tell your father to come here and take me away, if you’re sure he’ll care so much.”

“I am sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s just busy at the borders again, with Qishan Wen causing trouble all over; who knows how long it’d take for him to get word? Why do we have to wait for him to come in person anyway?”

“Because we can’t leave,” Meng Yao said, finally condescending to point out the obvious. “Mother belongs to the brothel, and we haven’t saved up enough to buy her freedom.”

Even an old whore was an expensive proposition, especially if she knew skills like singing and dancing and playing instruments the way Meng Shi did – and one with a burden like Meng Yao could be exploited to do all sorts of things that a normal woman might refuse. It would be costly to redeem her, more costly than anything a young sect heir might have expected to buy.

Meng Yao had expected that to be the end of it, but he’d apparently underestimated Nie Mingjue’s stubbornness: he went to the market and sold every last piece of metal he had on him, right down to the silver crown off his head, and was about to go try to barter away his clothing or sell his strength to a dockworker when Meng Yao shoved the money he’d so carefully saved up into his hands.

“With this it might be enough,” he said, biting his lip with guilt as his mother gaped at the glittering gold in his hand – he hadn’t dared tell her about it, about the fact that he’d been saving up again. She’d told him before that there was no point in buying her freedom, that she had no other skills to sell and a bad reputation to boot; they would live free for a single summer only to have to sell her back again in the winter, and the brothel owners wouldn’t be pleased at all by that.

“It will be,” Nie Mingjue said. “Even if I have to buy the rest on credit, it will be!”

“At least be clever about this,” Meng Shi sighed, giving in even though she clearly didn’t think it was a good idea. Meng Yao supposed she figured that if it came down to it, there were brothels in Qinghe, too, and at least she’d be something new there with her soft Yunping accent and manners. “If they think you’re desperate, they’ll raise the price – you should be more arrogant. Act as if you were doing them a favor by taking me off their hands.”

Nie Mingjue’s nose wrinkled.  

“Pretend they’re surnamed Wen,” Meng Yao suggested, and that did the trick: Nie Mingjue’s lip curled at once, vicious and angry (and a little scared, but only deep down where most people wouldn’t see it easily). He marched right inside the brothel and demanded they sell Meng Shi to him, flaunting himself as the son of what he called a Great Sect.

It might not have worked except that he made such a fuss that people started to gather, including a passing cultivator and his wife – a much more respectable-looking pair than gawky too-tall-for-his-age Nie Mingjue with his hair now bound only by a ribbon, with a horsetail whip in the hands of the woman and swords on both of them – and the man’s eyebrows had gone up as high as his forehead. “Nie-gongzi,” he called, and even saluted properly and everything. “What are you doing so far from home?”

“Trying to complete a transaction,” Nie Mingjue growled, glaring at the brothel owner even as he saluted back. “I think he doesn’t think I’m good for it.”

The female cultivator snorted, shifting the baby she carried on her back from one side to the other. “That’s brave of him. Doesn’t your Nie sect like to break things that disagree with you and pay for the damages later?”

“He’s too young for that,” her husband told her. “Look, he’s not even carrying his saber yet.”

“I wasn’t talking about him,” she said. “I was talking about the retainers his father almost certainly sent to track him down – didn’t you say you saw some very angry-looking cultivators entering town not long ago? They looked fit to slaughter.”

Nie Mingjue blanched, suggesting that he hadn’t expected company quite this early – or perhaps hoping that he could hide away from them – but the cultivators’ words had made the brothel owner quite contemplative. He finally agreed to sell him Meng Shi’s contract for all the money Nie Mingjue had and a letter of promise for that amount a second time over, an outrageous price even after they’d used all of Meng Shi’s tricks on him, but Nie Mingjue had agreed to it in a heartbeat.

“Won’t your father be angry at your spending?” Meng Yao asked, wondering. It was so much money.

“I’ll make it up to him,” Nie Mingjue said dismissively. “As soon as I get my saber and start night-hunting, money flows free and easy. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll see what it’s like once you get there.”

Meng Yao blinked. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to be a cultivator?” Nie Mingjue asked, blinking at him. “You’ll be part of my Nie sect, of course, so the same rules that apply to me will apply to you.”

“No,” Meng Yao explained. “I’m going to be part of –”

His mother pressed down on his shoulder. “You’d be willing to accept A-Yao into your sect?” she asked, her gaze sharp and penetrating.

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding puzzled. “I was willing to do it before, just for helping me out, and now, well – he’s the brother of my brother, isn’t he? That makes him all but family directly, especially if you marry in as a concubine.”

They both gaped at him.

“…do you not want to?” Nie Mingjue – hapless idiot, fulfiller of dreams – asked, actually sounding worried. “I just assumed you would, to make sure the child isn’t born a bastard…”

“I wouldn’t object,” Meng Shi said, her voice full of rich irony that only Meng Yao understood. “But I think your father might.”

“You don’t know my father,” Nie Mingjue said simply. As if it was simple, as if people were like that. “He’ll do the right thing.”

[whatifxwereyou]

Firestorm Part 9: Isolation

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021 Liu Kang x Reader

A/N: skalfjwealjf I live for the angst

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Your head was pounding. The stone you leaned against seemed to bounce with the throbbing of your head. A soft wet cloth was dabbed against it. Droplets trickled down your forehead and over your cheek only to be wiped away by a familiar hand.

Liu Kang.

You opened your eyes and found yourself curled against the wall in Raiden’s chamber. That was right. He’d had to read you after all that had happened in the fight pit. Each time you woke up from these experiences you had to face the terror of finding your friends injured and exhausted. But this time they didn’t seem to be any different than when you’d last seen them. Liu Kang’s eyes were filled with concern but he said nothing as he dabbed your burning skin. He offered you the faintest flicker of a smile to acknowledge that you were awake.

Behind him sat Kung Lao with his knees folded. He looked nervous. He had several scrapes that had been tended to while you’d been unconscious. Liu Kang looked like he hadn’t bothered seeing anyone for his.

“She’s awake.” Kung Lao’s eyes darted to the side as Raiden approached from somewhere behind him.

“Good.”

The guilt was overwhelming. Again. Guilt for hurting them. Guilt for being so useless in those moments. You’d been strong once but now you felt as though that were something you were incapable of. It was frustrating. You’d felt strong for just a few seconds before it had all gone horribly wrong.

“We must unravel this curse.” Raiden crouched next to where you were leaning. “I fear that there is not much time left for us to do so.” You had nothing to say. He was right. You knew that. “I think that we must uncover who you truly are, Y/N.”

“We know who she is.” Kung Lao was defensive. He’d always been defensive when it came to that kind of thing. Even as kids, he’d stood up for you when anyone questioned you.

“Kung Lao, that is not what I meant. I mean that there is more to her than what we know. I have a feeling that this thing is a part of you that’s hidden away, Y/N. Your gift of sight is unrelated to your arcana. I think that the answer might lie in your heritage. Something isn’t connecting. We have only parts of the full picture. There is a mystery within your mystery. I wish for you to return to the place where you were born to try and uncover it.”

“Most people went to Guilin for more complicated medical procedures. That’s probably a good place to start.” Kung Lao was again at your defense.

“I wasn’t born there,” You finally spoke but your voice sounded tired. Liu Kang kept dabbing the cloth over your forehead. The cold was soothing but it also gave you the shivers. You were freezing. It was probably a damn fever again. You missed having normal crappy days. Days where you’d been fine other than an annoying sinus headache or a stubbed toe. Everyday seemed to be something new and horrible now. At least it didn’t seem like you’d hurt anyone after you’d given yourself over to Raiden so he could understand what you’d seen. “I was born in South Korea. My parents moved to China shortly after I was born.”

“Really?” Kung Lao was surprised, maybe even a little annoyed that he hadn’t known that about you. He had been the Y/N-expert thus far. It was kind of charming how defensive he was over you.

“Yeah. Mom’s Korean and Dad’s Chinese. I’m trying to remember where it was.” You furrowed your brow and massaged your temple. Liu smoothed your hair back and you gave him a look but he averted his eyes with a slight smile. “Andong, I think. I meant to visit as I got older but never got around to it. I used to have the address to their old apartment but… that’s been lost. If I looked at a map, then I could probably at least find some familiar names.”

“When you have recovered then you will go to Andong.” Raiden instructed.

“To what end?” You frowned. What did he expect you to find there? It wasn’t like there would be answers hiding in any obvious places. For all you knew the apartment your parents had shared before they’d moved to China had been demolished and replaced with something else. And it wasn’t like you could ask anyone. Your remaining family thought you were dead.

“Start with birth records. There are memories, Y/N. Memories that I cannot see.

He could see your memories? Oh no. You didn’t like that.

“Memories?”

“Important parts of your history are locked away. They are hidden much like parts of your visions are. Someone doesn’t want you to know what is hidden there. Someone doesn’t want us to know. You must uncover these truths.”

“I still don’t understand how I’m supposed to do that.” It felt impossible.

“You will find a way. I have faith.” Raiden’s encouraging smile backed with the determination behind his eyes was encouraging even if you were running out of hope that there was anything after this for you other than being locked away until you withered and ultimately died. “Find a connection to your birthplace. Find your story where it starts. At the beginning.” When he said it, it made perfect sense but you still had no idea what you were looking for. “Liu Kang and Kung Lao will accompany you. I have a feeling that whatever has been hidden from you will be quite dangerous to reveal.”

“Okay.” You had no room to argue with a god. Any idea was better than no idea and Raiden seemed confident. Going to where the artifacts had been hidden in your vision had yielded results. If Lord Raiden thought that you needed to visit Andong and look at your birth records then you would.

“I’ll still take you to the city before we go. I promised.” Kung Lao smiled brightly at you. He seemed to be a beacon of positivity in a room of heavy energy.

“I could probably get what I need in Andong.” You didn’t see the point of taking a separate trip. You were far less worried about that now anyway. What was the likelihood that you even could get pregnant? You were so sick. Your body barely had any energy to give to you nonetheless a baby. You were pretty sure that something akin to a parasite would not survive within what you were now considering an inhospitable environment.

“No, no. I promised we’d go. And it’ll be a nice break before we go to Korea.” Kung Lao smiled and this suddenly seemed important to him so you weren’t going to argue. You didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, you could use a few new things. “One of the monks offered to come with us just in case you needed medical assistance. Your friend. The mean one.”

“Chen?” You could not mentally comprehend the embarrassment of going on a trip with Chen and Kung Lao to the city so you could buy condoms and birth control because of Liu Kang. Later. That would be a horrible situation for later. Right now you were feeling too exhausted and defeated to deal with unpacking that. “Is that safe?”

“With Kung Lao there you should be fine.” Liu Kang spoke for the first time since you’d woken up. His voice sounded weary. He’d cleaned up but his scrapes on his face and arms weren’t tended to. The guilt again. It was awful.

“Raiden said he’d be on alert in case anything went wrong.”

“I just don’t know if it makes sense to do anything unnecessary right now.” You were afraid to go out into the world again.

“You can’t stop living because something might happen.” Liu bowed his head politely, clasping the prayer beads in his palm. He’d stopped dabbing your forehead. You knew he was right but it didn’t mean it was easy for you to consider putting anyone in harm’s way.

“Rest for a day or two. But no longer. There is work to be done.”

“I don’t think that whatever this is plans on allowing me to recover. It almost feels like… this happened because I had regained some ground earlier. It felt the need to take it away from me. I don’t know if that’s crazy or not.” You were sure that sounded silly. But judging by the look on everyone’s faces, they didn’t think it was crazy or silly at all.

“Rest, Y/N.” Raiden bowed his head.

“I’ll bring you to your new space so you can do that.” Liu Kang set aside the cloth, next to the bowl he’d been getting water from on the floor. He seemed to have much more to say on the matter but held his tongue. You guessed that whatever it was he wanted to say would be said in a private conversation later.

“I’ll start moving things.” Kung Lao jumped to his feet and dusted off his hands. Raiden offered you his hand and you took it. You were wobbly and exhausted, hands tingling. What had happened while you’d been out of it to make you feel this drained?

“Don’t be defeated. We will figure this out. I have a feeling that we’re close. Like you said, you were getting stronger when this happened. Whoever is behind this wants you to feel defeated. They want you to feel like you have no control. We will not allow that to happen.” Raiden’s determination on your behalf was remarkable. It must have been much easier to make lofty promises while being a god. You were a little touched that they were so willing to help you but the truth was that you were weak. You felt weak. The little bit of strength that you’d regained had been taken from you. You felt like you could have gone to sleep and never woken up. If it hadn’t been for Liu Kang and Kung Lao then you probably would have.

You thought that whoever was behind this was doing an exceptional job. Not to compliment them or anything but you were defeated. You were exhausted. At the end of your rope, even. Liu Kang offered you his arm and you took it. Raiden watched you go. Kung Lao chattered along the way but neither you nor Liu had much to say in return. It didn’t bother Kung Lao. He was happy to fill the silence.

“What happened when I was out this time?” You asked when Kung Lao parted ways with you. He was headed to your old room to gather some of your things while Liu Kang brought you to your new room. A much more isolated place. It was a far longer walk so far. Liu Kang sighed heavily as if he did not wish to discuss this. You were sure it was something ridiculous like talking in crazy demon voices and ink exploding out of you. “Come on, tell me.” You wanted to understand the exhaustion you were feeling.

“Nothing happened.” Liu didn’t sound very convincing.

“Bull.” You tried to joke but Liu Kang stopped walking in the hallway. He grabbed your hand to stop you from walking too and then stepped closer to you. He took your other hand and held both between you.

“Really. Nothing happened. You just… laid there.” He seemed more upset by this than he had been when you’d been speaking in odd voices and making ink thrones and dragons. “Raiden thinks that you were too drained to do more. At least that’s what he said.”

“And you don’t believe him?”

“I think that Raiden finds it easy to avoid saying things that might make us act rashly.” Liu Kang didn’t sound like he approved of the idea but he didn’t sound angry about it either. “Or sometimes he thinks it is better not to mention them.”

“And what is it you think he’s not saying” You didn’t like his tone. You didn’t like the implications. Liu Kang seemed to be the one avoiding saying what he thought was happening. He looked down at your hands and suddenly you understood without him having to say it at all. That was why Raiden had said that he didn’t think there was much time left.

Oh.

“We’re going to figure this out.”

“I’m not dying, Liu Kang.” You sounded awfully confident for a woman who had just considered going to sleep and never getting back up. Liu averted his eyes but you could see the slightest smile on his lips.

“I know.” He decided after a long moment of silence. “I won’t let you.”

You knew that neither one of you truly had control over life or death but you would fight until the end no matter what that end was. It was cruel to have someone like Liu Kang come into your life only for this to happen. It was cruel to be reunited with your childhood best friend only to slowly decay and potentially lose him again. You didn’t want to hurt them more than you already had. You had never wanted to hurt anyone. Even in your worst moments, when you’d been angry at the world, angry at the people of your hometown for treating you so terribly, you had never wished pain or unhappiness upon any of them.

But hurt was unavoidable. You had already hurt them.

“At least you didn’t have to fight my arcana while I was out of it this time.” You gestured down the hall and Liu Kang led them onward but didn’t let go of one of your hands. He just casually held it as you walked like that was no big deal.

“It is a pleasure to fight your arcana, Y/N. Even if you are exhausting in those moments.”

“You’re very sweet but I know that it’s draining for you. Maybe I was just too exhausted from everything that happened in the fight pit. Did Raiden tell you anything about the man I saw? How could I create someone and mimic their power like that without having ever seen them? I can barely create you two and control you properly and I know you very well.”

“He suspects that whoever has cursed you did it. Not you. That was all he told us.”

“I thought that thing was going to kill me. What a way to go. Killed by my own arcana. Are there any records of that? Would I be a first?”

“Not the first. There have been a few unfortunate incidents… one involving a laser and well, you wouldn’t be the first.” Liu Kang managed to joke with you and that was a relief. He led you down a flight of steps and the hall at the bottom was dark. Liu bathed his palm in fire and led you down the hallway and around the corner. The room he led you into was smaller than the one you’d had before but it was more secure. No windows and the doors were heavy. There was an old table with a singular candle atop it. Liu lit the candle before extinguishing the flame in his palm. “Welcome to your new home. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I can’t think of another option, Liu.”

“But what if you get trapped… Kung Lao told me about that morning and…”

“No one else will get hurt because of me.” You spoke firmly. There was no arguing with you on this. “When I’m not this volatile then I will happily move back to the other room. But until then, Liu, this is the only solution that I can come up with.”

“I don’t like this, Y/N.”

“I know you don’t. I don’t either. But it’s the right thing to do.”

He sighed heavily. The door opened behind you and Kung Lao came in holding your entire desk. Then he slammed it down inside the room. “It’s too dark in that hallway. We have to put in some lights. I nearly died getting down here.”

“There’s got to be an easier way to move my things than you blindly carrying them through dimly lit hallways like a crazy person.”

“Name one.”

“I’ll go get a dolly.” Liu Kang patted you on the shoulder and then shook his head in dismay at Kung Lao before they continued about the task of moving your things to your new space. You sat on the edge of the desk and looked at the small, dark room. This was temporary. You would leave this space successful. You had to.

[lloydskywalkers]

it’s ironic that you should ask this now, because one) that’s the firST thing my mind went to during my rewatch so far, and two) i now have a whole bunch of lovely little oneshots like this guess which episode i watched recently

Nya should’ve listened to her gut the moment she started feeling something was wrong.

Kai calls her impulsive (which is rich, coming from him), but Nya’s instincts haven’t been wrong before. They weren’t when the Fire Nation came for them the first time, they weren’t when things went sour in the Earth Kingdom, and they weren’t when she found Lloyd frozen in the ice. While her method of action might not always the best, Nya’s instincts have rarely led her wrong.

She curses herself between gasps for breath for ignoring them this time, sprinting as fast as she can through the darkened forest. It looks so different in the dark than it had when she’d gone out with Harumi earlier. Bright and sunny as it’d been then, Harumi had been nothing more than a unassuming nonbender and a potential friend — perhaps more, for Lloyd, with how his cheeks had flushed every time she’d talked to him.

Now, with the trees silhouetted black and the echoes of Kai’s angered shouts through the forest, Nya can’t believe she ever let her get within five feet of them.

The long months of trekking from nation to nation serves her well, and Nya bursts from the thick trees full-force — only to immediately skid to a stop, the cursed red skirt she’s stuck in swishing around her legs as she sucks in a breath of horror.

Harumi stands in the middle of the clearing they were in earlier, but the scene is drastically different. The serene look Harumi once wore is gone as if it never existed, replaced by a twisted expression of malice. She got one hand raised in the air, sharp nails curved inwards as she holds Kai steady where he’s frozen across the clearing, by what Nya can only guess is the witchcraft the villagers had whispered about. Kai’s face is pale and furious, but he seems unharmed, if unable to move.

It’s Harumi’s other hand, the one that’s locked around Lloyd’s pale hair as she holds him in place, that has Nya rooted to the spot.

“Nya,” Lloyd gasps, his eyes wide and frightened. “Watch out, she’s—”

Harumi’s fingers clench around his hair, and Lloyd’s expressions spasms in pain as he twists unnaturally, his arms folding in on themselves. Hot anger sparks in Nya’s gut, and she snarls at Harumi.

“Let them go,” she says, her voice low.

Harumi tilts her head at her, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Her hand shifts around Lloyd’s hair, and he twitches again, shooting Nya a look of terror.

“No,” Harumi says, her voice silky. “I don’t think I will.”

Nya swallows. The look on Harumi’s face is deranged, makeup streaking down her cheeks like twin streams of blood, and Nya can’t believe she ever thought to trust her. She knows they’ve been getting careless lately, but this is the nail in the coffin. Lloyd’s already too trusting as it is, but they’d gotten so lucky with Jay, then Cole and Zane, that Kai and Nya had begun to let their guard down as well.

Right in the middle of the Fire Nation. Nya stomach twists. She, of all people, should know how unbelievably stupid they’ve been.

But there’s nothing for it now. Nya’s almost lost Lloyd to the Fire Nation twice, and she won’t let Harumi be the third.

“That wasn’t a request,” she says, louder this time. “Let them go."

Harumi eyes her, and her hands jerk. Kai’s expression contorts, as if straining against some incredible force, before his hand drifts toward his belt. He gives a sharp warning of “Nya!” before he abruptly sends one of his knives flying toward her head. Nya dodges easily — the throw is sloppy, without any of Kai’s usual accuracy or grace, but the force behind is enough to give her pause.

“I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you’re using, but I doubt it can match three benders at once,” she threatens. She’d tout the fact that Lloyd’s the Avatar, except not only is it something Nya’s supposed to be keeping secret, but it would probably fall flat with how Harumi’s got him easily pinned right now.

Nya hopes it’s just Lloyd being soft-hearted again, but that wouldn’t explain Kai staying so still as well.  

“Oh, it’s not witchcraft,” Harumi answers, rolling her eyes. “It’s a…unique, bending technique.”

Nya pauses, her eyebrows furrowing, but Lloyd’s the one that speaks up. “You said you weren’t a bender.” His voice is painfully small.

“Oh Lloyd,” Harumi laughs, rattling him again. “I lied, you stupid boy. Haven’t you figured it out? I’m just like you, Nya.”

Shiny droplets of water weave between her fingertips as she speaks, and Nya’s eyes widen.

“You’re a waterbender,” she breathes. Harumi nods, her teeth glinting as she smiles. Nya glances from her hands to Kai and Lloyd, watching the way their limbs twist, expressions tight with pain.

“Their blood,” Nya whispers, her mouth dry. “You’re — you’re bloodbending.”

“Oh, you are smart,” Harumi’s grin widens. “Much smarter than them.”

Lloyd grimaces as she shakes him, and Kai jerks against her hold, his eyes hot. “Leave him alone, you twisted—”

Harumi moves her hand and Kai’s entire body wrenches, flinging himself into the nearby tree with an ugly crack. Lloyd gives a panicked cry of concern, and Nya darts forward, fury giving her purpose.

“Don’t touch him!” she roars, her arms sweeping as she blasts her element at Harumi, just as Kai manages to launch an attack of his own in a bright burst of fire.

Neither hit lands. Panic lances through Nya as Harumi deflects her water effortlessly, sending it splashing into Kai’s burst of fire and extinguishing it. Harumi gives a shrieking laugh at their attempts, and Nya feels sweat bead up at the edges of her forehead. She desperately wishes the others were here — Cole or Jay would be able to handle this, even Zane could at least freeze the water effectively. But they’re deeper into the Fire Nation right now, scouting out the inner cities, and the only person to combat Harumi is Nya and her stupid raindrops.

Blinking back tears of frustration, Nya wishes, not for the first time, that she’d been born a firebender like Kai. Water is useless with her anger.

But if she used it like Harumi—

No, Nya scolds herself hotly. She’s no monster. She’s nothing like Harumi, and she’s not about to stoop to her level.

“Harumi,” Lloyd says, his voice pleading. “Harumi please, if you’d just explain why you’re doing this, then maybe—”

He cuts off in a cry as Harumi curls her fingers, and Lloyd’s arm twists unnaturally, bending like the limbs of a marionette. He whimpers as she stretches his right arm too far, dangling him like he’s caught in a deranged spider’s web, and Nya sees red.

“Stop, stop, let him go!” Her voice threatens to crack in anger, and water leeches from the grass around her, pouring between her fingers. “Do you even know who he is?”

“I know exactly who he is,” Harumi hisses, her eyes wild. “The Avatar. The one who was supposed to save my family.”

Lloyd stares up at her with wide eyes. “W…what?”

Harumi’s eyes finally leave Nya, and she glares at Lloyd in fury, her fingers practically tearing his hair out as she shakes him.

“Don’t play dumb, where were you?” she howls, as Lloyd flinches in pain. “Where were you when the Fire Nation destroyed my people? When they murdered my family? You were supposed to save them, where were you?!”

Lloyd goes as silent as he had when they’d brought him to the ruined Air Temple, his eyes glassy in that same kind of horror. Kai writhes against Harumi’s hold, and Nya’s stomach twists. It’s killing her to stay still, but with Lloyd in Harumi’s grasp and Kai still frozen near the tree, she can’t risk it.

“My family died because you weren’t there,” Harumi continues, the shadows catching on her manic expression and turning her visage monstrous in the moonlight. “Now it’s your turn, when I hand you over to the Fire Lord.”

Kai makes a noise of panic, and Nya finally wrenches herself from her stupor. “The Fire Nation killed your family,” she starts, trying to reason with her. “They killed ours too, and Lloyd’s! We’re trying to stop them. Why are you helping them?”

Harumi’s lip curls, her eyes snapping back to Nya. “Because water is weak,” she sneers. “Our tribe was stupid and arrogant to think we deserved the kind of respect fire does. With the power of the Fire Nation behind me, I can turn waterbending into something deadly. Something to be feared. Every last one of us will be bloodbenders, and with the Fire Nation, no one will ever attack us again!”

Kai stares at her, incredulous. “The Fire Nation was the one who attacked you in the first place!” he exclaims. “Are you ser—agh!”

Harumi’s wrist snaps downward, and Kai’s knees buckle, sending him plummeting to the ground with a pained cry. Nya’s heart jumps, her fingernails biting into her palms. She forces herself to calm instead, gritting her teeth. Harumi’s logic is twisted beyond belief. It’s clear there won’t be any reasoning with her.

“You’re not the only one in the world with a tragic past,” Nya snarls, and she can feel the humidity in the air itself vibrating with the intensity of her anger. “I don’t care about your reasoning. This is your last chance. Let them go, and you can walk away from this.”

Harumi’s teeth bare. “I had hopes for you, you know. You could be great. You could be powerful, like me. Instead you chain yourself to these two. How disappointing.”

She raises both hands, releasing Lloyd’s hair from her grasp as her fingers clench together. Kai and Lloyd both shout in pain as they’re dragged forward, and Kai’s suddenly pulling his sword from where its strapped to his back, his fingers shaking as they grasp the hilt.

Nya’s mouth goes bone dry. Harumi smiles. “I’ll make you a deal, waterbender,” she says. “If you can stop them, you can have your brother back. If you, can’t, though…”

Her hand twists again, and Kai’s eyes go wide in terror as he surges forward, forced into a dead sprint toward Lloyd.

“Then maybe I’ll just kill the Avatar myself,” Harumi finishes, her eyes dark.

“Kai!”

“Stop, Nya, stop me—!”

Nya’s running before she can think, barreling toward Harumi at full force. Kai is moving across the clearing faster than she can blink, his sword leveled at Lloyd’s unprotected head where he’s stuck frozen in place. Nya moves to attack Harumi with her element, but it’s immediately redirected just as before, splashing back into Nya’s own face.

“Stop it, stop it, Nya stop me now—”

Panic swelling to a crescendo in her head, Nya freezes. Harumi’s going to kill them both. She’s going to kill Nya’s family without a second’s thought, and Nya and her water will have done nothing. The tears of frustration welling up in her eyes begin to hiss, steaming up in her vision. Her hands shake with fury, white-knuckled and trembling, and the thin threads of Nya’s restraint snap.

She stretches her hand out toward Harumi, feels for her element, and reaches.

It’s almost laughably easy. Nya’s hold on her element is already razor-sharp in her anger, and the blood that thrums through Harumi’s veins is loud and pulsing. Nya feels the viscosity of it, the heavy traces of water flowing through it as easily as she does the icy streams of water at home, and for a second it’s terrifying — the sound of Harumi’s heartbeat pulsing through her ears, the watery flow of blood.

Then her rage burns hot, and Nya feels control.

Harumi screams as her arms wrench forward, and Kai and Lloyd drop with startled shouts, like puppets with their strings cut as Harumi looses her hold. Lloyd slumps to the ground below Harumi, and Kai rolls across the grass before coming to a stop, panting harshly as he flings his sword away.

Nya barely glances at them. Her eyes are locked on Harumi’s, savoring the growing terror she sees in them as she tightens her control, filtering through the very veins beneath Harumi’s skin.

“You said I’m weak?” Nya hisses, a dull roaring in her ears. “I’ll show you weak.”

Harumi strains against her hold, trying to make a last-ditch attack, but Nya has her in the palm of her hand now. She makes a choking noise before cutting off, collapsing to the dirt as Nya forces her to her knees.

Where she belongs.

A dizzying kind of elation sweeps through Nya’s veins as she realizes that she can make Harumi do whatever she wants her to. As she realizes the power she’s wielding. She can do this to anyone — anyone who raises a hand against her, or any of her family again — she can control them. The Fire Lord himself, in all his purpose to destroy Lloyd, she can tear him apart piece by piece before he even sets eyes on him.

Nya can turn anyone on earth against themselves. With her waterbending — with her bloodbending — she’ll be so powerful no one will ever challenge her again, no one will ever underestimate her again, no one will ever come close—

“Nya,” Kai whispers.

Her control shatters like glass. Nya drops to her knees, shaking uncontrollably as she gasps raggedly for air. Her vision swims, turning Harumi’s crumpled form on the grass into dozens of blurring figures, and terror shoots through Nya like lightning.

She’s a monster. She’s just like Harumi, she’s worse, she’s a monster. The thoughts that just ran through her mind — that taste of power—

Nya wants to throw up, and dissolves into tears instead.

Familiar warm arms wrap around her, pulling her close. After a moment, there’s a gentle touch as she feels Lloyd join in the embrace as well. His hold isn’t as firm as Kai — he’s trembling as badly as Nya is.

“Harumi?” Nya finally croaks, half-fearing the answer.

Kai makes an angry sound in the back of his throat, like an infuriated dragon.

“She’s alive,” Lloyd murmurs. “Just unconscious.”

Nya finally wipes at her eyes, glancing at him, and her heart sinks. Lloyd’s eyes, normally so bright and cheery, are dull and downcast. There’s heartbreak written all across his face, and Nya wants to throttle Harumi for wiping his smile away like that.

“I’m so sorry, Lloyd,” she whispers.

Lloyd shakes his head, wiping surreptitiously at his own eyes. “I guess you were right. You can’t make peace with everyone,” he says, his voice wavering.

“Harumi is not everyone,” Kai says, firmly. He turns his eyes on Nya, and she shrinks under his gaze. “And she’s not you, either.”

Nya shakes her head. “Kai, you saw what I — Kai, I just—”

“You wiped the floor with her,” Kai cuts across. “That’s all that matters.”

“Kai—”

“Look, we’ll — can we figure it out in the morning?” Kai finally shudders, his composure faltering. “We can — we can work it out then, when everything’s not…not so…”

Nya stares at him, watching as he refuses to meet her gaze. His scarred hands are wrapped tightly around both her and Lloyd now, holding them close. She remembers the terror in his eyes as he’d launched the knife at her head, and the drowning horror as he’d charged at Lloyd.

“Alright,” she finally says, quietly. “Tomorrow."