#the fact that the Doctor is red and Rogue is blue gives me life

[acresash]

If I had a nickel for every time a blue and red coded character acted gay towards each other, I'd have SO. MANY. NICKELS.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Fun and Games (Batman Villains x Reader)

Red and blue lights hit your face.

You stared expressionless at city lights in the distance, directly across from you. City lights dancing along the water. You had no idea how long it had been. You didn't know how how long Batman intended to stay or what he was waiting for. You were a sorry sight indeed. The colour looked drained from your face, dry dirt in your hair and covered your whole body. You clothes could be saved but it didn't seem worthwhile. It seemed almost kinder to just be rid of them. You didn't say a word to the Batman. Your throat red raw but you barely noticed it, too wrapped up in your own mind to notice much of anything.

Soon enough the surrounding area was being searched and surveyed by the GCPD.

The Commissioner moved to Batman's side.

"They aren't talking." Batman said quietly.

"Any injuries?" The Commissioner asked him.

"None that I can see." Batman replied and the Commissioner nodded.

"Alright. We'll take it from here." Her took a step forward before crouching to your level. "My name is Commissioner Gordon, I'm with the GCPD." He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a wallet of sorts, revealing his badge. "We're here to help. Can you give me your name?" 

As he looked at you, Batman recalled how he found you. He had been doing his rounds and barely caught sight of you in the distance. He had been the one to dig you out. Explaining the state he found you was bizarre but you had the answers. The only issue was that in your shock, you wouldn't speak.

Batman continued his rounds searching for the few rogues that had escaped Arkham Asylum. 

You were taken to an interview room. You held onto the blanket wrapped around you tightly.

The man opposite you had introduced himself as Officer Cash. He was hoping that you could answer some questions for him. Meanwhile you sat and stared at the table. You didn't want to be there and you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to do anything. You weren't tired or hungry, thirsty...in fact you weren't sure if you were actually feeling anything including the cold. Officer Cash prodded a little more, trying to ellicit any kind of response from you. He got nothing but he knew you could hear him. You were aware of your surroundings. Your silence remained until he had said.

"You know, whoever did this to you deserves to be locked up. Chances are that they will do this again to someone else-"

You cut him off. "You think I don't know what they're capable of?" You asked flatly before lifting your gaze to him.

"What happened? Who did this?" He asked again. 

You had decided to get breakfast at the cafe down the road. A little treat to yourself for the hardwork you had been putting in over the week. What better way to reward yourself than wake up on a Friday morning than with a fair expensive coffee and some breakfast?

You considered yourself lucky. You worked four days a week, long hours but it meant you could have Friday and the rest of the weekend off. It was a pretty good deal. It was quiet in cafe. After all, at ten, everyone would be working, making business slightly quieter until lunch hour. All had been fine and you were taking your leave by half eleven. You only had to walk home, the cafe was rather local to your area. Considering it was Gotham, the streets were busy and you accidentally bumped into someone. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" You apologised immediately, stopping and turning to apologise to the man you had just collided with. He didn't respond as the two of you looked at each other with suprise.

"Doctor Crane!" Your eyes widened. "What a surprise!"

"A surprise indeed." He replied with a slight smirk.

Doctor Jonathan Crane was your old psychiatrist. He worked with you on a severe claustrophobia. It made daily life almost unbearable.

Doors couldn't be shut. You couldn't get into cars. The fear only seemed to drown and that was when your parents sought out help. That of which had come in the form of Dr Jonathan Crane, a psychiatrist who specialised in phobias. He seemed like a decent guy back in your teenage years. Although something was always rather off about him.

"You look well, (Y/N)." He said politely and you nodded.

"Yeah! I'm doing good. How are you?"

"I've been just fine." He gestured to the man in a dazzling green suit sizing you up. "This is an associate of mine, Edward Nygma."

You shook Edward's hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr Nygma."

He nodded with an amused smirk, like he knew something you didn't.

You turned back to your old psychiatrist. "I'm so sorry, I bumped into you like that. I should have been more aware of my surroundings. I was trying to get out of here before the rush, you know? Lunchtime is approaching and as we know, it's only a matter of time before the streets are mobbed."

He smiled. "Well, I better not keep you. It was wonderful to meet you again.

"You too, Dr Crane..." You looked to the man in green. "...Mr Nygma." You nodded to them both before taking your leave.

Had you looked back, perhaps you'd have seen their eyes watch you go. 

You got back home fifteen minutes later, breathing out a sigh of relief. Whilst your discomfort never seemed to dissipate, it was nothing in comparison to your phobia previously.

Before treatment, you wouldn't have managed such busy streets yet with consistent exposure and lots of therapy, you had become determined to make it a part of your routine.

You turned on the TV before moving to your room to take off your jacket. It was the news about the latest escaping Arkham patients. The Scarecrow, the Riddler and the Joker along with Harley Quinn.

You sighed, muttering to yourself. Wouldn't the staff have learned how to keep their patients in check by now? 

Once you had tossed your jacket onto your bed you moved back towards the living room, watching the TV. That was when your heart stopped. You had seen Scarecrow with his burlap mask- it was nothing short of frightening. However it was the man without the mask that made your stomach drop.

The Scarecrow was your old psychiatrist and he along with the friend you had just met was the Riddler. You felt sick for a moment. They had been completely honest. They have given you their names and made no move to hide themselves. They were walking around Gotham freely.

You had shook the Riddler's hand! You recalled the Riddler's smile and that took you out of your stupor. You hurriedly reached into your pocket for you phone when suddenly your mouth and nose were covered as you were pulled back against someone. Another arm wrapping around you and holding your arms down. You kicked and screamed but couldn't get free of your attacker

"You should really consider locking your doors, dear. This is Gotham, after all." A smug voice said.

As your vision faded and your limbs grew heavier, a large smudge of green stepped into your view. Then everything went black. 

Your vision was blurred when you opened your eyes. Your head hurt and it took a moment for your eyes to adjust. As you went to move your arms, you found something stopped you. You willed your eyes to open and focus on your body. Your whole body was tied up- arms and legs tied together. You were propped against the wall in a sitting position.

"Well look who's awake! Rise and shine!" The tall man in the suit crouched down to your level, burlap sack over his head. However you knew who he was now. Long before he lifted the mask over his face with a grin that didn't meet his eyes. You had no idea Dr Crane had transferred to Arkham Asylum.

The Asylum for the criminally insane. However you heard it was just considered a regular Asylum that had specific wards for the criminally insane. Criminals and the insane considered one in the same by Gotham's finest. However that wasn't anywhere close to the issue right now.

The issue was that the Dr Crane that was the Scarecrow, the very psychiatrist that terrorised Gotham was the same Dr Crane that treated you. It never occurred to you it could be the same person.

You thought it only coincidence seeing you had no idea of his transfer. How would you? You had been discharged months before that transfer. Yet you felt incredibly stupid now that you knew. Was it so likely that two Jonathan Crane's got a doctorate in psychology and specialise in fear, all of the above living in one city? Probably not.

"Tell me, (Y/N), are you still afraid of tight spaces?" Crane asked.

You shook your head.

"Lying doesn't suit you." He smirked. "Hey, I'm listening. You can tell me anything." He spoke as though he was still your doctor, no, he spoke like a friend. You watched as he reached into his pocket. Panic filled you. From what you knew from the news, nothing good was in his pockets. You cried out against the gag in your mouth, shaking your head. He protested. "Did you change your mind? I can only help you when you're honest." You nodded. He removed your gag.

"I am...but it's not like before." You managed out.

"Oh? The fear has changed?" He raised an eyebrow.

You screamed out for somebody to help you. Crane didn’t seem bothered by your screams. In fact he seemed to enjoy them.

"Look around, moron! There's no one here to hear you!" You felt a whack against your shoulder and you yelped. The Riddler smirked as he spun his gold, question marked cane in his hand.

Crane got your attention once more. "Here's what’s going to happen. You're going to tell me the truth. I already know the answer. Edward will give you three riddles, three chances to get out of your worst nightmare. If you lie to me again, if you get any riddles wrong." Crane pointed in the distance and that was when you saw a very large dirt pile and a hole. "We bury you."

You trembled and Crane tilted your chin, making you look back at him.

"So what do you say?"

You felt sick. Of course he knew the truth. There was no avoiding it.

"Being buried alive." You said quietly.

"There we go. Progress, (Y/N)." He praised and The Riddler bent down to your level. "Now you and I get to play a game." He grinned maliciously. 

"Until i am measured, I am not known. Yet you will miss me when i have flown. What am I?"

You had no idea, something that flies? You miss it? You don't miss anything after it flies. This has to be a trick. You wracked your brain for anything but came up blank. "Birds!?"

The Riddler covered his mouth as he laughed, turning away at the answer. "No...no, that's not the answer." He said through laughter. "The answer is time. Time flies and then you miss it when it's gone." The Riddler coughed. "Next riddle...!" He said through chuckles. "The more there is, the less you see. What is it?"

You said the first thing that came to mind. "Nothing?" You trembled. "Nothing?" The Riddler leaned in close. "Wrong." He said lowly with a wide grin. "The correct answer is darkness."

Of course, you were panicking so much you weren't thinking properly and it was going to get you killed.

"Last riddle..." The Riddler crooned. You sobbed. "Now, now, you need to listen carefully." The Riddler tutted. "The one who makes it, does not need it. The one who buys it, does not need it. The one who uses it cannot see or feel it. What is it?"

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. You didn't know. The first line stumping you almost immediately as panic surged through you. Your body jolted with sobs.

"Tick tock, tick tock, my dear." The Riddler began to count down as you shook your head hopelessly, and began begging your life.

"The answer is a coffin." He said sweetly.

 Your blood ran cold.

"Well, that's that and you got a grand total of...none correct." He seemed smug. "Those were the easy ones too. A pitiful primitive mind you have indeed."

"Now we know what comes next." Crane stepped forward. 

Both men grabbed you. 

You screamed, cried and begged for anyone to hear you, for the two men to stop. Yet no one came to your rescue. Neither stopped, only laughing at your desperate cries as they carried you to the large hole they dug up that resembled greatly like a grave.

"One...two...three!"

The two threw you in and you landed in the cold damp hole, unable to stop the cry of pain as your weight landed on your arms that were tied behind your back. "Oh, sorry, dear! We forgot about your hands. We want you comfortable!" The Riddler grinned as he swung his legs over the edge and dropped. He landed with his feet on either side of you. "You better appreciate this. This suit is expensive." He said almost proudly before sitting you up against the dirt behind you. "There we are!" With ease he pulled himself back up.

Crane moved back into view with two shovels,  passing one to the Riddler.

"Well we better get to it. Or we'll be here by nightfall." Crane said and you pleaded with him again, begging him to let you go. He didn't hear you, your pleas coming out as garbled muffles between your hysteric sobs.

"Scream and cry all you want, (Y/N). Nobody can hear you. Just us." 

The sound of the shovel in the distance made you thrash against your bindings but to no luck as the cold dirt fell onto your lap.

"Stop squirming so much, you'll get dirt in your eyes!" The Riddler continued to grin as Crane chuckled. "That is the least of their worries."

The two laughed together as you continued to scream against the gag in your mouth. 

By the time they were done, the sun was setting, your throat hoarse and sore. You had given up fighting waiting for your end. Yet they old seemed to cover your head before the two moved to their knees on the freshly laid dirt.

"Please, I'm begging you." You looked at the two men. Your words still muffled but still able to be understood.

"Is it worse than you could have ever imagined?" Jonathan asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he grinned. "You're worst fear has happened. You're under the ground, unable to move. The weight of the first and us holding you in place? Is it frightening?"

You sobbed as you nodded slowly. "Please..."

"You've been a wonderful test subject, (Y/N). I thank you for your participation." Jonathan nodded as though to reassure you. "You even entertained, Edward here. How generous of you." 

Edward rose to a stand, cane in hand as he lifted it over his shoulder like one would a bat.

"One last riddle for me. You can do that can't you, (Y/N)?" The Riddler asked you as your eyes widened at his cane. He looked ready to strike you with it. "I have a beginning but no end and I end everything that has begun. What am I?" You sobbed, slowly shaking your head as you cried helplessly. You couldn't think not as panic filled your very being.

"I know the answer." Crane grinned.

"You do?" The Riddler asked. "Go on then."

"The answer is death." Crane's eyes twinkled. "On that note..."

The Riddler shifted slightly as though aiming for your head and you cried out desperately.

"Go on, do it." Crane almost seemed hungry for it as your pleas got louder. "Do it!" Crane demanded and you that last thing you saw was the Riddlers cane coming down upon you. Upon instinct you screamed and squeezed your eyes shut. There was a thump by your shoulder. You opened your eyes. There by your left shoulder was the Riddler's gold cane, question mark glinting at you in the remaining sunlight. 

The next thing you heard were the two loud laughs the two men made. You shook violently in the dirt.

"Look at their face!" You heard one of them cackle. 

 The Riddler fell to his knees beside Jonathan in hysterical laughter. The two doubled over as you sobbed loudly. Crane lifted his head and cupped your face in his hands.

"You didn't really think we were going to kill you, did you!? What animals do you take us for!?" Crane said through laughter.

"It's just a game, (Y/N)!" Edward said after he had calmed down and said it slowly as though talking to a five year old.

"A game!?" You cried.

Crane hushed you, bringing your attention back to him. He had calmed down and was smiling at you, icy blue eyes looking into yours.

"You know, I've really enjoyed seeing you again, (Y/N). He began.

"Now we have to go to our next participant." The Riddler continued for Crane with a smile. He pouted slightly at your terrified expression. "Poor thing." The Riddler ruffled your hair before the two stood up...and that was it. They simply got up and left. They didn't come back.

Night fell and that was when Batman found you. When you had accepted death. 

Commissioner Gordon brought you another blanket and a plastic white cup of water. "You've been a lot of help for us, (Y/N). I apologise we have met under these circumstances but I do have some news that might help you relax a little." You met his eyes.

"We caught Scarecrow and the Riddler. They're in custody as we speak." You didn't know whether to be afraid that they were in the same building or relieved that you wouldn't have to worry about them still being out there when you got home. "Are you sure we can't take you to the hospital? I know you said you weren't hurt but-"

"I'm fine." You replied under your breath. "Can I go home?"

The commissioner nodded. "I'll have someone drive you home."

[angelisverba]

closer

in which y/n wants to be closer to her savior, mafialeader!h, and harry has never felt such intimacy

word count:  5.7k

pairing: y/n and mafialeader!h

warnings: descriptions of an abusive relationship, mentions of abuse, drugs, violence, and sex.

author’s note: you can all thank @floral-suits for this. (and yes, I did describe tattoo roulette harry :))

Y/n wasn’t exactly a virgin when she first met Harry, but she also hadn’t been exposed to the extreme pleasures a woman could experience at the hands of a man who cared. Cared enough to devote attention to the needs and wants of her body rather than just using her for his own pleasure.

Harry more or less rescued her from a toxic relationship for a lower-scale drug dealer (who was working for Harry at the time) and who never told her what he did for a living. Their entire relationship was built off of lies, and  and power. Maxwell-- that was the scumbag’s name-- would always use strength to get his way, and it was getting to the point where he would  use his physical advantage in the bedroom. Y/n was in a position where she was physically and mentally weak, and Harry caught note of that when he met her for the first time.

“This is my girlfriend, boss,” Maxwell had gripped her bicep and squeezed painfully as he shoved her forward to a confused Harry. He wasn’t quite sure why Maxwell was handling a woman in such aggressive ways, and why she looked  so...scared.

He’d caught a whiff of what was going on the moment she flinched at the word ‘girlfriend’ and played as smoothly as possible to not make the situation worse for her once he left. But he knew when they made eye contact, and her eyes were slightly glazed over in fear, that she was calling out for help. “Lovely to meet you, what’s your name?” He said, voice notably softer than what he usually spoke.

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but Maxwell said, “Her name’s y/n. And she can leave now so she’s not bothering us.” 

An uncharacteristic flicker of protectiveness flamed inside of him, and his face turned a stone-y reserve. “Tony. Paul.” The two men standing in the back of their small living room apartment stepped forward with arms crossed. They were easily three times y/n’s weight, with biceps the size of her head to vouch for it. “Take Maxwell outside and keep him out there until I call for him.”

Y/n didn’t have it in her to straighten or worry about what would happen to her then-boyfriend or where they would take her, but he did. Maxwell gulped and furrowed his eyebrows, a ‘what the fuck?’ expression taking over his face. What he didn’t have in him, though, was the ability to fight back against the all-mighty Harry Styles. He was only left to wonder what the kingpin could want with his girlfriend. Something that not even he knew clearly, only that there was something very, very wrong going on between his employee and this girl, and he couldn't stand the endangerment of women (it was one of the reasons why be spent millions of dollars buying sex-trafficked women whenever he could, and sending them to all-expenses paid facility for they would be checked and rehabilitated if they needed it.)

“Now, love,” he started, voice tender and body language comforting. He’d retreated to their loveseat, patting the seat next to him with a warm smile on his face, two dimples showing. He knew that was what she needed. A friendly, comforting face. He knew because he was sued to reading people to get what he wanted, or to catch them off-guard and do a large number on them. “What’s your name?” 

Timidly, y/n walked over to his side and sat, a shaky breath leaving her before she mumbled, “Y/n.” 

“What was that? You said?” Harry wanted so badly to reach out and caress her shoulder, but he knew it was better if she opened up on her own terms. The girl was cowering from him and he hadn’t done anything to her. It seemed as if she’d grown a fear for all men. Not just Maxwell.

“Y/n, yes. I’m sorry for mumbling. Maxwell says I shouldn't mumble...I’m sorry.” She plays with her fingers in her lap, the cuticle of her right thumb an angry red color on the verge of bleeding. 

“It’s alright. Maxwell isn’t here right now, so you can do what you’d like.” Harry stated, chin in his palm as he observed her. She was (is) really pretty, with pouty lips and lashes that were wet with stressed-out tears. Distressed, but breathtakingly beautiful.

“But Maxwell will-” she stopped then, sure that what followed isn’t exactly something you tell your boyfriend's boss. Too much detail. 

“Go on, you can finish your sentence.” He brought his hands down away from his mouth to clasp them at his lap, and that’s when she looked up to fully look at him. 

His hair was shoulder length at the time, thick and rogue chocolate curls that framed his face and made him look even more so manly if that was even possible. It swirled at the top of his head, and fell to the right in fluffy swoops. He’d been wearing fitting, black slacks and a baby blue shirt what was open all the way to the start of his strong abdominal muscles, where y/n could see the tips of butterfly wings peeking out. Two swallows decorated the area underneath his collarbones, a silver cross necklace swinging gently between his pectoral muscles. Y/n remembers thinking-- even though her broken train of thought- that the blank ink looked so good against his tanned skin. 

“No, uhm, I’m not sure I should.” Her eyes dropped from him to the armrest, where a black suit jacket rested. It was Harry’s. “Maxwell wouldn’t like it.

“Do you always listen to what Maxwell says?” Harry questioned, his word choice careful. He never had to speak to any of the women he rescued, so these were uncharted waters for him. He figured he better be very light on the accusations if he didn’t want her to get defensive.

“Y-yes, he’s my boyfriend. Actually, do you think you could bring him back into the room? I’m not sure he’ll like me being alone with you more than needed.” He’ll call me so many nasty names once you leave.

“Is that what you want y/n?”

“I-” She hadn’t been asked what she would like in so long, her opinion bypassed and unimportant. The fact that this man in close relation to her boyfriend hadn’t also belittled her like his other friends had was...well, it was enough to make her start crying. 

She didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know what there could be to want. What there was past Maxwell, or what there would be with Maxwell. It was all a mess in her brain that hadn’t been used in so long. ‘Don’t wear that it makes you look ugly’ ‘She’ll have water’ ‘Doctor could she have the shot instead of pills?’

Harry knew his suspicions were correct when the first tear slipped past her eyelashes to taint her cheek. Only, he wasn’t sure where to go from there. He wasn’t sure if to touch her, or to give her space. He was fucking lost. 

So he got up, went to their kitchen and reached for a glass that was in the drying rack. The soles of his boots hitting the wooden floor of Maxwell’s kitchen was the only thing heard along with y/n’s sniffles. Pressing the glass into the slot for water in the fridge, he cursed under his breath. What the fuck is he supposed to do? 

He was out of time when he sat next to her and offered her the glass like an idiot saying, “I don’t want you to get dehydrated, love. Have some water and take a few deep breaths, alright? I wont hurt you.” 

And he hadn’t. Harry was true to his word all through their relationship. Never once did he lay a hand on her when she didn’t want it, or harm her emotionally, mentally. Not from a negative mindset.

Y/n told him everything. To a certain extent. It was as if a corkscrew had been twisted into the bottle of her emotions and unplugged open with his intimate questions. 

“Be honest with me y/n, does he hurt you?”

“Does he insult you?”

“Does he hit you?”

“Do you want to be here, right now, with him?”

“If you’re honest with me, if you really want it, I can take you away. I can help you build a new life, away from him. He won’t hurt you anymore.” Harry was holding her hands in his at this point, knees pointed towards her and shoulder slumped as he tried to get close to her. He could see he was doing good, she was holding eye contact for more than a second now.

“You can do that?” Her eyes widened, and her heart caught in her throat when he started to rub small, soothing circles into the juncture of her thumb and pointer finger.

Harry nodded, licking his lips,“of course I can. All you have to do is say the word. You can leave today. Right now. This instant. You just have to say it.”

“Okay.” She whispered, biting into her bottom from the nerves. Was she really going to leave Maxwell? Right now? With this man she’s never met? And although her gut and his words are telling her she can trust him, he could be anyone. He could do all sorts of things to her, but he looks, sounded, and felt sincere. 

Anything was better than the prison that was Maxwell.

“Okay what, y/n?” Harry needed to know that she was fully on board. Verbal confirmation. 

“I want to leave Maxwell. Today. Right now.” She was breathless when the words left her. And Harry was nodding with a proud smile on his face. 

He barely knew this girl, but he could feel the way his heart was chipping away by her hands, plunging the pieces into her chest and taking out a matching piece of her own heart to fill the empty spot.

“Okay. If there’s anything you’d like to take with you before we leave you should take them with you now.” Harry stood, and grabbed the suit jacket on the couch next to him, lifting his arm in the air to put it on.

“No, there’s nothing I’d like to take. Maxwell picked everything. I don’t want it.” She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself, preparing for what’s to come.

“Would you like to say anything to him or would you like me to do the talking?” He was still adjusting the suit, popping the collar and lifting his shoulders so everything settled nicely. He ran a hand through his hair, and shook it out. It was cute, y/n thought.

“No. I don’t want to speak to him. I’ve got nothing to say to him.” She shrugged. 

“Very well. Let’s go.” He started walking towards the door, and when he sensed that something was wrong he turned to see that she was still seated on the couch, her lower lip trembling in a way that had become so familiar to him in the few moments they’d known each other. She was scared. “There’s no need to worry, love, my men will assure that he doesn’t lay a hand on you. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” He sent her a comforting smile, and stretched out his hand for support, hoping that she’d grab onto it. 

She did.

They walked out together, not even bothering to close the door behind them. Out in the slim hallway, Tony and Paul had Maxwell up against the wall, one standing on either side of him. When he saw that y/n and Harry were holding hands, he stood up in a frenzy, and Harry lifted a hand as a signal for him to still his motions.

He did.

“Maxwell, I’m not sorry to inform you that I will no longer be requiring your services. Tony will come by at the end of the month to pick up all the money owed as well as what you still have to dispense.” Maxwell opened his mouth to protest, and Harry raised his hand again, voice rising momentarily to speak over whatever it was he was going to say. “In addition, you’re a piece of shit. You don’t deserve a woman like y/n. Never seek her out again, or there will be consequences. Understood?”

Harry didn’t wait for a response, and Maxwell didn’t give one because his throat had gone dry. You don’t fuck with Harry Edward Styles. 

“Paul, please ensure that Maxwell makes it into his apartment and doesn’t try to follow us. Tony, you come with us.”

“You got it, Harry.” Paul spoke, clapping a hand on Maxwell’s shoulder and shoving him into the apartment. 

Harry, still holding her hand, y/n, still holding his hand, and Tony, knowing very well what would come out of this, walked out of the shitty apartment complex and into a blacked-out car. Inside, y/n questioned Harry a bit more about where she would go, if he would leave her, and how he could be so sure that Maxwell would stay away. It hadn’t clicked in her brain yet what her ex-boyfriend’s job was because she’d been so caught up in getting through that moment. If she had been paying attention, she’s sure she would have blushed at Harry coming to her defense.

Harry assured her that she was safe, and told her why.

“I am a drug dealer, sweetheart. The biggest one here in London. People know not to fuck with me. As long as you’re under my care, you’re safe as can be. And I told you in there that I would take care of you. I’m a man of my word.” He turned to face her, “You’ll be safe. I promise you that.” 

From there, Harry took her to his house-- the kind with gates and men with ear pieces-- and told her to make herself at home. He had a few things to attend to before they could go a step further in their plan. 

Strangely, the news of him being a drug dealer didn’t affect her as much as it should’ve a normal person. 

The first thing she did was eat. She was starving, and Harry just so happened to have the best cooks in his home. Plate upon plate upon plate. She ate until she plopped down on his couch, fell asleep, and woke up to him taking her up to a guest room. 

She nodded off again in his arms, and he’d pressed a sweet kiss on her forehead when he set her down. 

After buying her clothes-- really fucking expensive ones-- Harry sat her down to talk to her about a rehabilitation center. One up in the mountains in Switzerland, where she’d be at peace with the company of sheep and silence. There were therapists on the site, ones she’d meet with everyday to talk through her trauma. 

And the cold would encourage the bodily need to stay warm. To huddle close...together. The both of them.

And y/n agreed. With one condition.

“Would you be able to take me there?” She had asked meekly, fiddling with the threads of her brand new, 5,000 euro sweater. 

“Of course. I’ll walk you through those doors myself and see that you’re comfortable if that’s what you’d like.” He laughed at the end of his sentence, pulling her hands away from the sweater and engulfing them in his large one. Y/n started at their union, and noticed he had a cross tattoo on his hand. 

She thought this was funny, and laughed once through her nose. Tilting her head upwards so she might remark on it, she was frozen in the spot at the intense gaze that met her. 

Vibrant, emerald green eyes saw her. They saw her. As a person. As a soul. As a woman. There was repressed hunger in them, and the added longing sprinkled static into their moment; intensity levels so high, y/n could only breathe out, “I’d like that.”

She’d like so many other things but she wasn’t sure the time was right.

*             

                      *                                   *

“Harry! It’s beautiful up here!” She was giggly with happiness. 

Y/n hadn’t giggled in so long. She hadn’t been this happy so long.

On their plane ride to Switzerland, y/n had been too anxious to sleep, and Harry was more than willing to stay over and have a conversation with her. 

He found that she was even more enchanting that he thought, telling innocent, forgiving stories of going to the petting zoo on a rainy day or how her friends broke her nose because they smashed it into a still-frozen ice-cream birthday cake. He found that he loved the way she’d blush when he brushed a hair away from her face. He found that he loved the way she would lean into his touch. 

Y/n found that she really wanted Harry to kiss her. That she loved the way he spoke, in a slow, deep drawl like he was hand picking every word that came out of his mouth the moment before he had to speak. That she loved the way he looked at her, like she was important and interesting. That she loved when he would brush away a strand of hair from her face, or the warmth of his thigh pressed against hers. 

Through a mix of knowingly and unknowingly, she let her walls down. She let him in, and she wanted him to want to be let in. It was absolutely crazy, the way she felt about him considering what she just escaped. Her brain was full of images that hadn’t been there in forever, illicit and heavy with him.

“Right? ‘M jealous of you. Wish I could stay up here, too.” He wished he could stay up here with her. With her company, getting to know her mind, body, and soul. He yearned for her and it’d been less than two weeks. 

“That’s not a bad idea,” y/n mumbled to herself. She was a few steps ahead of Harry, standing at the front of the car and looking out into the place where the sheep roamed while he shut the door behind him. 

“Come on, let’s go inside and get you settled.” 

A woman greeted them at the door of the home-- although it was just shy of a mansion label-- that was a wood and brick mixture in structure. Several chimneys poked out of the roof, with smoke coming out of all of them.

The woman’s name was Matilda, she was a groundskeeper and had moved there shortly after her husband died when she was 40. She took Harry and y/n up to her room that faced the center of an indoor greenhouse in the middle of the house, and left them there for her to unpack after Harry said that he’d show y/n around himself. 

He owned it after all, and had overseen it’s construction. He’d even helped with the births of some of the sheep.

“How long will I be staying here?” she asked him, looking over her shoulder as she placed a hanger in the closet. 

“‘S long as you need, love.” He was taking things out of her suitcase, placing them on the bed for her to relocate. “Days, weeks, months, years. ‘S long as you need.” 

“Really?” She squeaked, returning to the edge of the bed and picking up the neck item. A cream colored silk shirt that had a black ribbon around the neck.

“Mhm.” Harry picked up a blush tinted pair of trousers.

“And where will you be?”

Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach. It hadn’t occurred to him that she may rely on him for comfort, and it made him feel strangely warm inside when her tone of voice changed to an uninterested interest. 

After his short, stunned silence, she mumbled again, “will you stay? At least for a few days?” 

Harry cleared his throat. He was sure that if any of his men were to see him then, he’d lose all sense of authority, “Sure. I’d love to.” He was suddenly unsure of everything he used to be sure about. His reign, his title. It all left him when he was with her.

She whispered, “Thank you, Harry. For everything.” Y/n was clutching a shirt to her chest, eyes welling up with tears of gratuity.

At this, Harry felt his heart clench in his chest, stealing his breath at the sight of her. “C’mere, love.” His arms stretched out for an embrace, and she immediately ran into them. His arms stretched out for an embrace, and she immediately ran into them.

Eyes shut, she pressed into the juncture of his throat, and held her breath, tensing at the strong, male contact, she could feel ever flex of his arms as she wrapped them around her frame, ever rise and fall of his chest, and the fleeting brush of their thighs. 

He ducked his head down to his mouth was pressed against the crown of her head and whispered, “y’don’t have to be scared anymore, y/n. You’re safe. I’ll never hurt you.”

She moved her head so she was looking up at him, and suddenly became aware of how close they were, the tips of their nose a hair away from each other. “I know. I know.” She tried to tell him. Tried to tell him with her eyes, looking down at his lips and then to his burning eyes. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me.

He knew immediately what she wanted, could see it in the gleam of her eyes. “S’this okay, love. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m okay. More than okay. And it’s because of you. Will you kiss me?” Her eyes were nearly shut with their dreamy haze. She felt happy, content, light, free. Because of him. Because of Harry. And she knew she was in full control here. It wasn’t because she felt she owed him anything. Y/n knew there was a connection between then, she could feel it every time he looked at her.

She knew because she looked at him the same way too. 

With no response, Harry moved the final inch to her mouth, and reached the stars. Her lips were softer than they looked as they molded to follow his every movement. Languid and submissive and warm and her. And good God the noises their mouths made together. Quiet, suckling noises with every near-disconnection as they opened up to each other, y/n being the first to flick at his bottom lip with her sweet tongue. 

“Baby, we have to stop or this is gonna get really fucking heated,” He murmured against her lips, his words with an intention to stop their actions, but the way her leaned into so they were closer to each other, they way his hands came up to her face to pull her closer to him, they way he didn’t bother to pause their kiss to speak, said otherwise. The front of his pants was embarrassingly tight, and a tension in his groin had begun to build, cock pulsing.

Y/n responded with the same vigor, her hands coming to clutch at the curls that brushed his shoulders before combing through his scalp and grasping the hair at the nape of his neck, “Please. Want it.”

Harry stopped then, opening his eyes and pulling her back to fully look at her face. Her lips were slick with spit and slightly swollen with a darker tint. “Y/n. Are you sure about this?” 

Y/n shook her head so fast she could hear the ticking noise of her brain moving in the back of her head. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. She was ready. She wanted what Harry had already begun to give her. “Yes. Please. Please. Haven’t felt this good in so long, I need it.”

A slow smile spread on Harry’s heart shaped lips, voice low and gravelly. “Pretty girl. Need me to make love to you? Make you feel good? S’what you need?” His thumb traced circled underneath her wild, bleary eyes, and he held back a grunt when she whimpered out her response, need heavy and abundant in her voice.

“Will you say I’m yours, Harry? I’d like to be yours. Will you have me?” She was babbling, lost in her senseless need, but her words held truth. She wanted him, and she wanted him to want her. 

Harry cooed at her, his heart full, “I’ll take you, my love. I’ll take you only if you’ll take me.” 

“Please.” She didn’t know what she was begging for anymore, all she could feel was the warmth of Harry’s body against hers. “I want you. I’ll take you. Hold me?” 

“So polite. C’mere. ‘Gonna take you nice and slow, baby. Like you deserve,” his hands traveled to her waist, and he kept his grip tight as he walked them towards the bed, the back of her knees hitting first before she was lowered gently by Harry. His hold on her was ever-present as he saw her through, his lips placing open mouthed kissed underneath her jaw.

Y/n tilted her head back to grant him access to her throat, and soft, wet gasps left her mouth at the spikes of energy that went from his mouth, to her skin, and down to her pussy. Electrifying. Deadly. 

“Gonna take this off, my love.” Harry’s hands tugged at the ends of her light blouse, and y/n nodded instantly, raising her hands above her head to help him get it off. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the moment her breasts were exposed and Harry’s eyes fell on them, she bucked upwards, needing his touch, needing her damn pants off. “Easy, baby. I’ve got you, okay? Hey, look at me.” 

Harry pinched her chin and shook her slightly to get her to open her eyes and look at him. She did, eyes wide and wild. “Need you to use your words in the bedroom, y/n. I want you on board with what I’m doing the entire time and I need to hear your voice in order to know that you’re with me. Got it?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He was still holding onto her chin, and her lips were slightly puckered as she spoke. 

Harry shook his head, an awed smile on his cherry lips, “nuh-uh. None of that. You did nothing wrong. No more ‘I’m sorry’s. We’re here to love on each other, not to say sorry. We’ve done nothing wrong to each other. Now tell me something you’d like for me to do.”

“Need my pants off, please.” She mewled and bucked again, eyes shutting and head thrown back.

“So fuckin’ polite. A little gem you are.” Harry said to himself as he unbuttoned her pants, and patted her thigh so she could lift her hips.

He couldn't believe that someone had let her slip from his fingers. She was a goddamn wonder.

After he’d tugged her pants off her ankles, he leaned back into kiss her, hands on either side of her face and head with his hair trailing down on the side of his face, but she pushed him back with a pout on her lips. “Take your clothes off, too.” 

Harry laughed, “so demanding.” And leaned back on his knees to take his shirt off, unbuttoning the last three buttons of his soft cream shirt so his silver cross necklace came free, swinging at his chest with the momentum. 

Y/n marveled at the tattoos that decorated him, wondering if he could get any sexier than this, and upon seeing him unbutton his pants. She decided that yes, he could.

A thick bulge at the apex of his thigh strained against his black boxers, begging to spring up against his abdomen.

“You can say no, right now, and we’ll stop.” Harry murmured, rubbing a hand up her thigh and thumbing at the seams of her cotton panties. His voice was strained and filled with the same urgency that fueled her. 

She shook her head, “no. I want this.” Y/n thrust her hips up against his hands, and Harry took that as a signal to take her panties off. 

“Good.” He said, ripping away at her panties and surging forward for a heavy kiss, “‘cause I do, too, baby.” 

“Make love to me, Harry,” she begged, her hands coming to feel at the strong muscles of his back, digging into where they dipped and this caused him to groan both at the feeling and at her words. 

Swiftly, he took of his boxers, and his cock sprang free, an audible slapping sound heard when the swollen tip hit the skin underneath his belly button, and a hiss leaving him at the sudden, momentarily relief.

She looked down between them, and bucked again at the size and thickness of him, already yearning for the feeling of him inside her, stretching her. Her warm, slick, hole caught the tip of his cock, and she moaned at the contact. “Please. Please.”

Cursing under his breath, Harry took hold of himself and pressed into her, a slow heat beginning to encompass him and the intense pleasure coaxing him to continue, but a pained whimper stilling his movements.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He panted, searching y/n’s eyes for meaning. She shook her head, her hands coming up to brush his hair back. 

“Want you closer to me,” She whimpered, eyes watery. Her pert nipples brushed against Harry’s dewy chest, her hands traveled down his back again. 

“Closer, baby? Want me to hold you? Is that it?” His brows furrowed, and he let go of his dick so he could rub at her sides.

She nodded, “Yes, please.” 

She arched again, enough so Harry could sneak his arm around her back and hold her snug against his check, his silver necklace biting into their skin as it was squashed between them. His other arm was above her head, holding himself up so his weight wouldn’t smother her. 

Her legs came to sneak around his waist, and the movement titled her hips up the remaining inches of Harry’s dick, filling and stretching her to the brim. Moaning and bucking up as best she could, her nails dug into his back, urgently. Ardently

“Fuck me. So good, baby. You’re so good.” Harry pulled his hips back and thrusted, the both of them panting at the sensation of being warm, and tight, and full, and fucking hell love.

“More. Harry more, please.” Her words were hot at his ear, and her head fell back against the pillow when he listened, thrusting again and again and again into her. His fingers dug into her back, and scrunched the fabric of the sheets, veins seeping through his skin from the strain. 

“Keep squeezing me like that and I won’t last, my love. Need this to last,” The space between their chests grew damp, and y/n was in a frenzy as her orgasm built in her tummy. The pressure rising to a bubbly froth at the brim, one soda-can shake away from an explosion. 

“I can’t. Can’t. Y-you feel so good,” She swallowed a thick gulp, and let out a strained moan, the feeling of being unable to close so painfully euphoric. Harry was hitting all the right places and all the right times. And it felt so good to be warm and held, his arms a constant restraint on her, not letting her go even though a burn was developing on the arm that was holding her up. He wouldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t because she asked him to, and because he wanted to. 

Harry hadn’t felt the importance of such an embrace until then. It was affecting him just as much as it was fulfilling her. Every place their skin touched, he felt, ever moan and shudder, he heard. Ever gasp, every whisper. And never had it felt so good to give someone what they wanted before. Even if it was just as simple as being held. His heart was going to explode. He was going to die. 

“Baby. My love, oh sweetheart you’re amazing. God, I’m gonna cum, my darling. Does it feel as good for you as it feel for me? Hmm? Got me unraveling at the goddamn seams, fuck!”

He dipped his head into her throat and licked her, savagely searching for the taste of her skin as his back curved with the force of his hips. 

“I’m there. I’m there, please, lemme, lemme, please-,”

“Let go, my love. I’ve got you.” He kissed her roughly, and held himself snug at her core for longer periods of times every time he thrusted, moving his hips in a circle. He was so close, that y/n could feel his movements on her clit, her sensitive swollen button being stimulated throwing her over the edge, giving her the last little shove that she needed. 

She arched into him, mind going blank and mouth going slack against his, no longer kissing back because of the intensity of her pleasure, but Harry continues licking ito her, his tongue sliding against her and teeth nipping at her bottom lip before he snapped back into his senses and pulled out to release hot, white spurts all over his and her abdomen. His face scrunched up into one of seeming pain, his lips mouthing fuck fuck fuck but no sound coming out. 

There was no need, but y/n reached down and gripped him, sliding her hand up and down his cock to ride him through his orgasm, milking the remaining cum from his dick so it spurted onto her tits.

“Fuck me. Baby, you’re perfect.” Harry laid her back down and kissed all over her face slowly. On her cheek, her brow bone, her nose, her forehead, and finally her lips. “So sweet, so good. You undid me, darling.”

She was quiet, but leaned up into his touch, her body still buzzing. Y/n was too tired to speak, her eyes heavy with the fatigue that usually came in a light dose after she got herself off. Her entire body felt spent.

“Tired, baby? Time for a little nap?” He brushed her hair off her forehead and kissed her again, a plushy pec tenderly placed. 

Y/n nodded, and whined when she felt his weight shifting on the bed.

“What is it?” He said, stopping and turning to look at her.

She breathed a quiet, “stay.”

“M’not going anywhere, y/n. ‘Specially not after this. Gonna go get a washcloth to clean up my mess. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

There was the warmth in her chest, the warmth of his cum drying on her skin, the warmth of the soft towel ridding her of his mess, and the warmth of his arms around her as she fell asleep.

[fairymadnessyeah]

BNHA Ship to Finish the Year

FuyuSei (Todoroki Fuyumi x Iida Tensei)

Canon

I think that they would either meet by Shouto and Tenya or at the hospital.

If it was at the hospital, it would be a chance meeting. Fuyumi is visiting her mom, and Tensei is going to physical therapy. They meet in the lobby and start talking.

Present Mic and Nemuri are the ones who encourage him to ask her out. -PS: None of them knows she is the daughter of Enji yet.- After he does and they date for a few weeks, he shows them a picture, and the two almost have a heart attack. They don't know how to tell him, until Shouta comes along and says it.

If they meet by Shouto and Tenya, it probably would be at a Sport Festival or Cultural Festival. They would start talking, and Nemuri would ask Fuyumi out for him. She says yes, and they exchange numbers.

Imagine if Natsuo is there: "I got the snacks. What's that?" "Oh, a phone number. I have a date this Saturday," "I- I left for five minutes!"

I feel like he would stop by her school every time he can and her students know him as wheelchair boyfriend.

And speaking of wheelchairs, Tensei sometimes feels like he is not enough for Fuyumi. He can't take her dancing or ice-skating.

Fuyumi doesn't care about it. He loves Tensei for who he is, and that is enough for her.

On her birthday, he takes her to see the Winter Illumination events, and even takes her to see ice-sculptors at a festival.

He likes to carry her on his lap and then accelerate with his quirk. He especially does it when the sakura trees are blooming, so it's more romantic. 

Also, she sits on his lap when it's hot, since she is always cold.

I don't want to break anybody's bubble but these two one hell of an age gap.

Like Tensei is 31 and Fuyumi is 23.

He is eight years older than her. That's more than Shigaraki and Toga have on each other.

Am I the first one to notice this?

I feel like it should be a big deal. Like when Tensei was eighteen, Fuyumi was ten. 

I feel like his parents would make fun of him for that. Calling him a creepy old man.

I also feel, since Tensei appeared in vigilantes, that he has a lot of vigilante friends, and one time, they all meet Fuyumi.

I feel like they would like her more than her boyfriend.

Also, he likes her cooking much more than anything else he has ever eaten before. But don't tell his mom.

Family

There is only one rule that all Todoroki men share and respect: Fuyumi needs to be protected. They don't give a crap if the guy is a retired hero, or the brother of a friend, or in a wheelchair, they won't let him hurt Fuyumi.

The first months of dating, Tensei doesn't feel safe. Like someone is staring at his back with murderous intent. He can't pin-point which Todoroki is, but his money is on Endeavour.

Actually it's all of them. They take turns keeping watch. One time, they all ended doing it at the same time. It was awkward at first, but they found a way to make it work and not kill each other.

Every single Todoroki has threatened him.

Dabi, with the help of Toga, cornered him in an alley and placed him on the floor and stepped on him.

"If you hurt sister, I'm going to finish what Stain couldn't do..."

Natsuo did it during a family dinner. He smiled and at first appeared very polite, but when Fuyumi wasn't there, the smile was gone.

"I am a doctor, you think I don't know how to get rid of you and make it look like it happened naturally?"

Enji went to meet him at his apartment. He knocked on the door asked him a few question. Tensei went along, answering everything politely, and then got the message by the last question.

"How much heat will it take for that wheelchair to melt with you in it?"

Shouto was more surprising. He called Tensei with his brother's phone and only said one thing before he hung up.

"I don't care if you are Tenya's brother's, if you don't make my sister happy, I will end you," 

I feel like Rei wouldn't be okay with the idea until she sees that Tensei is defensless in a wheelchair. 

I know it's a bad thought, and Rei knows so, but after everything she went through, you can't blame the woman for it. Her daughter is with a HERO. At least, if he is in a wheelchair, she can do better to survive.

Tenya loves his new sister. He hasn't seen his brother so happy since the accident, and he always wanted a sister. 

The Iida's love her.

She is an angel in their eyes. Their son is in such good hands.

I feel like they would have two kids. First a girl Iida Fubuki, a girl, and then Iida Kaen, a boy.

Fubuki has blue hair with white highlights. Her name means blizzard in Japanese and her quirk is that she has engine pipes on her wrist that shoot dry ice.

Kaen has blue hair with red highlights. His name means Flame Thrower in Japanese and his quirk is that he has engine pipes on his ankles that shoot flames.

Neither of them become heroes. I feel like both families give them enough reasons not to follow that career.

Fubuki becomes an ice skater, using her quirk for presentations and speed.

Kaen becomes a musician. A hard, metal punk rocker and uses his quirk for shows. He was closer to Dabi than his sister. 

AU - Fantasy AU 

So, Fuyumi is a princess. Because, of course, she is. 

Tensei is a knight, and he comes from a long line of knights.

One day, her life is threatened by a new rogue called Stain, who is killing off noble families and royals.

Tensei is tasked with protecting the princess at all cost. But it's a harder task than he originally thought.

His job was to stick by the princess side as much as he could, but on his second day, he lost her. 

He found her later on a hut on the countryside, teaching young girls how to read and write and other basic knowledge. She wears a disguise, so others don't recognize her. With a tattered dress and a spell to make her hair black, she is unrecognizable.

Tensei doesn't stop her from doing it when he finds out and instead helps her sneak out and helps with the angry sexist man that come around.

It all goes well until Stain attacks.

He ambushes them on the road, and the only reason that they survive is that Fuyu shows Stain she is not like other royals.

As Tensei was trying to protect her and getting in the way, the rogue was going to kill him. But before he can, Fuyumi gets in the way, pleading that he lets Tensei live.

Stain leaves and Tensei and Fuyumi are alright.

When they return to the castle though, Tensei is looked down with dishonour by the rest of the court. He is fired from his job as a knight with the princess, but Fuyumi then hires him back again. 

The two continue to spend time together, and all seems happy. But then, Fuyumi is betrothed.

Tensei tries to handle it with dignity since he is only a knight and knew in the back of his mind, that Fuyumi would get married one day. But he is a jealous mess when the fiance arrives.

He follows them around, stops them whenever they get too close and intervenes whenever the man makes a move on her.

Fuyumi, though grateful, has to ask him to stop. Because even if she would prefer it was him, she is marrying, if he angers her fiance, they are going to behead him.

They don't have to worry about it though, because, before the wedding, the lost prince Touya returns and takes the throne. 

However, even if Dabi, now the new king, breaks her marriage off with her betrothed, Fuyumi doesn't like how much he is ruling.

The two get in a fight, and Dabi tells her that if she doesn't like it, then she can leave. He won't stop her.

The next day, Fuyumi starts packing. She tells Tensei that he can stay if he wants, he doesn't have to follow her.

Tensei confesses his feelings for her and then starts packing. 

They leave a week after and they settle on a farming land where Fuyumi opens a school for girls and Tensei hunts and collects stuff to sell.

Fanon Oponion

So, again, I can't see these two having sex.

I just can't.

I don't know why. And AO3 seems to agree with me since I found 3 where they have sex, and it's not just mentioned. 

One was a Fuyubowl, the other was a crackfic, and the last one traumatized me.

For the most part, they are a background couple.

And not in the way Hagakure and Ojiro are a couple where you might find more than 10 fics about them, but as 'we don't want Fuyumi to be alone, so in this fic she is with Tensei.'

I feel like they are underappreciated, especially Fuyumi.

Girl is still holding on after the shitty situation she is in. She is the only sane Todoroki in here. 

And poor Tensei. He didn't deserve what happened to him. Stain didn't have a very clear objective.

There's also the fact that not much is known about them.

Like Tensei has not been mentioned since the stain arc.

They are just there...

But people love making next-gen kids with them.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 15: DR. EGGMAN

There are some villains I like. And there are some villains I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a mini-series of mine, in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the villains in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. Keep in mind that these are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, it’s finally time for him. The bad doctor himself. Gather round ladies and gentleman, for the spotlight is on the arch-villain that shines above them all... Dr. Eggman.

The Gist: It's the dawn of the 90's. A little company called SEGA had an ephiphany. They wanted to make a video game juggernaut that could rival the quality and iconic appeal of the then-unmatched Super Mario Bros, and their current star, Alex Kidd, just wasn't doing it in the way that they hoped. They promptly set about starting anew, as a worldwide phenomenon wasn't going to make itself.

So a gentleman named Naoto Ohshima created a selection of design concepts for this brand new mascot. One of these concepts was President Roosevelt in his pajamas.

Seen here with his catgirl body pillow.

The response to this character was “This is good, but we think kids would prefer kicking the shit out of him”, and so he was given an antagonistic role instead. In the meantime, after juggling the rest of their ideas, they eventually settled on a rabbit hedgehog named Sonic for their main protagonist, knowing his Mickey Mouse-like aesthetic would help endear him to the audience, and the franchise as a whole would have an easier time gaining a DeviantART fanbase later on down the line.

Initially, the character of today's review was but a mere lackey among many, seemingly little more than one of numerous minions working for Sonic's originally intended main villain, the Nonspecific Goblin. He was also dressed as a bee for some reason.

Which is the least weirdest thing in this image.

At some point however, they all got together and decided that actually, the guy with the moustache was the only one worth shit, and so he was upgraded to the role of main villain himself. With a spiffy new attire of red and black, he was given the bold title of Dr. Eggman, because with a shape like that, what else are you gonna call him?

“Funny you should say that”, laughed SEGA of America, as they rebelled like an angsty teen and named him Dr. Ivo Robotnik instead. While this name does make equal sense for the character, as he is indeed a hard worker who also happens to like robots, the reason for this name's existence seems to have been mainly because they thought Eggman was too out there of a name for an egg-like man. Whatever the case, this would confuse a lot of fans for years, and remains a point of divisiveness to this day... Unless you're like me and your first game in the series was Advance 2, in which the manual clears it up right away, and you accept the idea of a character having two names and immediately carry on with your life.

He would have aimed it perfectly if it weren't for the Sonic Heroes Parrot distracting him.

And that was that, really. It didn't take long for them to come up with his characterization, which was that of a cackling fiend with an ego to end all egos. This guy was the Narcissist Alpha, more king than actual kings, no strings attached. Other villains would build statues of themselves, but only Robotnik would deface Ancient Egyptian monuments to improve them with his face. Other villains would think “Nah, refacing all four in Rushmore would look silly”, but only the Eggman, the Eggmyth, the Egglegend, would go “Well fuck you, I'm doing it anyway.” Then he'd do it anyway, and proceed to address to the entire world that he did in fact do it anyway.

It also didn't take long for them to develop his primary schtick. With the dynamic of Sonic VS Eggman, you had a classic rivalry between nature and technology. Interestingly enough however, this turned out to be executed more tactfully than your typical Amish-abiding examples in similar media. Never was technology itself regarded as a corruptive influence that you should never utilise no matter what. Rather, it was only as good or as evil as the person using it, with it just so happening that the villain loved machinery only slightly less than he loved himself, and it was countered by Sonic’s best friend being a techno wiz in his own right anyway. Anyhow, with his machinery, the doctor would make a name for himself among video game baddies by confronting his enemy as the boss of nearly every zone in each game, rather than hide away until the endgame.

And all without a driver's licence.

In his soon-to-be-30 years of activity, he has largely remained the same since his inception. Other characters have been introduced, other villains have came and went, but Eggman has remained THE villain of the franchise, and he's remained a vital part of the Sonic the Hedgehog universe... with a slight redesign along the way.

The only ad I don't want to skip.

The Design: Eggman's design may be more simplistic than the likes of Bowser and Ganondorf, and he may not look as openly threatening at first glance, but it's still a very iconic look no matter what look it is. His original appearance was devised so that kids could have an easy time drawing him, which only makes me feel worse about not being able to do it as a grown adult without it looking like a Sexy Legs Kirby.

Still, it's a classic for a reason. With his to-the-point colour scheme, contrasting heavily with Sonic's blue, and his capelet collar resembling walrus tusks, it was an instant winner and made everyone goo goo for g'joob.

The Emeralds he’s juggling are a metaphor for the divided fan community.

And when it was time to give the cast an update for Sonic's first real 3D adventure (or at least the first one that didn't get axed for being a magic eye seizure), Eggman got a respectable change of his own. He was taller, his getup was militaristic, and his body was more legitimately egg-shaped rather than basketball-shaped. He also gained a pair of goggles that he never uses, except in scenes where he puts them on and then never uses them.

“How do my chicken legs not collapse under the might of my gluttonous mass? Find out in an unrelated tie-in novel that you have to pay additional money for.”

There was also that one redesign from 2006, but...

Be it Classic or Modern, I've always loved his design. Before he even says a word or does anything, you know from his appearance that he's a bit of a clownish sort. But he also has a subtle creepy vibe going on, with the way his glasses often obscure his eyes, and how this only makes the pearly-white, unnecessarily wide grin on his face that much more empty and unsettling. This little bit of eeriness hiding among his cartoonish physique reflects the full extent of his character pretty accurately, as we’ll delve into soon enough.

If nothing else, it's more effective than him having no eyes at all.

GRRRRRRRR FUCK YOU BUNNIES THAT I CAN'T SEE

The Personality: If you've seen my villain reviews, then you'll have gathered that Sonic's rogues aren't known for having much in the way of personality. There are exceptions, but they are indeed the exceptions. More often than not though, whether it's an alien conquerer, an ancient monster, or Dan Green the Recolour, they can be summed up thusly: They're evil, they want to destroy the world, and the heroes stop them because they're evil and want to destroy the world. If they're feeling particularly daring, they might go for a second colour.

Luckily, as if to counter all these cardboard drawings, the central adversary of the franchise makes up for these voids of personality by actually having one. And what a personality it is.

The writers of SatAM looked at this and thought “No, this won't do, there's no character to work with here.”

He really is brimming with comedic charm. Every moment that he's present...

Every moment that he shows off...

Every moment that he basks in his own glory...

Every moment that he unveils a new wicked scheme...

Every moment that he puts his enemies to the test...

Every moment that he challenges the world...

Every moment that he laughs at the world...

Every moment that he lives, nay, every moment that he breathes...

Yes, the man has plenty of humor, and it's part of what makes him so enjoyable and memorable. However, if you think being a clown is all there is to him, then prepare to have your expectations subverted initial assumptions taken in a unexpected direction, because although he puts the goof in goofy, he ALSO puts the “oh...?” in “oh shit”.

For you see, Eggman is by all means the epitome of Laughably Evil, but do not, under any circumstance, take him at face value and write him off as a joke. He is anything but.

For starters, he can swing a planet.

There is a rule of thumb that I personally go by with Eggman’s characterization, one that I believe is an immediate make or break factor in regards to whether or not you understand what makes this villain work. Eggman - when you put all his secondary traits aside - is made up of two prominent halves. There’s the egocentric meme machine that bounces up and down like a kid with his N64 and laughs like Santa... and there’s the monster buried within that remains completely and utterly unrepentant for everything he’s responsible for. This is very important. Despite the character’s simplicity at his core, many writers have failed to grasp this, official writers included, and I for the life of me cannot understand why this is such a recurring problem. Eggman is funny, AND Eggman is evil. Both are equal. When you take away one or the other, you may have a funny character, or you may have an evil character, but you don’t have Eggman. Simple as.

Armchair intellectuals may argue that Eggman’s deeds aren’t that evil, since he tends to be merely callous rather than actively trying to hurt or kill people. Those people are probably the types on TV Tropes who weigh a villain’s evilness and effectiveness purely through the surface-level scale of their goals rather than what they actually do to achieve them. While it is true that Eggman tends to be more apathetic about the aftermath of his actions, that doesn’t - and shouldn’t - negate how dangerous he is. It shouldn’t negate what he’s capable of. It shouldn’t negate how far he’s willing to go. And it shouldn’t negate the consequences and casualties that can and do result from his many schemes.

Seriously, think about this for a second. If you confronted Eggman about his current plan to... I dunno, make a water park in Africa or some shit, and you informed him that there has been unexpected mass suffering as a result of this, how do you think he would truly feel about that? What do you think he would actually say to that?

Spoiler: No fucks.

If anything, that he “merely” doesn’t care either way as long as he gets what he wants is more uniquely horrific and deplorable than if he were a generic baddie who committed his evulz specifically for evulz’s own sake and nothing more. At least you’re inadvertently acknowledging that other people’s lives have value when you act one-dimensionally gleeful over ending them, but when your immediate response to the side-effect of a million potential deaths and environmental disasters is “Oh well, fuck ‘em, Eggmanland time baybeeee”, that’s a new level of cruelty.

Besides, even in the Genesis era, he was carpet bombing Angel Island...

“Good thing I have this shield. Sucks to be this forest!”

And he’s only gotten worse since then, indulging in such acts as going full suicide bomber with a missile, after his initial plot to destroy and rebuild Station Square through the means of Chaos and the Egg Carrier didn’t work out...

But don’t worry, he kept it lighthearted by making it look like a penis.

Making one of Sonic’s friends go insane with power against their will, forcing the Blue Blur to put them down personally...

It’s ironic, cause he’s metal. Or do I have to awkwardly explain the joke two more times before I’m a proper YouTuber?

Capturing thousands of innocent aliens, and forcefully converting them into mindless beasts...

I’m pretty sure I saw Alfred Molina conduct this experiment one time.

He even removed the heroes’ collective IQs so that he could shoehorn a cliffhanger on an already terrible game.

Thanks, cunt.

And honestly? When it comes to Sonic and chums at least, Eggman does let out a more openly sadistic side now and then. Need I mention that time when the doctor forced Sonic and two random buddies to make their way through a trap-infested island of his own creation? Not for the sake of nabbing Chaos Emeralds or anything of the sort mind you, he just wanted the blue motor mouth to suffer.

Images you can hear.

To make matters even worse, as befitting of his manchild tendencies, he’s ridiculously petty. How petty? Petty enough to abduct a little girl’s mother for no other reason than because Cheese completely trivialized his forces the girl was friends with Sonic and helped participate in the latest kicking of his own ass.

He only picked Vanilla because there was no Strawberry.

But at least his captives can admire the sheer variety that their captor has to offer. One of the greatest things about the doctor's style is that anything goes. With all due respect to Bowser, he tends to stick with his fiery castles (although he has been branching out recently), and plenty of other villains in gaming tend to be similarly stuck in their ways when it comes to tastes. Eggman, on the other hand, will create all sorts of fortresses and reside anywhere on the planet and beyond. It can be in the sky, in space, somewhere hot, somewhere cold, under the sea, in a circus... and every now and then, he might combine some of them together and thensome. So long as it's even vaguely mechanical in some way, his ground rules have already been ticked off.

Hang on a minute...

You know what else Eggman is? Relentless.

Persistence is a quality that most villains by their very nature share, lest they cease to be an effective antagonist. But once again, Rrrrrrrobotnik maxes out more than any other, and will often go to insane lengths to keep the current plan going, or if not that, then to spite Sonic.

Exhibit A: Sonic 3 & Knuckles, in which the grand finale consists of the madman throwing a gravity-shifting contraption your way, busting out a Kaiju-sized robo, escaping with the Master Emerald after his defeat, continuing to escape even after the Death Egg has been thoroughly destroyed, getting chased through the asteroid fields in space by Super Sonic, and only finally going down when the escape craft and the piloted mech controlling the escape craft are down. And all of this came after a grand adventure where, among other things, he destroyed an entire level just to kill you.

There are immortal omnipotents that put up less of a challenge.

“Looks like it’s time for Plan... *checks paper*... F.”

His relentlessness also reveals another side of the doctor that is simultaneously admirable and terrifying: He bows to no one. No one. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter how powerful they are. Doesn’t matter how much the odds are stacked against him. If another villain were to demand that he cower before them, the scientist would laugh and show through physical demonstration that this is not the way the egg rolls. Unless he’s absolutely unable to do so, he will give it his all every time, and even if he can’t, he’ll use his crafty mind to find some other way to get around the issue. You can beat him in battle, you can foil his plans, but you absolutely cannot break his resolve.

“Dad said it’s my turn to play with the Ruby. I know this, because I’m your dad.”

What about his relationship with those who actually serve him? Specifically, his own robots? Well for the most part, he treats them like absolute crap, what with verbally abusing them at every corner and being all too willing to go full Vader on them the moment they mess up. He IS capable of expressing fondness and giving praise to his more successful creations, like with Metal Sonic and Gamma, but even then, it’s a roundabout way of praising himself, since he’s the one who made them what they are. So basically, you’re only valuable to him if you make him look good.

Gaming in the Clinton Years in a nutshell.

And as for Sonic? Yeah, like with any legendary and long-lasting hero/villain dynamic, it’s obvious that Eggman has some degree of begrudging respect for his opponent. But if you think this respect would dissuade him from actually going through with his ambitions of rulership...

As the hedgehog’s apparent demise in Sonic Adventure 2 proves, as well as his defeat at the hands of Infinite and the subsequent six months of brutal conquest in Sonic Forces, Eggman is dead serious about his goals. If you think he’d get bored after conquering the world, he would simply expand his resources and have a crack at conquering the rest of the universe. When he says he hates that hedgehog, I’m inclined to believe that he means it, and although he may enjoy his “games” with Sonic to an extent, I also can’t see him wanting to remain stuck on square one forever.

If this were Sonic X, he’d just grieve.

By the way, the scene above? Undeniable proof that for all the doctor’s boasting, he’s not actually lying or exaggerating when he prides himself on his brilliance. Because when you get past his goofy exterior, when you look beyond the occasional, relatively minor mistake (*glares at IDW*), you’ll see that... yes. He IS brilliant. And not just in the science department either, although his countless robots and strongholds over the years are no doubt a testament to his credentials there. While he may prefer to go in big and bold, he can also be shrewd with his strategies when he wants to be.

Sonic’s aforementioned near-death experience, for example, was the result of Eggman turning the heroes’ own cunning plan on its head by being one step ahead of them. And in Sonic Unleashed, he lured his enemy into a trap, culminating with him cancelling out Super Sonic.

“...and pay the price for your Werehog gameplay...”

And after all those years of struggling, he finally got a giant monster under his complete control. “But he had help!”, you say? Yeah, from himself.

Did Flynn sleep through all this...?

Much like his inner nature as an evil bastard, Eggman's effectiveness is likewise commonly underestimated by writers. Yes, he occasionally makes mistakes. Yes, he occasionally overlooks details. Yes, he occasionally lacks foresight. But he is NOT stupid. A hero is only as good as their villain after all, and if Eggman is portrayed as a bumbling fool, then how can Sonic be a truly great hero? Eggman is humorous, sinister, and when the chips are down, competent.

...Did I mention that he's also a master Olympian?

The Execution: There's no surprises here. You knew from the moment you saw this review that my stance wasn't going to be anything less than 100% fanboy adoration. In that respect, this section almost feels redundant, because there's only so many ways I can say “Dr. Eggman is the fucking shit and I'm eternally grateful to Mr. Ohshima for bringing this absolute masterpiece into our world” without it getting repetitive. So to cap this review off, I'm going to very briefly compare his portrayals in other media, and explain why they tend to not be as good as the original SEGA Eggman.

“Cause they’re not balanced, right?” you ask. “Cause they veer too far in a particular direction? You're so predictable,” you add. To that I say:

1. Yeah, basically.

2. ...S-Shut up...

3. While the conclusion may be obvious, it's nonetheless important because as I mentioned previously, despite how straightforward this villain is, writers seem absolutely intent on not getting the point. There are loads of villains out there who share Eggman's talent of mixing hilarity and evil together with a bow of competence on top. Two of those villains are among the most famous supervillains of all time, in fact. You might have heard of them.

Joker can do it just fine. Green Goblin can do it just fine. And plenty of others can do it just fine. So why is it such an issue with Eggman? What is it about a round body and a long moustache that gets people to think “No, this guy is absolutely incapable of being comedic and threatening at the same time, no question, end of.” Is it because he’s a more cartoony franchise? Well, that can't be the case, because even Mario has a couple of beloved examples. Fawful, anyone? How about Dimentio? Cackletta? King Boo? K. Rool? Hell, you could even count Bowser himself depending on the portrayal.

Anyway, the point is, writers tend to miss the mark for one reason or another. With Sonic X for example, he wasn't too bad in the beginning, but as the show went on, he became exactly the toothless non-villain that many people misjudge him as. We all know that scene where he berates Black Narcissus for harming their captives (not for pragmatic reasons mind you, he genuinely took issue with the act on moral grounds, even though his own hands weren’t exactly clean either), but even before that point, he was doing such things as healing an injured Sonic without an ulterior motive, not taking any opportunity whatsoever to start conquering Sonic's world because he was pining for Sonic's attention, and being the Jiminy Cricket to Chris Thorndyke's Pinocchio. Why they thought the goddamn villain should be the moral conscience of this show remains an unanswered question, but at least it no longer influences how he's portrayed in the games.

Then you have the IDW comic, which is a similar tale of starting off decent and then careening wildly into the abyss, but for different reasons. Initially, he was built up to be in-line with his competent, foresight-packed self from Forces, with his inevitable return being met with dread, and a delightfully devilish scheme to match when he finally did so. But somewhere along the way, Ian Flynn thought that Eggman coming back from his amnesiac period and returning stronger than ever with a new minion and a deadly virus wasn't enough to up the stakes... so they decided to “up the stakes” by turning both the doctor and his new minion into massive imbeciles so as to justify their plot getting hijacked by the Deadly Six, a move so predictable yet infuriating that it got even me to turn against the Six. And the reason the Six got invited in-universe is because Starline decided he didn’t like being unique and devolved into Snively 2.0 behind Eggman’s back. All this from the alleged “best writer” for the series...

Yeah, same.

And then you have the Boom version, which shares basically the same issues as Sonic X but in a more mundane fashion. It's easier to dismiss because it's a comedy-centric show and his redesign makes it easier to separate him from mainline Eggman, and I'll gladly admit that he does have a lot of genuinely funny lines that redeem him a little bit. But yeah, too much of not being a true villain for my tastes.

Now this isn't to say that there haven't been portrayals in other media that are up there with the original. The versions that I consider better off than the ones above include...

- The OVA Eggman is pretty faithful all things considered, aside from his romantic feelings for Sara, which feels slightly off since the idea of Eggman loving anyone other than himself is incredibly unrealistic at best. But it doesn't actually soften or undermine his deviousness, so I'm willing to let it slide for an alternate take. Especially since he gave us the best Metal Sonic out there.

- AoStH is far from a perfect show, but there's a reason why even its detractors tend to treat its version of Robotnik like a national treasure. Admittedly most of that is because of the legendary Long John Baldry and the endless memes associated with this incarnation, but despite hailing from a comedy-focused show like Boom Eggman, this Robotnik still had a lot of legitimately dangerous moments, more than you'd think.

- And of course, Jim Carrey's Robotnik in the Sonic movie is just... *chef's kiss*

So obvious aesop though it may be, but you see what the more effective portrayals have in common, I assume?

Granted, this also isn't to say that SEGA Eggman himself has had a perfect track record. The decade's worth of upstagings and backstabbings by other villains should be enough of a counterpoint to that claim, and I've also made it clear now and then that I take issue with certain games regarding what they do with the doc, no matter how revered they may be by other fans. Sonic Adventure 2, for instance. I praised the fake emerald scene, and I do sincerely believe that he has a number of other badass moments in that game, but because Shadow was playing him like a fool the whole time, I can't help but have a bitter taste in my mouth when I look at the bigger picture.

So close to greatness, yet so far...

So in that case, which game do I think has Eggman's best showing overall? That's not in any way an easy question, but lack of dialogue aside, I'm gonna go with Sonic 3 & Knuckles again, as the classic journey through the sights of Angel Island plays out in a way that highlights just how determined, ruthless, and underhanded he is with carrying out his mission to revive the Death Egg by any means necessary. Other games do win out in other areas - SA1 for how bastardly he is, Forces for how cunning he is, Colours for his hilarious announcements, CD for using the scenery to show the effects of his actions, Mania for not letting the other villain walk all over him - but for the purest essence of the doctor at his cartoony yet competent best, I'd say S3&K is a reasonable bet.

And when it comes to all his many traits, which one do I find the most special one of all? Well again, far from easy to answer, but I think the coolest aspect about him is also one of the most overlooked. Robotnik, despite whatever superhuman qualities he may occasionally unveil, is for all intents and purposes a regular guy with a big brain. This might make him appear unimpressive when compared to your average Final Fantasy villain and the like, but if anything, it paints him in a more flattering light than expected, because he doesn't even need to be on their level to still be on the radar. It's easy to be a big bad threat when you're an ancient demon or an almighty god-like being, and you only have to wave a hand to cause armageddon. But when you're just Some Guy™ going up against superpowered opponents, meaning you have to earn your threat level the hard way, and you prove to be a challenge every step of the way regardless, because you're just THAT much of a genius... that's fucking awesome, no other way to put it.

And you know what else is awesome? You may not like Eggman, and you don’t have to like him, but like it or not, he is directly and indirectly responsible for a vast majority of the coolest and most loved moments and aspects of this franchise.

The opening to Unleashed? Eggman set up the scene.

Shadow running around and continuing to be part of the franchise? Eggman released him.

Blaze getting involved with Sonic’s world and continuing to be part of the franchise? Eggman’s half-responsible for that.

Metal Sonic? Eggman made him.

Egg Dragoon? Eggman.

Big Arm? Eggman.

Monkey Dude? Eggman.

That text is missing a blue checkmark.

This review is probably longer than the echidna family tree in Archie at this point, so I better finish it off. If it wasn't obvious from all the paragraphs I've belted out in this post, I'm very passionate about Eggman and the way he’s portrayed. Ever since I got into the Sonic franchise in 2003, I immediately took a liking to the doctor, and to this day, he remains not only my favourite Sonic villain, my favourite Sonic character, but also my favourite character period. Some may find it a weird or lame choice compared to other, “better” characters, but that's the way it is, and I ain't about to change it. I am very unlikely to ever stop enjoying the hell out of this villain, and even if he got irreversibly ruined in some way, I'd still continue to love what he was before that point.

Because yeah, he's not the deepest character ever, but... who cares? Is it not enough that we find something that appeals to us? When I got into Sonic, I was introduced to fantastic games, a likable cast, high quality soundtracks, beautiful worlds, numerous friends on this very site, and of course, the lovely treasure that is my partner. I may not have been with this franchise during the 90's, but it's given me just as much fun, nostalgia, and happiness as those who were. Despite the flawed titles, despite the fandom conundrums, I still love this series.

And I still love this absolute prick.

Crusher Gives Dr. Eggman a: TWO Thumbs Up!

[myaekingheart]

126. Hopelessly  Devoted

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               “That’s it, I’m never drinking ever again” Sekkachi announced, slumping into a booth at the dango shop. Rei paused mid-chew, blinked, swallowed. Sekkachi tightened her ponytail in frustration and flagged down Amai, the waitress. “Two taiyaki, please.”

               “Wow, what the fuck did you even do?” Rei asked once Amai skipped away. “It must be really bad if you’re ordering taiyaki.” And saying please, Rei mentally added. It was no secret that Sekkachi had a very limited diet of anything bland and rice based. True, she often treated Hiretsuna to taiyaki after routine doctor’s appointments but she never ordered any for herself.

               Sekkachi reached across the table and took a long swig of Rei’s drink. “I made a big fucking mistake, Rei. I’m losing my mind here” she replied. It was the most jittery and unhinged Rei had ever seen her, and it almost even made her anxious herself. “I just have one question for you: when we were at the bar, do you remember me, I don’t know, flirting with anyone?”

               Rei scoffed and shook her head. “I barely remember what I did that night, let alone you” she replied. Sekkachi’s thirtieth birthday had only been five days ago and Rei still found herself suffering from the aftermath of it. Her voice was scratchy and sore for days afterward, a consequence of having not formally practiced her last-minute metal screaming, and sometimes she swore she could still feel the sharp sting of alcohol at the back of her throat. All in all, her extended hangover did not bode well for her work performance. She didn’t even want to think about how terribly her last few ANBU missions had gone. She didn’t particularly want to think about the ANBU at all, though, to be honest.  

               Snapping Rei from her daze, Sekkachi shook her head and looked out at the street. “Maybe I should just go rogue. Disappear completely” she mused. “I don’t think I can ever show my face in Konoha ever again.”

               “Oh, come on” Rei whined. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Can’t be any worse than anything you’ve already done.” A few choice blunders came to mind: one night stands with unsuspecting girls she broke the hearts of, that one time she got high and jumped in a fountain at the park, then subsequently ran from the Uchiha police force. They had to put her under a genjutsu just to get the cuffs on her and even then, she resisted. There were also the many times she’d put salt on Rei’s cookies at lunch in the academy. Sekkachi was nothing short of an anarchist so her getting into trouble wasn’t even surprising.

               Unamused, Sekkachi glared at Rei across the table and replied, “No, believe me, it’s way fucking worse.” Motioning with her hand, Rei made an impatient expression and silently urged her to explain. Sekkachi buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Apparently we ran into someone at the bar that my dumb ass decided to not only flirt with but exchange phone numbers with, and now I’ve got to clean up a mess I didn’t even want to make in the first place.”

               Rei gasped in mock shock, asking in hushed tones, “Oh god, was it…a man?”

               “No, it was not a man, you idiot!” Sekkachi shouted, reaching across the table to slap Rei on the arm. “I may be dumb but I’m not that dumb!” Rei couldn’t help but laugh, even though she knew deep down the situation wasn’t all that funny. After all, if Sekkachi was this upset, it must be really serious. Amai scurried over with the taiyaki, insisting to Sekkachi that it was on the house, then offered Rei a refill of her water, which she quietly accepted. Once the waitress had scampered off yet again, Sekkachi finally gave a solid explanation. “It was…Mikazuki. You know, that bitch in the ANBU with you.”

               “Oh?” Rei asked, cocking a brow. This was definitely an interesting turn of events. Rei was not blind. She saw the way Mikazuki looked at Sekkachi, the way her cheeks blushed whenever word broke of the blue-haired kunoichi. “So? What happened?”

               “Nothing happened!” Sekkachi replied. “I just woke up the next morning to a goddamn voicemail from her stupid little hushed voice. Rei, I’ve made a massive fucking mistake. How the hell do I get out of this?”

               “Why do you want to get out of it?” Rei asked, taking a sip of her drink. “Mikazuki is a sweetheart, I’m sure you guys would have a good time together.” Nevermind the fact that she’s taken, Rei thought to herself, but she didn’t dare bring that up. She didn’t even know how serious her and Tenzo’s relationship was to begin with. What she said about crashing on his couch, the night Tenzo got wildly drunk, still stuck in the back of Rei’s mind.

               Sekkachi rolled her eyes, ripping the head off of her taiyaki and taking a frustrated, barbaric bite. “Because I want nothing to do with her!” she countered. “If I could go the entire rest of my life without having to see Mikazuki Zazen ever again, I would be incredibly grateful.”

               “She’s really not that bad” Rei protested, but Sekkachi was already on a rampage. There was no changing her mind.

               “She’s bland and she has no fucking backbone. She’s into all that weird tarot stuff which you know I don’t give a rat’s ass about it—it’s all just a bunch of fucking bullshit. Doesn’t mean anything, like how the fuck can you actually sit there and let a bunch of dumb little cards dictate your life? Her haircut is stupid and that third eye freaks me the fuck out and I can never understand a damn thing she’s saying because she’s always whispering and stammering like she can’t even make a proper fucking sentence. It’s absolutely ridiculous, I can’t stand her!”

               Rei blinked, having not expected quite so passionate an explanation. What exactly did Sekkachi have against Mikazuki in the first place? What did Mikazuki ever do to her? Rei understood that her comrade had her faults but she found it hard to believe that there was any reason to truly hate her as much as Sekkachi seemed to. Rei took an uncomfortable sip of her drink, her eyes scanning the dango shop, when she locked eyes with an all-too-familiar face standing at the counter. Oh no.

               “Mikazuki’s really not that bad, you know” Rei stammered out, trying to save face. Mikazuki herself was staring right at them and based on the look on her face, she had heard everything. Her peridot eyes went glassy with impending tears, her lips pursed as she tried to restrain herself but her red cheeks gave her away. Sekkachi either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care. She couldn’t afford to.

               Amai skirted around the corner, producing a box of petit fours from under the counter. Mikazuki barely looked at her as she took the box, slapped some money on the counter, and ran out of the dango shop. Rei considered running after her to make sure she was okay, but she had no idea what to even say to her. If anything, she was sure she would only make things ten times worse. Either way, she would have to deal with it anyway when she went into work the next morning. She didn’t think she had the strength. Defeated, Rei merely sank down into her seat and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “You know, Sekkachi, maybe in this new decade of your life you can practice watching what you say.”

               Mikazuki raced down the street, hugging the box to her chest. At this point, she didn’t even care if she crushed the damn things. It wasn’t worth it anymore. When she felt she couldn’t maintain composure any longer, she ducked into an alleyway and broke down in tears. She should’ve known it was all a lie. She should’ve known Sekkachi would never be soberly interested in her. After all, what was there to like? Sekkachi was right about everything. She was meek and strange and bothersome. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and shook her head, trying to remain positive. At least she had Tenzo. He cared about her. He appreciated her company. Perhaps that was something she had been taking for granted all this time. Perhaps she had been so preoccupied with what her heart was yearning for that she wasn’t giving her full attention to what her heart already had. Mikazuki looked down at the little cakes through the plastic window of the box, decorated with swirling yellow and pink icing. From now on, things would be different. From now on, she was no longer going to hope and wish for things she knew were not meant for her. She had Tenzo, and she loved him. She was sure she did. He deserved more than what she had been providing but no longer. From this point forward, she would devote herself to him completely. She would love him the way he deserved and they would be happy. She would make sure of it.

[xvnqsb]

Creepo and Arrows - avengers

word count: 1.6k

author’s note: so this was requested by @breadgenie892 like TWO months ago and I hadn’t been able to write it because of school :/ I finally got around to it though - still haven’t done my school work lmao - and wrote this as best as I could. I hope you like it! i know it’s terrible i’m sORRY i will write you something better in the future I PROMISE!

request: If it's not too much of a problem can I request immortal reader (like the ones from the movie 'the old guard' if you've watched it but if not it's basically immortal reader that can still feel every wound) and it's after the rogues get pardoned and she's practicing with another agent on dodging arrows and gets hit 2 times and team cap is like "👁👄👁 ma'am what", but she just kneels on the floor as the agent comes over and yanks it out for her and she just says " I'd never thought I'd be kneeling like this for you" and it ends with tony, rhodey and happy being smug while Sam and Bucky make bets on who can win her over faster-

---

Y/N smiles at Steve as they pass each other, happy that the team is back together again. Tony gives him a curt nod, tension filling the air for a moment.

Germany was tough, and so was going against Tony’s wishes of keeping the ‘wrong team’ at bay. She convinced Tony to talk to Senator Ross and have them pardoned.

Tony didn’t want them to move into the tower. “Them being pardoned is enough.”

“No, it’s not,” She argued, keeping up with his pace as they walked towards his lab.

“They’re our friends, Stark. You don’t live here anyway! You and Pepper bought a house in the woods, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then it’s settled. They’ll move back into the tower while they’re on house arrest!” They stopped outside of the door to the lab, and she stood on her toes. Planting a kiss on his cheek, she began to skip down the hallway towards the elevator once more. “Love you, Tony!”

“Love you, too, kid,” He mumbled as he stepped into the room.

“You ready, Creepo?” Tony asks as they make their way into the training area.

“Creepo?” She asked, eyebrows raised and a smile on her face. “That’s a new one.”

“It’s hard coming up with nicknames with your freaky power thingy,” He opened up a pack of raisins, popping a few into his mouth. “Ruins my flow.”

“Your flow?” She scoffs, declining the offer of his snack. “I think it’s a blessing, given your ridiculous nicknames.”

“My nicknames are not ridiculous, They’re great!”

“They’re okay.” He scoffed at the lie, smiling at the young girl rolling her eyes. “You should really stop eating before training sessions, Tony.”

“Why?” They entered the training area as Wanda, Sam, Bucky, Steve, and Natasha laughed at something one of them had said.

“Because then you throw up everywhere”

“I do not!”

They walked over to Rhodey, who was at the window watching the agents in training run their final lap.

“Rhodey, tell him I’m right.” She said, watching the agents as well.

“She’s right.” He complied, stretching his arms to prepare for the upcoming hours.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about,” Tony quipped back, setting down his food. “So you have no say.”

The five other trainers joined them as the agents came back inside, trying to contain their lack of breath. Tony clapped his hands, gaining the attention of the group.

“Okay, listen up, because I’m only going to say this once,”

“Wish that was a statement he followed up on more often,” Y/N muttered to Rhodey, who chuckled at your comment. Tony glared at the two of you, unamused.

“You’ll be split into two groups, and from there you’ll be split into smaller groups.” He used his arm to split the group down the middle, creating an invisible line. “If you’re on the left, you’re with me, Agent Romanoff, Rhodey, and Agent Y/L/N. If you’re on the right, you’re with Captain Rogers, Wilson, Sergeant Barnes, and Wanda.”

The groups separated, anxious about their training with the Avengers.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the rough training that she would have to endure with the trainees themselves. Dodging arrows was not her favorite pastime.

“I apologize for those of you who were excited to learn archery from Agent Barton,” She began, internally cringing at the fact that she couldn’t say Clint. Barton just sounded so...wrong. She clasped her hands together, putting a small smile on her face. “But, I am the next best thing, unfortunately.”

Y/N heard Tony chuckle from a few feet away, sending him a glare. He didn’t glance back, instead choosing to focus on the recruits while trying not to laugh. She faced the young group of 6 once more. She was glad it was no longer the large group of 100, but not glad that 52 agents in training were cut from the Avengers program. Hill still wanted them for technical, so she recruited them herself. Although, it got back that the Avengers were nicer than Maria Hill.

“So, the first thirty minutes I will be teaching you how to hold a bow and how to shoot, but after that, you will be expected to know without any help. The last 30 minutes you will be shooting at still targets, and the hour after that you will be shooting moving targets.”

Y/N took a deep breath, grabbing the bow and holding it up. “Let’s get started.”

-

They didn’t suck. The group learned fast and grew confident quickly, something that she had struggled with when she had first begun.

“Rodriguez!” The girl turned to the agent, putting the bow down properly, and stood at attention. “You’re done. Turner, you’re up.”

The first agent began walking to the back of the line, giving her fellow peer a small smile in passing. Agent Y/L/N stuck an arm out, nodding at the young girl in front of her. Rodriguez’s blue eyes shined with worry, but her face stayed stoic. “Nice job. You’re a good shot. Keep working, and you’ll be Agent Barton level in no-time.”

“Thank you.” She tried to keep her excitement, but Y/N heard a small squeal slip past her lips.

Turner raised the bow, her green eyes trained on the target in front of her. She pulled the arrow back, inhaling before letting the arrow fly.

Bullseye.

-

This sucked.

Y/N was tired, out of breath, and thirsty as hell. The agents were worried at first, but after saying she was fine and pushing them, they did their training. No regret as they ruthlessly shot arrows at her one by one, no break in between.

“Agent Y/L/N over there should be getting paid triple her salary,” Tony called, taking a break from his training. She shooed him away, narrowly missing an arrow. “It’s true, you’re putting your life on the line.”

“You’re distracting me, Stark.” An arrow grazed her arm, and she held an arm out to stop the trainees. They stood at attention, Turner stopping her assault. “Get water.”

She took her water bottle from Tony, taking a huge sip. Panting, she watched the agents in training stretch and hydrate.

“Which ones?” The question didn’t need to be completed. She knew what the end of the question was.

Which ones - do you want to pass on as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents? Would survive the new training created by Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff, Director Fury, Commander Hill and herself? Would be able to keep the burden of having to have a secret identity from their families? Would be able to handle the possibility of killing someone?

“Rodriguez, Turner, Tang, and Chavez.” she pointed out the four women who were currently giving each other encouraging words.

“All women?” She turned to the man, eyebrows raised.

“Is there a problem with that?”

His mouth fell open, stumbling over his words. “N-no! I’m just- that’s not- I just- not what I meant..”

Her head tilted to the side, his face turning red before she laughed it off. “I’m joking. I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

She clapped her hands, getting the attention of the agents once more. “Alright back to it. Tang, you’re up.”

The girl came forward, mumbling something in Mandarin. You got this.

Agent Y/N nodded, taking a stance before beginning to dodge the arrows. On the tenth arrow, Agent Tang hit her directly in the chest. Another arrow hit her abdomen, causing her to drop to her knees. Tang stopped, eyes wide and hands covering her mouth. The bow fell to the ground, and she ran towards you.

Tony looked over at the commotion to see the arrow sticking out of Y/N’s chest, taking out his phone and dialing Dr. Cho.

Steve caught sight of the incident, hurrying over and dropping to his knees as well. Sam and Bucky stood to the side with Wanda, who watched with tears in her eyes.

“I’m good, I’m good.” You grabbed the arrow in your chest, pulling it out.

“Whoa, whoa! Y/N don’t do that!” Steve tried to stop her to no avail, and she pulled it out fully. she huffed, throwing it to the ground before taking out the second arrow. “What the hell?”

The entry wounds closed themselves quickly, all that was left was the blood released from them. Happy and Dr. Cho enter at that time, coming over to check her over. Steve stepped back to allow the doctor to work, shocked at what he had just witnessed. Sam and Bucky were frozen, not believing what they were seeing.

“I’m fine, guys.” She looked up at Tony, who was smirking proudly. “Wipe that look off your face, Stark.”

“They didn’t know?” Happy asked a smug Rhodey.

“Nope.” He chuckled as Sam and Bucky snapped out of their trance, a look of awe on their faces.

“Now’s a good a time as any,” Y/N muttered, before looking up to address the other Avengers. “So I have this power that does not allow me to die, as you can see.”

They nodded, not speaking.

“Oh, and I heal fast.”

Sam and Bucky began to bicker, nudging each other with their shoulders.

“She’s mine,” Sam whispered, smacking Bucky.

“No, I’ll get her to want me!” Bucky smacked him back, shooting him a death glare.

“Get that Winter Soldier shit outta here! She’ll want all this.” He motioned over himself, a proud look on his face.

“Nobody wants that. Especially after what you just did!”

“You wanna bet?” Sam stood straight, squaring his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Bucky stood taller than him, looking down at the shorter man. “Shorty.”

“By an inch!”

[rxgerthatt]

once upon a time, I forgot her name

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader 

Summary - Steve forgets you. He forgets himself. He knew you once, he can feel it in his bones

Warnings - SMUT/memory loss/angst/gore 

A/N - so this is hella fucking long and I wanted it out earlier than this but ohhhh well. Its finally here! Hope you all enjoy!

“My name is Steve Rogers. I was born in Brooklyn. I’m Captain America.” 

It’s like a game. Look at the facts and see how many you can remember. He wonders if he was good at games before. He shakes his head. Starts again. He has to remember, he wants to remember, he needs to remember. 

“My name is Steve Rogers. I was born in Brooklyn. I’m Captain America.” 

The name is so foreign on his tongue, as though it doesn’t belong there. As if it’s not really his, and he finds himself staring at his reflection in the morning. The person staring back is a stranger. He’s afraid he’ll never remember. 

But he doesn’t cry. He cannot mourn what he does not know. And maybe that hurts more. Maybe that’s enough for him to grieve. 

He sees faces in his dreams - memories. Places and missions and a life before the accident, but it’s almost like he’s seeing someone else’s life through his own eyes. 

And he wishes to be a part of it, because he feels as though he doesn’t belong. Our need as humans is always to belong, to be wanted and to be needed by someone - anyone. 

The 1930’s. He feels the heat of a summer day in Brooklyn. He’s much smaller then, can’t stay in the sun for too long or he burns. The humid air makes his asthma spike, steals the air from his lungs like a searing, wet kiss. 

He feels a mans arm around his pointed shoulders - he’s much happier then - ice cream melting on their tongues and coating their throats, in a way that can only be described as blissful. 

“Captain Rogers?” 

His thoughts are broken, shards scattering like stars in his mind. They’re so far away. A nurse stands in the doorway, beside him is the man from his recollections. He’s different now, more obscure - criss-crossed in shadows and a dark past of his own. Long, unruly hair and a metal arm - ugly, puckered scar on his shoulder where it’s attached to his body. 

But deep down he’s still there. Much like Steve. 

“You okay pal?” He asks. 

Steve doesn’t know what to say, because he’s not, so he settles on - “Y-Yeah. I’m fine. What’s your name again?” 

And the hurt that flashes is the lapis glare of the man is enough to tell Steve that his words sting. “It’s Bucky.” 

“Mr Barnes is here to take you home,” the nurse adds. 

Home. Where was home for Steve Rogers? The man he was supposed to be. The man he used to be. They’d shown him pictures. There was no white picket fence, with wild viridescent grass. The kind that grounds you, caresses your skin like a thousand tongues, and sways with the cool breeze. 

No. His home was built like fucking Fort Knox. The grass was garish, and the white picket fence was a reinforced vibranium wall. Steve Rogers home was uncommon. 

But something about it made him smile. 

“Home.” 

***

2 months ago 

It was supposed to be easy. 

You’d done it a million times before. Save the hostages and get the fuck out. Ten shivering bodies followed in pursuit, grime covered and sweat slicked, and there’s children - small children. You’re glad you got there when you did. 

Until you aren’t. 

“Cap, (Y/N), I’m detecting multiple bogies outside of the warehouse - you gotta get out of there.” Tony comes through the coms. 

Simple recon turns sour. At least twelve men make themselves known. Hydra stragglers. The evocative emblem stitched to their chests and you wonder how they wear it with pride. 

It’s the weapons they wield that catch your eye. “Is that...” you turn to Steve, see the storm raging in the blues of his eyes, broken by shards of ice. 

“Chitauri debris.” 

And you have so many questions. But fail to come to any answers. Midnight blue energy forms around your hands, and you and Steve fight like rogues to protect the hostages. It’s like some twisted dance. Graceful, and beautiful and so fucking morbid but it’s you. And god, it was supposed to be so fucking easy. 

You’re blasted across the room, back slamming against a wall. You remember searing pain, skin split and violent red as your insides spill out of your hip. It’ll heal. Steve looks over, concern, worry, scribbled across his face like an artists page. Your eyes meet for just a moment before - 

It happens too fast. 

And your screaming. Steve’s body falls, crashes against the ground and the room goes silent. Or at least it feels like it does. And your world collapses. 

You turn murderous - kill every Hydra agent in the warehouse. Your eyes are fire. Gasoline set to a match. Aegean energy wrapping around their corpses and you squeeze until they’re purple and black and gasping. 

You crush their skulls with ease. Watch as their eyes pop from their sockets like marbles. Their blood spills across the floor in a flurry of bone and matter. It’s all gore and slaughter and pained screams. Relish in the sound of death. And you feel nothing. 

And when the job is finished you turn to him. Collapse on your knees beside his body and drop your hands into the blood that pillows his head. Your heart is pulled from your chest, veins and arteries attached, and you watch it burst in front of your very eyes. 

The jets arrive. Agents load the boxes of weapons, the hostages - and you carry Steve’s body in your arms. Your stare is blank. You feel empty. And Tony looks at you for reassurance - reassurance that you’re okay. And you can’t give it to him. 

“They came out of nowhere,” Tony tells you. “It’s as if they knew you would be there.” And his eyes spark, burn wide and bister, as he pieces together the coincidence of the hostages and the weapons. 

Nick Fury set you up. He knew Steve’s need to help people. He knew the hostages would be there, and he knew the weapons would be there too. Steve’s skull was cracked like a nut because of him. You were covered in Steve Rogers blood - head to toe - like some hellish angel because of him. Steve was lying on that table, fighting for his life because of him. 

And he would die because of you.

There’s a ringing. It’s long, and piercing and you feel your stomach in your throat because you know he’s dying. Tony holds you back as you scream at the doctors. 

If he dies, you die too. Please! Oh god. Please! 

You could easily throw him aside but you don’t. He wraps you in his arms, whispers in your ear, holds your face to his neck. But you don’t listen. And you’re crying, trails of anguish breaking rivers through your dusted cheeks. 

You mumble - “I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him.” 

*** 

Your knuckles bleed lurid red. It’s smeared across the leather of the bag like some morbid painting - your hands the brush. Angry red valleys coat your hands but they don’t hurt. Nothing hurts anymore. 

“I love it when we ruin the gym equipment.” 

You ball your fists and they’re coated in blue - pulsating twisting. And Tony holds his hands up, earthy hues coming to life with fear, the anticipation of being hit by raw power. When you realise it’s Tony, your hands fall to your sides once more. 

“If you’re here to lecture me on the importance of value Tony, I’m not in the mood.” You respond. 

“I’m not here to lecture you babe,” he walks further into the dimly lit gym, stands under an ugly yellow light and gives you a genuine smile. Not the forced, seductive smirk pulled over a pristine face. No. This was Tony. 

So you wait expectantly for him to speak. He pulls the pillow of his lip in between his teeth and chews thoughtfully. “Steve’s coming home today.” 

The penny drops. Hits the ground with a deafening thud and you feel the involuntary stiffening of your spine. Each vertebrae seems to snap in place. “Oh yeah?” You shrug it off, pack your gym bag and sling it over your shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Tony replies. “You should be there, to welco-“ 

“You know I can’t do that.” You’re stern. “He doesn’t know who I am, I can’t help him.” 

“You can’t or you won’t?” Tony is blunt - straight to the point. You guess that’s what makes him a reliable friend. “Because he needs you (Y/N).” 

Anxiety coils in your stomach, spirals tight like copper rod and it’s as though your nerves are set alight - sizzling like furious firelights, marring your skin. 

Tony’s hands are cool when they land on your shoulders. It’s a relief from the heat, and the simple gesture grounds you again. It Pulls you from your own head, and throws you on the floor - bare and unfiltered. 

“Whether you believe me or not, is your choice,” his irritated tone is oddly gentle. “But you both need this.” 

“He would do it for you.” 

*** 

“Welcome home Cap!” 

Smiling faces. Lips pulled tight over gleaming teeth. Each smile was familiar - resonates something deep within him. He just can’t place it. And he scatters around in his own brain, searching for names. 

“It’s great to have you back man.” One man steps out from the sea of faces, a warm toothy grin that sets his eyes alight. That earthy brown, the kind after heavy rain - welcoming. He’s a sturdy man, gleaming cocoa skin and clad in tac pants and a plain shirt. 

His name is Sam. 

“Hey gramps, welcome back to the world.” A smirk - devilish - and Steve knew this man was devious. He was smaller in build, compensated  with his wit, with a fancy suit and gaudy facial hair over olive skin. An air of confidence surrounded him like no other, but Steve could see the selflessness in him. 

Tony Stark. 

His eyes travelled to a woman. She was beautiful. Piercing blue eyes and pressed pale skin with a cotton pink hue. Her hair burned chestnut and it reminded him of autumn. Of trees clad in gold and brown and scarlet. That fresh natural smell of the earth, and the sound of birds singing in the trees - harmonious, peaceful. 

And he feels a hand. It’s warm and small but so fucking strong. Steve’s sees her - not the woman with the red hair - the woman from his dreams. They walk hand in hand, surrounded by the fire of fall and vivid colours. She stands out against the landscape, but Steve knew she always stood out. She was a dream. Clad in cut offs, black boots two sizes too big, and a tank top - no bra - her hair spills liquid down her back. 

He smells it. Orange blossom, burning wood. It’s pressed into each strand of hair, and Steve feels the velvet between his fingers. And her smile. Oh god her smile. It was like looking into the fucking sun, and it incinerates away every shadow, as though the sun were just shining on her. As though everything wrong with the world just stopped to see that smile. Everything about it feels like home. 

“Steve?” 

He’s mumbling, staring at the woman in front of him and she looks genuinely concerned. Natasha. Her name is Natasha. “Steve, is everything alright?” His eyes dart around the room, words stuck in his throat like hot glue. Everyone stares at him, marble eyed and worried. 

“Yeah... I just... never mind.” 

It’s dropped. Left in his mind to fester. That is until Bucky speaks from his side. Answers his silent prayer, puts a name to the girl he feels so connected too. 

“(Y/N) not here?” 

“Yeah... uh - something came up.” Tony lies, scratches the nape of his neck. “She wishes you well Cap. Speedy recovery and all that nice shit.” 

“(Y/N),” Steve repeats the name, tries it on his tongue for good measure. It feels right. It feels like the only right thing in the confusion of his mind, and he can’t help the way his heart skips at the sound of it. It’s so pure, and so beautiful. 

(Y/N).

*** 

2 months ago

Steve stabilises. Is whisked away from you as soon as the jet lands, with a faint heartbeat and his skull cracked open and spilling across the gurney. And you have one name at the forefront of your mind. 

Nicholas Fury. 

You’re like some hellish warrior queen, coated in the blood of her lover, eyes that could tear you apart with their stare - cold, hard, lost. Anger scorched white hot in your stomach, licked your insides and pushed through your pores to break free. Fury didn’t stand a chance against you. No one did. 

Tony was hot on your heels. “Please calm down babe,” he pleads, grabs your forearm and you growl. “Killing him will not make Steve better.” 

You tossed him against a wall. Gasps came from those who walked past, but no one dared cross your war path. They knew the outcome. Tony’s eyes begged from his position on the floor, searing pain shooting up his spine and he knew he couldn’t stop you. 

“What the hell is going on out here?!”

Tony gave Fury a warning glare. A glare that screamed - ‘run as fast as you can, she’ll still catch you.’ 

Before he could even process what was happening, you had raised your hand. 

Indigo stretched around his neck like a blue noose. He felt the tightening, a boa constrictor wrapped around his pulse and squeezed the life from him. He flailed pathetically, tried to pry the energy off, tap out - anything. But you were relentless, and you would kill him before he ever got the chance to explain himself. 

His eyes bulged from his head, veins popping and straining under his skin, it’s a wonder they didn’t burst and bleed across the hallway. His muscles struggle under your force. He makes this horrible gargling sound - the last of his life bubbling in his throat. And he looked so ugly under the stress you almost felt sorry for him. 

Almost. 

“He was a good man,” your teeth rub together like plates. “And you sent him to his death. And I will send you to yours.” 

You never got the chance. A small pinch to your neck and your body falls into Tony’s arms, blue cord loosening from Nicks neck in the process. And he’s on all fours, gasping for breath. 

You were sent to psychiatric evaluation for a month. 

Nick Fury escaped with his life and a neck brace. 

***

She comes to him at night like a fever dream. 

Her bare skin glistens like ice under moonlight, and he feels her melt under his hands. That sturdy exterior she has falls, breaks like the heavens and he only feels her. He only ever feels her. 

Her hands sliding over his body, reminded him of so much more - breathed life into his chest from her fingertips. Her hair falling like tendrils, brushed against his cheek, keeping his eyes focused on her. Steve flips them so she’s underneath, and her eyelashes flutter like black butterfly wings - kiss her sharp cheekbones and she giggles. 

Steve’s lips meet hers and he feels himself opening up to her. It’s trusting and passionate and as their tongues slide together he sees stars scatter his eyelids. 

He knows very few people see her like this. Very few people seldom see her vulnerable. So when she lets out a breathy moan at the feeling of his fingers dipping into her wet heat - it makes him feel special. Like he’s the only one in the world that can do this. Make her feel like this. Make her ache like this. 

And she comes fast. Gushes all over his hand like some erotic fantasy - hands fisted in the sheets, back arched, mouth gaping and his name rolling off her tongue like a prayer. 

Steve wastes no time pushing into her, stretching her to her limits but he knows she can take it. He fucks her with abandon. It’s a flurry of lips and spit and everything nasty but so fucking sexy and he loves it. Who knew Captain America was so dirty in bed? 

He devastates her like a storm, relentless and powerful, and she gives it just as good. Pushes her hips down to meet his with a slap. The front of his thighs sting, burn with passion as he drills into her at an unforgiving pace - finger tracing through the hair that cushions that heavenly face. 

An angel. 

And she tightens around him once more. The coil in his stomach snaps at the sound of her mewls, at the feeling of her squeezing his cock so tight she might pull the fucking thing off. And fuck - that would be hot. And he pounds faster and faster, shouts out to whoever’s listening as he bursts inside her - fills her with everything he has. 

They’re coated in sweat, laboured breaths and blush tinted faces. It’s all that true love bullshit, when he crashes down next to her. The kind he never thought he’d have. Carding his fingers through her hair, running along the soft skin of her face. He sees the love in her eyes, swirled in her irises in the haze of bliss and she’s so fucking gorgeous it hurts. 

She opens her mouth to say something. And he hopes it’s ‘I love you.’ He yearns for it. Wants to hear it roll of her tongue and hit his ears in the form of that sweet, sweet sound. But instead it’s - 

“Why don’t you remember me Stevie?” 

And he’s awake again. 

***

You hear him pacing at night. 

Sometimes he cries. Other times he shouts. But he always paces. It’s never ending - the thud of his feet, mumble of his voice - cursing himself because he can’t remember. And you want to help him, but you stop every time. Never making it far enough. 

You long to hold him. Tell him you love him and kiss him with the stars watching like some fairytale theatre performance. But life has a funny way of fucking you over. Always has. Always will. So you don’t. 

You cross paths one night. You’re all messy hair, a pair of short shorts and an oversized T-shirt. You fetch a glass of water and he’s standing in the doorway, staring at you as though you’re the moon. It’s the way he used to look at you, like he couldn’t believe someone like you could exist. Someone so undeniably amazing. And you couldn’t help the small flutter in your chest. 

Your heart beating once more. 

There’s a crimson flush running across his cheeks and nose, blue eyes speckled with stars. Golden hair a mess atop his head. And you want nothing more than to suck that pillowed bottom lip into your mouth and hold his face between your powerful hands. 

But you stop yourself. 

You offer him a small smile. 

***

He catches her stargazing. Sprawled across black grass underneath a Norway maple. Her arms are folded beneath her head, face illuminated in the night. And he wonders how she’s so effortlessly beautiful. He wonders if she were gifted to earth by the gods. 

Steve approaches her. She looks at him with those curious eyes, quirk a brow when he says nothing. 

“I see you in my dreams.” 

Probably not the best conversation starter. And he half expects her to walk off. So when she smirks he’s surprised. “Creepy way to start a conversation with a girl you just met, Captain.” 

Steve sits down beside her, runs his fingers through the blades of grass - coats them in the dew that rests there. “I’ve not just met you though, have I?” He asks, already knowing the answer. But wanting to see if she’ll be honest. 

She stiffens beside him, sit up and curls her knees to her chest - white knuckled as she thinks. And during the stretch of silence Steve second guesses himself. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe she really hates me. Maybe - 

“You knew me very well,” she answers, finally. “And I knew you.” 

The silence returns, stretches between them like a void - dark and ominous and seemingly unbreakable. “We were lovers,” Steve looks towards her once more. 

“We were.” 

“You visited me in the hospital.” 

“I did.” She looks away then. 

“I forgot you.” He says it sadly. The weight crushes him, and he feels like he’s drowning again. “I’m... so sorry... I-“

“It is not your fault.” Her hand covers his forearm and it feels like it’s burning. His body longs for the touch his mind cannot remember and it hurts him even more to think that he had hurt her. He was still hurting her. 

The panic subdues with her touch, leaves his body feverish in the night. She releases him, studies the tree line intently. Her brows are pulled tight, the sparkle in her eye dulled. When she turns to him again, her face softens, her eyes sparkle and it’s like looking at the clearest night of the year - dark eyes speckled with glowing flames. 

“Watch the stars with me.” She says. 

And he does. 

***

1 month ago 

“The serum saved his life,” the doctor explains. “Made our job a whole of a lot easier.” 

Alexander was her name. 

The hospital was all bright white lighting and eggshell walls, paint peeled away and marked from the countless scrapes it had endured. The air was thick, loud with sobbing and bleach. It was garish and you hated it. 

“As we explained, he has suffered serious damage to his limbic system,” Dr Alexander’s hands flailed as she explained. “So, he has forgotten a lot.” 

Forgotten. Your jaw clenched, teeth clamping together like a vice at her words. “What do you mean?” 

You didn’t need it explained. You just didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t come to terms with the fact that Steve might have forgotten you. No - not might - definitely, has forgotten you. 

The fear creeped in like a fever, making you sweat and your skin icy. It settled in your chest like thick smoke, clouded your lungs and made it impossible to breathe. 

“I’m sorry Miss (L/N),” she continued. “He’s only just remembering his name. But we thought by bringing someone close to him in, we would be able to trigger some memories.” 

You shake your head. Everything sticks in your throat and you become hyper aware of the situation. Hollow, tear stricken faces study you as you crash against the wall, your spine coils like a snake as it tries to push you to the ground. 

You don’t cave. You can’t. “Why couldn’t you have gotten Bucky?” You asked. “Sam?” 

Anyone but you. It was selfish and you knew it but you couldn’t see him if he couldn’t remember. You tried to think of the positives. He’s alive. He’s still here. But he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know anyone. 

He doesn’t know himself. 

“Mr Barnes thought it best if you were to see him first,” Dr Alexander claims. “You are his fiancé. Romantic connections can be more successful in conjuring up the past.” 

You pulled it together. The shock dulled to a slight haze. But you were walking on unsteady feet, stumbling as though you’d been hit over the head. It felt like you had. 

She knocked the door and you heard nothing but your heartbeat in your ears, pounding away at the drums as though it were for fun. 

His voice replied. “Come in.” And it sounded just like him. But you knew the man on the bed was a stranger. You didn’t know each other anymore. 

And when you stepped into the room you could see the confusion. It was etched into those blue eyes like some sick tattoo, embedded in the ice. His eyes didn’t light up like they once did. He just stared. Looked between Dr Alexander and you and then - 

“Who are you?” 

It hit you. Hard. Sent your heart crashing to the pit of your stomach, but you didn’t let it show - stoic. And this man was not Steve, he was not your Steve. He was a shell, a broken jigsaw - scrambling to fit the pieces back together. It fucking hurt to see him. To see him so lost, and to come face to face with the cold hard truth. 

You remembered everything, and he remembered nothing. 

***

The lake was like a sheet of glass. It lay still, reflected the murky, bruised sky, and everything was in a violet hue. Honey locusts branched over the water, their garish mustard leaves falling into the reflection - rippling the sky, breaking the mirror. 

Steve knew this place. 

He could feel it deep in his bones, stirring his marrow. It was special to him once. And he tries to force the pieces together, to make them fit in some unfit shape. It’s a mess, jagged and unrefined. But he’ll get there someday, he has to. 

“You proposed to me here.” 

She smirks as he jumps and he narrows his eyes. She was sneaky, slink like a cat, and he never saw her coming. She slumps beside him in the grass, slipping her bare feet through the short blades. Steve stares at her, takes in the smooth shape of her profile, the sharp bones, outlined in silver that look so subtle. 

“I did?” He asks her, waits for her reaction and she turns to him then. 

“Mh-hm,” she picks a piece of grass, plays with it in her fingers and studies it closely. “You were a nervous wreck. Sweating, red in the face, stumbling over your words. It was pretty fucking cute.” 

Steve snickers. “Pretty fucking cute, huh?” And you nod with a smile, sadness swimming in the whirlpool of your eyes. But here you were, refining his memory, cutting off the jagged parts of the shape and making it whole - filling the cracks. 

And Steve remembers. He remembers he loves you. 

“I love you.” You’re startled by his words, turn to stare at him and he can’t read you - doesn’t know what your thinking for once. It makes him worry. Makes him think he’s overstepped the line. 

“You can’t love me Steve,” she says, gaze flitting to the horizon and he sees the violet in her eyes, sees the bruises. “You don’t remember me.”

“I feel you,” he slips in. “In everything. And I might not remember much, but one day I will.” 

When she’s silent he takes her hand, runs his thumb over her angry red knuckles. “I know I hurt you,” he whispers. “And I might not remember our first date, or your favourite colour. But I remember that I love you sweetheart.” 

“I remember that you love to dance when you think no one is watching, but I always would.” She hides the flush that rushes over her skin at his words, a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “And I remember making love to you right here on summers eve. The sky burned red and orange and gold, and I was worried, but you didn’t care if people were watching.” 

“God, you’re so cheesy Steve Rogers,” she laughs, and it warms him, because he knows she’s not laughed like that in a long time. And he laughs too. And it’s like how it used to be. 

She reaches around her neck, pulls a chain from beneath her shirt and places the warm metal in his hand. Steve looks down, catches the glint of a diamond in the lilac light and he feels his heart flutter. 

He looks to her once more. Her hand on his cheek. 

“When the day comes that you remember me, I will be here.” 

And he remembered her name. 

[ficstogo]

Sorry II

Pairing: The Riddler x Reader

Word Count: 1,965

Summary: This is an alternate ending that was requested by someone on Wattpad.

Warnings: Near death

Original Ending

With all the anger inside him boiling up, cane still in his hands he turned around abruptly and swung his dominant arm with all the force he had and all the anger in that one swing, it came to a full stop against a head that had no business with that metal cane. The cane with red on it. Everything went unnoticed to Edward until a sudden thud broke the silence that he needed. The fogginess that filled his mind cleared up a bit slowly. Realizing that there was nothing in front of him his eyes slowly looked to the one direction that he hoped nothing would be there. They met. Cold, wide, bloodshot, blue eyes met red.

“Y/N…Y/N.” he said calmly. “Y/N wake up… Stop that. Wake up Y/N. That’s not funny.”

“…”

“I’m being serious Y/N.” he said as if calling out a child who hasn’t been following directions. “You’re getting on my nerves with this.”

“…”

“…”

Clank. The metal cane took rest on the floor that contained an empty vessel. He dropped to his knees looking down. What had he done? His hand went towards yours touching the warm flesh sliding up to your arms and finally resting your head on his lap. His hands rested on your cheeks with his thumbs rubbing the soft skin he loved. In that moment, he had realized that all that time that he had been with you, there was no notable memory to be fond over, especially from your end, he can believe. But if he ever did think back, it would always lead to you, your beauty, your faithfulness, the things you do for him, the fact that you put up with him at all. No matter how cliche it sounded, in this dark line of work, you were the light that keeps him as sane as he is.

As he leaned down to kiss your face, his left hand had slid down to your neck. His concern to give you all the affection that you weren’t awake to enjoy had subsided when he realized what was going on underneath his thumb. It was faint, yet it kept pulsing to where it was noticed.

A sure sign of life.

A sure sign that you would live on.

He could feel his heart beating as well as the adrenaline starting to kick in. Lifting you off the dirty cold floor, he headed out the door and straight to the nearest facility that would ensure that your life would be saved. How pathetic of him to immediately claim defeat, that you had died without a fighting chance. If the argument from earlier didn’t show how robust you are to argue with a dangerous criminal that has killed before, he didn’t know what else would show.

.~.~.~.~.~.

Through the doors he ran, where nurses and doctors walked right past as well as patients being scattered across Gotham General while he still held your being in his arms. Never did he thought that the reason for him to be in the emergency room would be for somebody else and not for his own devious purposes. Never did he thought that he would do anything for somebody that he cares for. In fact, never did he thought in all his life that he would actually care for someone other than himself. Bad experiences had he learned about love. His family being the root of all things.

“H-Help!” His voice…Oh God…It sounded so weak. He never heard his voice sound so weak and scared. The only time he’s ever heard it be that way was whenever he was with his father. But that was so long ago….

“Help! Please!” His pleas were answered as a group of medical professionals swarmed him, placing your body on stretcher and heading to the nearest room in hopes of saving your life. Rushing along with them, Edward explained as to what had occurred earlier in the evening as his eyes were focused on your unconscious self. He felt a hand press against his chest stopping him from his journey to recovery with you. His tall figure looked down at the small nurse in front of him as his eyebrows furrowed into a desperate look of confusion.

“Excuse me, I have to be with her.”

“I’m sorry sir, but I can’t allow you to go any further.”

“Maybe your feeble mind didn’t comprehend as to what I just said but I assure you that my presence is most definitely needed. Now unless you want me to put you in a death trap, I suggest you let me go.” With that, he pushed past the nurse as her face grew with shock. Too determine to be by your side, Edward didn’t realized that what he said would blow his low profile that he had since he broke out of Arkham.

The nurse shaking out of her shock, ran towards the front desk grabbing the phone out of one of the receptionist’s hand announcing overhead “Code Blue! We are in a Code Blue! I need all security at the east entrance! I repeat! I need all security at the east entrance!” He done it now. Looking around he saw that everyone was in a panic as the noise level had rose with the sound of rushing foot steps, the barks of orders from doctors and nurses, and questions from concerned patients. Edward then noticed men in uniforms come toward to where he had entered with the nurse now pointing to his directions. If only he had his muscle here. Query and Echo would have easily taken this baboons down.

In this entire madness, Edward made a run for it as security finally realized what was happening. Making erratic lefts and rights, Edward pushed through all the civilians that were in his way while pushing them and other objects into security to make his escape. Far ahead he turned into an empty hall where the patients were cleared from their rooms. With what little time he had until security can catch up, Edward tried one of the doors only to land himself inside one of the janitorial closets. Lucky him. Trying hard to steady his panting breath, he kept quiet as he heard them run toward his direction. Morons they all are.

“Spread out! We can’t lose him!” hearing them disperse, Edward waited to catch his breath and wipe the sweat that had produced over his brow. Physical activity was not his forte. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t been such a condescending brat…

Turning the handle slowly, Edward peeked out to see if anyone was left hanging around. With everything cleared, he made a quick yet quiet dash out. Making his way down to another hallway, he stopped in front of map looking for the nearest exit out of this circus. Freedom was right done the hall, and lord did he ran like hell right through it setting off the alarm.

.~.~.~.~.~.

It was all over the news that night like anything that would involve a rouge. Everything was in chaos, something the Joker would have liked. Everyone was warned to keep a look out for The Riddler and call GCPD if they knew or saw anything. What puzzled them was why The Riddler, who had killed several people before without care or hesitation, bothered to bring someone to Gotham General. It was a mystery all on its own, one that The Batman would like to figure out as he interviewed the nurse that started the whole fiasco. She was frightened at first, seeing the tall, dark figure loomed over her, only to be assured by Commissioner Gordon that all he wanted was answers and with the information she provided for him, Batman was one step closer to figuring out where The Riddler is.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Changing out of his usual green and purple attire, Edward decided to fit himself into old raggedy sweater and a pair of slacks as to not blow his cover once more. She must be worried, having been there without a clue as to what had gone on. In a dark coat, Edward made his way to Gotham General with some tools to bypass security. With him now being the most sought out rogue out of all the others, he made to sure to get all his information and think ahead of this current spell he was in, although, Gotham General isn’t the most difficult of places to enter.

It was late when he entered through the exit door that was nearest to your room, already knowing that you would either be in a coma or be asleep, he’d take the latter when seeing you. Entering the dark room, Edward went forward and turned on one of the lamps provided. They gave her a decent room. At least she isn’t sharing it with anyone. I’ll have to remember to ask them to put her somewhere better.

There you were. Eyes closed, paler than before. Probably from the blood loss. There goes his stomach, flipping and ready to upheave whatever food that he ate. Did I even eat today? He took a seat on your bed, feeling the regret wash over him even stronger than the nights previous whenever he sat and stared at the wall with nothing but his thoughts. He reached for your hand, as nervous as the first time that he reached for it. Against his palm did this time he felt warmth and with that he released the breath he was holding. He didn’t know why he expected you to be cold, maybe because he was expecting the worst in things like he usually does.

“You can come on out. I knew you would be there waiting for me.” Even with all the regret and crippling sadness, his soft yet confident voice did not waver. He refused to show Batman that side of him. Without looking back to him, Edward kept his focus on you, rubbing his thumb against your soft hand asking “What’s her diagnosis?”

In a small moment of silence, he finally responded to the question that Edward already knew the answer to. “She’s suffered a brain hemorrhage. Waited any longer and she would have died. Prognosis states that she might make a full recovery in months time.”

Even in the light of such news, it still didn’t lift any weight off off his mind nor his heart. In the end, it was all his fault and nothing would change that.

“Who is she Edward?”

He thought as his mind started to mold an answer. You were his. You were his treasure, his love, his equal. “She’s just a girl I know.” That was all he can say. He leaned forward and hesitantly pressed his chapped lips on your forehead. Standing up and looking down at your form, he took a step back to enter the dark with the creature who started this whole mess to begin with.

“Don’t you want to say a few things?” There was plenty to say. So much that it would take an eternity. But was the point? You wouldn’t be awake to witness his deep remorse and see the millions of apologies he would drool all over in order for you to know how much he deeply cared. No, that can wait until he can get his hands on pen and paper, or no, he can wait until he sees you again, him out of Arkham and you fully awake and conscious.  

“No. There’s nothing to say.”

As the light shone on you, Edward was left in the dark with The Bat ready to take him back to the hell hole that is Arkham.

And in all this dreadful darkness, you were the light that showed the way.

[risrielthron]

Families can be rough...

(Written with @selisegraves and @silentasagrave  continued from here)

"It's been awhile. I trust all is well?"

Her gaze shifted to Selise’s hand as it pulled the notebook close and the doctor began writing. An eyebrow raised as she lifted her eyes to Selise’s face, “All is well with Dra and I, and perhaps even better for you and Nick?” a smile playing at her lips as she spoke. 

Chery glanced between the two of them not sure what was transpiring between the two her expression full of confusion at the change in Risri’s tone.

Her gaze rose slightly before she looked down at her book again, but the smile was evident in her tone. “That is, um...accurate. It just happened a few days ago.” Selise looked up fully and shook her head at Cherysa’s statement. Was that a bit of color in her face? 

Risri’s smile broke through and she sat back looking over Selise, “Have you set a date? You will let me know if I can help with anything? Pictures or even just being there.” Her gaze shifted to Chery and noting the confusion she pointed to the ring on Selise’s hand. 

The red-head followed Risri’s point to Selise’s hand and the ring that she’d not noticed before. Her mouth fell agape and she looked up at Selise’s face then back to the ring then to Risri before back to Selise. “You...you got engaged?” She stammered then rose practically shouting, “You GOT ENGAGED!!” her enthusiasm back she moved around to give Selise a hug from behind, “Oh my goodness, Doc! I’m so happy for you. Is he that man that comes to see you when I’m leaving? I thought he watched you too closely but now it all makes sense!” her words were rushed and excited as she bounced back to her chair, “OH! Can I make your dress? Please!” 

Selise blinked before making a face as she was squished into Cherysa’s embrace. “Whoa, whoa, okay. I-I haven’t-” She sighed and pressed her eyes closed in an attempt to collect her thoughts, but only succeeded in making the color on her face more pronounced. Selise gave up and looked back to the two of them, a small smile on her face as she spoke. “Yes, you’ve seen him Chery, but you tend to cut out of here when he’s around...not that I’m complaining...We haven’t picked a date and I haven’t even thought of a dress. We were talking about something more low key…” she glanced off to the side. 

Risri watched Chery with amusement evident in her gaze, when the spectacle was finished her eyes lit on Selise and she felt a hint of sympathy for the obvious discomfort. She leaned forward and touched Selise’s hand with the ring gently, “Something simple yet dignified for the Doctor and her beau.” Risri sat back again, “Well, I am happy for you both and however you wish to seal your union is the right way. And you do not have to do it alone. I will help, you have only to ask.”

Chery looked a little set down at Selise’s words but she nodded, “I ...I still would make you a dress. Every bride should have a special dress.” She sounded meek but sincere as she gave puppy dog eyes to Selise. 

"Thank you, but…" Selise rose a brow at Risri. "'Beau', really? I think you've been hanging around humans too long." She smirked, but the sarcasm was short lived as she noticed Cherysa's expression. For a moment, she stared blankly at the display, then smiled. "Okay, Chery, but nothing crazy…" she was quick to add.

Chery clapped her hands and smiled, “I have the perfect look. Trust me.” Her eyes alight with excitement.

Risri chuckled softly at Selise’s comment, “Perhaps I have. But you are all so wonderful I can not stay away.” Her smile sincere as she looked between the two humans. “I wonder… do you wish to tell him yourself or should I break the news to Dra?” 

A quiet scoff escaped his mouth. Dragaur already knew. He found it laughable that either of them thought they could keep anything from him. He was in the back hallway as being outside made listening in on them difficult. He saw the ring days ago. It disturbed him then it disturbed him just as much now to hear the other two women talk about it. He was completely sure why. Could be because he thought Nick was a prick. Worse then that a know it all prick that thought he was better than Dragaur. Truth be told he never got a chance to get to know him but it didn’t take Dragaur long to get the measure of him. 

He took care of Tess supposedly, someone else he used to watch out for now and then who didn’t appreciate it. No one ever really does, he knew why but it was for their own good. He never sussed that relationship out. Brother and sister. Didn’t look alike, sound alike, or act alike. Then again Selise and he had their differences. Not as different as them though.

 Dragaur had stayed quiet long enough. He stepped out and leaned against the entryway to where they were sitting. He was wearing what he usually wore when he was stalking about. It was partly habit by this point. Dark armour and hood. Metal skull mask. The mask was more than habit. It was who he was. No one understood that. Not really, not even Risri. Sure he wasn’t a murderer anymore, usually. He could be one again very easily though hadn’t been that long since he’d killed. His thoughts were dark but that was normal. He took a breath before speaking in case they hadn’t noticed him. “We aren’t that wonderful Risri...anyway not much slips by me. Especially not stupid descions.” A low-pitched hum sounded behind the rogue as soon as he appeared. Cornelius’ size expanded slightly and the blue glow increased in intensity around the arcane familiar as it stared Dragaur down. 

“Cor.” The statement from Selise seemed to make the creature back down, but her tone matched its annoyed display. Cor stared at the rogue for a moment longer before bobbing around him and settling in behind Sel’s chair. “Hello to you too...Dragaur. I’ve heard the stupid decision lecture before, thanks.”

Risri blinked slightly as Dragaur made his appearance. Her silver eyes looking him over not so much in surprise but more to make sure he was all in one piece. “Perhaps not all are wonderful but those I spend most of my time with surely are.” 

Cherysa gave a startled gasp as the rogue appeared before eyeing Cor a moment.

He paid no attention to the arcane construct. It was no threat to him as far as he was concerned. It was probably made by some two bit garbage hedge mage. He rolled his eyes behind his mask. “Please when was the last time I gave you a lecture...I can’t think of one time to be honest. I mean I guess if you wanna go back to when you first moved here and I felt sorry for you because you were sleeping in a sewer pipe. I believe it went something like. That’s a bad decision because you will likely get murdered by a hobo for your shoes or your cloak. I mean compared to this current poor decision I suppose that one was worse.” He paused and looked at Risri and then Cherysa. For most people this particular group of people might make them feel awkward. Dragaur, not so much. He turned back to Selise and the glow behind his mask flickered slightly. “You can do whatever you want with your life little sister. I just wish you would marry someone nice. Ya know someone I might not kill in the future if they ever give me a good enough reason to do so.”

Selise’s gaze narrowed on her brother. “You’ve spoken to him for what, five minutes? He is nice. And it was a park bench.” She crossed her arms tightly and spun her chair to face him directly. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, now having forgotten the two other women seated around her. “People tend to say the same thing about you that you spout about everyone I know. The fact that I’m happy should be good enough reason for you to leave it all well alone.”

Risri sighed softly at the back and forth. “Can you not be happy for Selise? She is. I would think if he has thought enough of her to want to spend his life with her, and she has agreed, that should prove his worth. Can you not try to get along with him? Perhaps if you tried, you might find you like him as a person.” An eyebrow raised, “Or is that it? If you liked him, you might have to be nice to someone besides me?” 

“I specifically remember the culvert off the canals.” He smirked behind the mask. He was annoyed that she would get married to someone who was clearly a jerk. At least as much of a jerk as him, but he found the back and forth at least slightly funny. She probably won’t. “I can guarantee I won’t like him. He’s an ungrateful mouthy asshole at best. Besides I don’t HAVE to be nice to anyone including you.”

 He looked at Risri realizing he was going to have to fight her too if he was going to argue about this. “Anyway get married if you want. It worked out so well for our parents. Ask dear old father about it some time I think he would agree their marriage was a mistake. Maybe not being together but definitely the marriage. Afterall that’s when her shitty family got involved and helped make things difficult.”

Selise was silent for a few moments, but there was clearly anger building in her gaze. “Are you my shitty family that’s going to get involved and make things difficult? We’re not our parents.” She cast a sidelong glance to Risri and Chery before looking back to Drag. “Get out.”

Chery sat with eyes wide, her fingertips pressed to her lips as the “grown ups” argued back and forth. The red-head was no stranger to sibling fights but she hoped there would be no hair pulling involved. She gasped at Selise’s order. 

Risri shook her head and crossed the room, a hand on Dragaur’s arm she looked into the mask with a bit of a “please” look on her face, “What is done, is done. Will you try at least to be civil to the man your sister loves?” At Selise’s ordered statement, she glanced back before frowning up at him, “Have you two ever ended a conversation on good terms?  I will see you at home, I hope.” 

Dragaur stared at Selise for as long as he had before Risri walked over. He pulled his arm away from her and stepped back. “I don’t get involved in things unless I’m asked...or if I think you might get yourself hurt. I think he’s trash. Worse Trash then me and that’s sayin’ somethin’. He thinks he’s better than me. You and me aren’t so different though so I wonder what he thinks about you. He asks for my help with Tess and because I figure part of you cares about her maybe differently then she cares but still... I do it, And then gives me shit when it goes sideways. You marry him fine but you let him know he makes a wrong move toward you I’ll kill him slow.” Dragaur spun away and stomped toward the front. He yelled as he walked away. “What did he do to Tess anyway I haven’t seen her since.”

“Better than you? Is that what this is about, your stupid pride?” She glared at his back while he headed for the door. “I asked for your help, not him. Clearly one of my stupid decisions that you’re so fond of pointing out. Don’t worry, I won’t do it again.”

Risri looked hurt when he pulled away and she pursed her lips together at his angry words to Selise. A sigh of regret escaped when he walked away, the elf shaking her head at the turn of events. Risri eyes followed him even as the elf leaned against the wall where he’d been a moment before. There was no fixing whatever underlying issue was between the two siblings. The yell had her looking to Selise, “He does care you know.” Her words were soft though she figured Dragaur would hear them even across the room. She shook her head, Selise was likely to turn that anger on her now but she pressed on. “If he did not, he would not have said anything at all. You both are so stubborn.”  The last was half said under her breath.

“If I had any pride I never would have come here!” He shouted before pushing the door open. “Maybe I’m wrong and he's a great guy, but then that just means he's a pussy who can’t get his hands dirty! And he runs to a woman to fix his problems!” He turned again at the open door and saw a hand full of people looking his way. “Mind your fucking business you slack jawed morons!” His voice loud and deep and it soon scattered said slack jawed morons.

Selise’s gaze snapped to Risri, a dark look in her eyes likely brought on by her brother’s yelling which continued out into the street. “Risri…” she paused, her gaze narrowing before she shook her head. “You might be okay with expressing you care through death threats, but I’m not. You know him well enough to know he isn’t playing the ‘typical big brother joking around’. You...don’t understand and I wouldn’t expect you to, but I’m sorry you were in the middle of it.” She ran a hand through her hair and caught sight of Chery.

Chery frowned, she could sympathize with not liking your brother-in-law. She thought hers was an idiot. And she would never understand how someone like Jazi could even like let alone love Dunn but she agreed with Selise, death threats were not the way to keep family harmony. Her head was nodding at Selise’s words to Risri, however. 

The elf sighed and gave Selise a contrite look. “He takes things to extremes. And...he is overprotective of those he sees under his care. Perhaps his wording was harsh, but can you not see that he wants you safe? Even if it was a bit over the top. But you did not see your parents together the way he did. It scarred him and his view of all things.” She put up her hand, “I will not make more excuses for him. I hope that you will find it in your heart to understand where he is coming from. And I will do my best to talk to him. Not just for your sake.” She pushed off the wall, “I am happy for you Selise. For both you and Nick. And if you love him, then I want only your happiness.” She moved to follow Dragaur, “I hope this will not change our plans, I shall see you tomorrow if it does not.” 

Selise simply stared at Risri, a bit of an edge returning as she held up her hand. Still, she said nothing and waited until she too had left. “Let me know when the next patient shows up,” she mumbled toward Chery before retreating to her lab in the back.

[bazwillendinflames]

heist au

Day 19: AU or crossover for norkus november by @markusandnorth 

read on ao3

There was soft jazz being played through the bar. Markus kept his head down, collar pulled up, trying not to look at any of the girls for too long. He was out of his element here and the gun that Connor had lent him for protection suddenly seemed too bulky, too noticeable.

He sat at the bar, careful to avoid the sticky surface.

The bartender, a young woman with the signature blue hair he had been seeking, smiled at him. “Can I get you a drink?”

Markus looked up to meet her eyes. She seemed cautious but attentive.

“Compass gin,” he requested, “I know it’s your speciality.”

“It’s a pretty strong drink, you think you can handle it?”

Markus kept his face passive, even if his heart was racing and the smell of cheap beers and sweat was choking him. “I can handle some fire.”

The woman - he knew her only as ‘A’ - nodded. She disappeared into the back room and pushed a small flask and a dirty glass towards him. He slipped the flask into his pocket and left some money on the counter.

Out of sight, he slipped open the flask, finding a damp curl of paper with a phone number on it.

Underneath was a name.

North.

  The address that was sent by the number was an old house, boarded up. There was a ladder in the garden, leading to the roof. Markus climbed it, wishing again he wasn’t alone.

“Leo, really?”

The woman who stepped out the shadows crossed her arms over her chest. But Markus knew her well enough to recognise the intrigue on her face.

“Its my painting.”

North stepped towards him. “So I’ve heard. Big bro stole it and you’ve gone rogue to get it back.”

Markus couldn’t help but snort. “How long is this icy act going to last?”

“What act?” North dropped her arms. “I heard about your Dad. That… it isn’t fair.”

“The doctors say high stress isn’t helping his condition. The high stress of having your son rob you for example.”

“I was always going to help you,” North said, “the scurrying in the shadows is just to keep me safe.”

“I’ve heard you’re internationally wanted.”

She smirked. “Twelve heists, two years, nine states. But who’s keeping track?”

Markus tried to get a better look at her now she was out of the shadows. North was still as beautiful as ever and he would recognise her anywhere. Her hair was longer than the last time he saw her and tied up in a messy braid under her signature beanie.

“I missed you.”

North bit her lip, “yeah same. I guess. I’ll help with the heist. For an old friend and because I’ve always found Leo annoying.”

Markus sighed in relief. “Thank you North. Jericho is at your disposal.”

“I never saw you as the criminal gang type.” She laughed. “We all thought that would be me, right?”

“If people need help, I’d never refuse. Including you,” he promised.

“I can handle myself.”

“I know,” he replied, “but as… old friends, if you need Jericho, then we’re here. I’m here for you.”

Markus turned to window when he felt a soft hand grip his own.

“Want to stay a little?” North offered, her voice deceivingly calm. Her hand was shaky but familiar in his own.

“I’d love that.”

North kept holding on. Markus interweaved their fingers together, feeling a rush of warmth in his chest. He was suddenly glad for the darkness, so she couldn’t see him blush or smile like an idiot school boy with a crush.

Which he had been, five years ago, when they had ditched homecoming to graffiti the staff room and then spent the next month in detention.

Good times…

“We could sit on the roof, it’s less dusty.”

“Just like old times.”

North smiled, a rare and unfairly disarming sight. Markus ducked his head and hoped she couldn’t sense his racing pulse.

“Race you!”

  The gallery was in ten days, which meant that Markus’ days were suddenly full of training, planning and most importantly: North.

“The closest exits are..”

“Left corridor by the modern sculpture exhibit and the fire exit by the staircase.”

“The code word is…”

“Ship.”

“And we are…”

“Just waiters,” he finished, grinning at North, “trust me, I know this all.”

“Well, you missed out the south window exit but I’d say you’re ready.”

Markus rolled up the map on the table, just to keep his hands busy. “I guess you’ll be moving on after we get the art back.”

North ran her fingers over her own copy of the plan. “I keep moving, it’s what’s best. You’ll have the paintings and we can send it back to your Dad. I can cross Michigan off my list of states to rob.”

“And then you’ll keep running?”

“Yeah. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.”

Markus resisted the urge to reach for her. “But-”

“But?”

“You’ll be all alone.”

North frowned, lips tight together, “I’m always alone Markus.”

“You could stay at Jericho,” he tried - she was worth trying for - “we have networks. I know a woman who could give you a room in her house.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Being around people is dangerous?” Markus fired back. “Please stop being so-”

“Crazy?”

“Stubborn!” he argued, “it’s close to me.”

North stepped forward, head tilted, eyes blazing, “you’re my friend Markus. Friendship doesn't require us to be neighbours like when we were kids. I don’t need your protection, okay?”

She moved swiftly towards the door.

“Wait, I meant, I meant-”

“Be prepared. We go tomorrow and I’d hate for you to get hurt because of a distraction.”

  If North didn’t want to be found, then she was more than capable of disappearing into the shadows. It was something Markus had learnt the hard way when she had disappeared from his completely years ago, into the mist of criminal activity.

North had left him broken hearted with her last kiss - her only kiss - the night before.

He left her in peace. One of them deserved some.

  The morning of the heist, they wore stolen maintenance uniforms and scoped the place out. North was still being quiet and even Markus’ years of experience reading her couldn’t help him.

She pushed the cart through the hallway and kept her eyes hidden beneath the blue cap.

“Are you ready for tonight?”

“I know the plan better than the back of my hand.”

She smiled, small, barely there, but a smile nonetheless.

“I knew I could rely on you.”

It was her own way of saying sorry but Markus wasn’t sure why it left him feeling worse.

Maybe it was the nerves.

Maybe he needed a drink.

Maybe…

Maybe he couldn’t forget the fact that he’d go back to missing her again.

“Markus?”

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“Coming.”

  “Well, you scrub up nice.” North crossed her arms over her own uniform, a red shirt with a black a waistcoat, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She looked all business.

“I try,” he replied, feeling all too self-conscious of his own tight fitting dress shirt.

“Ready for your first heist?”

“I was born for it.”

North led him to the kitchen with incredible confidence, as if she had been working events like this her whole life.

She pressed a heavy cheeseboard in his arms. “You trust your friend to cut the lights at the right time?” she asked, in a careful hushed tone, lingering by his side.

“Connor will do it. He’ll cut the lights and cameras.”

North glances into the gala. “Is Leo in a suit?”

Markus grimaced. “He does that sometimes. Makes him looks slimy.”

“Avoid Leo, stick to the painting, let me do my thing.” North winked at him. “Go on partner. These snotty rich people need their tiny cheeses.”

North weaved through the crowds, blending very well, apart from the heavy boots she wore and the mischievous glint in her eyes.

Markus followed suit, offering his plate, edging close to the painting, keeping his head down, eyes scanning the room. Leo was stood stiffly, his hand twitching under his old navy suit. He was distracted by his withdrawals, which worked well for Markus’ plan.

Seeing his only brother turn to addiction was hard enough but stealing from their Dad when he was in hospital was a new low.

Markus kept his face calm, played his part, waited.

The lights cut out.

  Markus gasped for breath, resisting the urge to laugh, his back pressed up against the wall.

North pushed back some hair that had escaped her tight bun as the ran, half a dozen expensive masterpieces of Carl’s in her bag.

“We did it,” she said, still laughing. “You’re fast Markus.”

“I had to keep up with you.”

She smiled. “That heart pumping thrill seeking feeling in your chest, that is why I do this.”

“Isn’t it more fun doing it with someone by your side?”

“Markus and North, partners in crime, just like old times.”

“More literal this time.”

She grinned. “You were never a saint.”

“Guess that’s why we’re friends.”

North looked at the shoulder bag between them. She stopped laughing as they came to the same realization. Markus had what he had asked her help for.  

“So, this is when I disappear again.”

“Is it?”

North pulled at the grips in her bun, shaking her long hair free. “That’s my life, I keep running, cause some chaos.”

“You want to cause some chaos together?” Markus asked, reaching for her hand.

There was something hopeful in her eyes. “Together?” North echoed. “You have Jericho…”

“Jericho has Connor.”

North shook her head. “Why would you give that all up to hang out with me?”

“You know why.”

Silence.

“Right, because you think you’re in love with me,” North answered, louder. She dragged him to a more secluded part of the alleyway. “Tough. I can’t give you what you actually want, so just take Carl’s paintings and go.”

“I… I just thought… the last time we said goodbye you kissed me.”

She blushed, “I thought, if I wasn’t going to see you agains I would just… give you something to remember me by.”

“As if I could forget you.” Markus pulled a stray clip from her hair. “I set up Jericho in the hopes you would come and we could help you.”

“I can’t give you what you want, it’s easier this way.”

Markus stayed silent, his throat thick with something he couldn’t quite figure out how to say yet.

“I just want to help you.”

“Just help? For what in return? More art thefts? No. Something more.”

He realised what she meant a second before she whispered it.

“I can’t sleep with you. I just… I can’t. After everything I’ve been through, after all the bad men and the fear, I can’t. I love you, but I could never. Once you realised that you would give up on me.”

“You’re pushing me away… because you’re asexual?”

North wiped her eyes. “I know, how unfair! The beautiful North can’t even…”

“It doesn’t matter to me.” Markus grabbed her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. He hoped North would see the honesty in his own eyes reflected back. “I love you because you’re my best friend not because of what you look like. Thing doesn’t change things.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He kissed her cheek and took the bag. “Think about Jericho. I’ll give Addie an address.”  

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world.”

“Don’t be so cheesy idiot.” North slinked into the shadows. “Take care of those now, it was a lot of effort. And… and thank you.”

  She wasn’t at Jericho the next week. Or the week after.

An art gallery in Wisconsin is robbed.

Another month passes.

Lucy called, to check up on him, and to tell him the good news.

“There’s a lovely young lady with a housewarming gift,” Lucy told him, “calls herself the Compass. She’s asking for you.”

Markus smiled at himself, already reaching for car keys.

“Get her a drink,” he said, “tell her I’m coming.”

[lit102]

Doctor Aphra | Kieron Gillen etc. | 2017

After Doctor Aphra’s co-starring turn in Marvel’s Darth Vader, I didn’t think I could love her more, but I’m happy that the first volume in her standalone series (collecting issues 1–6) proves me wrong. Aphra and Vader have gone their separate ways (I forget why) and for the first time since we met her (well, not counting Screaming Citadel), Aphra is on her own, with (questionably) loyal droids Triple-Zero (evil 3PO) and Beetee (evil R2) by her side and wookie Black Krrsantan (evil Chewie) stuck to her like a burr til she pays off her growing debt to him. When I type it all out like that, it becomes clear just how much of a ripoff Aphra is; these are morally gray (or pitch black) versions of characters we know and love. Even Aphra is a hotter, gayer Han Solo (with more than a little Indiana Jones thrown in). But despite — or perhaps because of — this, I adore the series; it’s familiar enough to satisfy and fresh enough to excite, and it never pretends to be more than what it is. In fact, it’s having a damn good time being itself, which is probably why it’s so much fun.

Aphra starts her solo series in debt not only to Black Krrsantan, but to the man who sold her her ship (which looks, by the way, not unlike Boba Fett’s Slave I). He demands payment; Aphra stalls for time. When she sells the valuable artifact she just acquired, she can pay off his loan in one go — and then some. But there’s a problem. The legal buyer tells Aphra that her archaeologist’s doctorate has been suspended; without it, they can’t verify the artifact, and on the black market it will sell for much less. So Aphra must return to her alma mater and confront the man who got her doctorate suspended by exposing the fact that she cheated to earn it: her own father.

In a flashback, we see school-age Aphra, stymied by a dead-end doctoral project on the planet Boothi XII and a sadistic advisor who refuses to pass her because, quote “I hate you.” (This was odd — why the vitriol? We see her playing a prank on him, but it’s unclear if this caused their issues or was a symptom of them.) Aphra steals her advisor’s secret stash of abersyn symbiotes (insectoid parasites that are known for wiping out empires) and pretends that she found them on Boothi XII, getting revenge and turning her failed project into a success. Now, using this info, Aphra’s father blackmails her into helping him find the lost temple of the Ordu Aspectu, a rogue branch of the Jedi Order who sought eternal life, led by a man named Rur. To find the Aspectu’s ancient citadel, they must retrieve a map from former rebel base Yavin 4, where they tangle with Imperial forces — including one Captain Tolvan, a tall, slender woman with a shock of short white hair and intriguing armor that covers her neck and the edges of her face, suggesting some kind of injury. Tolvan was assigned to Yavin 4 after fucking up security on Eadu (destroyed by rebels in Rogue One — could this be her fuckup?). After a narrow escape, they head to the ruins of the Ordu Aspectu’s citadel. On the way, we find out more about Aphra’s fractured relationship with her father, who abandoned her and her mother for a fool’s errand — the same one he’s strong-armed Aphra into now.

At the citadel, Aphra and her father must fight off Tolvan and her forces, who follow them there, and activate the core computer — which, it turns out, contains a warped copy of Rur’s consciousness that thinks it’s more than a copy, that it’s his true self, and that an “evil ghost” inhabited Rur’s body in its place… that is, until it killed him and everyone else in the citadel. Angry and resentful, the copy lashes out at Aphra (“I cannot punish the dead. I will punish the living”); she, her father, and her crew barely make it out alive, destroying the citadel and stealing Tolvan’s ship in the process. (Aphra spares Tolvan’s life because she thinks she’s cute.) The copy of Rur’s consciousness is trapped in a crystal that Aphra then has quarantined… or so it seems. On the last page, she reveals that the quarantined crystal was a fake — and, holding the real one while smirking into the camera, says “Let’s get rich.”

I’ll admit that I found Aphra’s father a bore, and his wide-eyed fantasies of eternal life tiresome, even after he revealed that he sought it to save his young daughter from a galaxy that was getting more and more dangerous by the day. Their storyline felt too, well, heartfelt for a comic that finds evil so fun (classic Triple-Zero line: “Sprinting is undignified. I’m made for the finer things in life, like holo-chess and peeling skin from flesh”). But maybe that’s why it’s needed. Aphra isn’t evil, exactly; she’s roguish, selfish (like Han when we first meet him), but charmingly so, and she’s not sadistic or cruel. Sometimes, she even makes more sense than the good guys do; when she lifts a lightsaber off a dead Jedi and her father protests, she retorts “What do you think I actually do, Dad? Archaeology is just grave robbing with fancy paperwork.” She’s… not wrong. Aphra writes her own rules in a lawless world — she’s self-sufficient and vulnerable at the same time, always wrapped up in some get-rich-quick scheme, with the Empire and her creditors nipping at her heels (like Han, again)… So the rules she writes are self-serving; she’d probably say that everyone is selfish. She’s just honest about it.

And last but not least: Aphra is the kind of character, like Jack in Mass Effect 2, that SCREAMS “gay” but rarely is gay, and I can’t tell you how much I love that she IS GAY, and crushing on a butch older woman no less! 

I like Kev Walker’s art okay (and I wish I’d integrated this into my writeup instead of tacking it on at the end). A two-page spread of their arrival at the ruined citadel is very cinematic, like an establishing shot you might see in a Star Wars film. There’s some nice use of color by Antonio Fabela, too. The inside of Rur’s citadel is a frosty blue, which makes the red of the Imperials’ lasers pop. The computer core is bathed in a poisonous green. Four full pages of tough, confessional conversation Aphra has with her father are set here; I like how the light gives this emotional scene an eerie twist.    

[elfnerdherder]

The Unquiet Grave: Chapter 5

You can read Chapter 5 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 5: What Games We Play

           Hannibal Lecter’s office is the product of a man that drowns in aesthetics. When Will is allowed in from a small waiting room, he learns more about Dr. Lecter by how he decorates than how he interacts. There is a sense of vertigo, Will’s having to look around to learn about someone rather than simply look into their eyes to see. He knows of several empaths that would have been annoyed at the shift, at the sense of tilting over as their world and all of its truths changed.

           Will harbors no such feelings. After his readings on Dr. Lecter, he is more than eager to learn by visual directions rather than empath-impressions. It’s a hunger he won’t deny himself, seeing as how he’s never been able to entertain it before.

           “Are you going to sit down?” Lecter asks him as he peruses books ranging from Dante to Doyle to Bronte. He pauses on one whose spine is mildly abused, and he pulls the book out in order to open it, curious.

           “You like Blake,” he says, glancing back to Lecter seated in a leather upholstered chair.

           “I do,” he agrees, and if he minds Will’s pacing and perusing, it doesn’t show on his face. That sort of uncertainty, that sense of unknowing, makes him wander about more, glancing over everything with a sort of hunger that distracts him from the fact that he didn’t get much sleep the night before.

           “Cruelty has a human heart, and jealousy a human face,” he tells Lecter absentmindedly beside a loud paneling of curtains. He thumbs through the book, feeling pages with gloved hands. He wonders what sort of impressions he’d take from touching the pages with his fingertips unclothed, but he doesn’t do it. There is something exciting, eager about his thoughts at the realization that for the first time in forever, he’ll have to make an educated guess.

           Hannibal Lecter interests him far more than he’s willing to let on.

           “Terror the human form divine, and Secresy the human dress,” Hannibal finishes for him. “A Divine Image, William Blake. Tell me about Agent Hobbs, Agent Graham.”

           “Are you asking if he had a cruel, human heart with a jealous human face?” he asks, pausing beside a stag whose heft of brass carving looks heavy enough to be troublesome if it ever fell over. He glides the back of his free hand along the curve of the flank, staring at the intricate details along its neck, the intelligent look rendered in its carved eyes.

           “You know him best of all, since you tracked him. The news didn’t make it public that he was a rogue agent, therefore I was mildly surprised when you told me that.”

           Will logs it away that Hannibal Lecter’s surprise is so well hidden that when he’d first told him of Hobbs, it hadn’t shown in the slightest. He’ll have to get better at reading his face, learn the small tics and twitches of it. “The FBI doesn’t like it to be public that despite their best efforts, empaths aren’t the most solid of choices for field work.”

           “Why use you, then, if it’s so utterly dangerous?”

           “The man hours alone that it saves in using us saves the government, and thereby the people, billions of dollars. The equipment used in the labs that can be set aside for only the more complicated or necessary work that normally costs hundreds to thousands for use or operation is another money saver, and even with our higher pay and mental compensation plans, it ultimately saves the most money to use us than to not.”

           “The mental strain alone ultimately breaks most empaths in the end, though,” Lecter points out.

            “Saves money on retirement, then, too,” Will retorts.

             “As we can see with the late Agent Hobbs,” Lecter replies after a beat, dryly. “What caused him to go rogue?”

           Will peruses a small section of books dedicated to art work, and he finds William Blake once more. He takes that book from the shelf as well, curiosity making him turn pages, thumbing through to find ones with the most faded edges, one touched by hands of reverence or eagerness. What art moves Dr. Lecter? What gives him inspiration, voice, essence?

           “…He was retiring soon,” he says, and he glances over to Lecter to gauge his reaction to Will touching his things. His expression is impassive, his deep-set eyes intent but not narrowed. Will marvels at the ability to study, to see without seeing, and he makes his way closer, feet sinking into the plush and intricate design of a floor rug as he makes his way to the chair opposite of Lecter’s. He doesn’t sit just yet, though. “He had a standard, six-month mental evaluation, like we all do in order to test our mental state. He didn’t pass, and with his daughter graduating high school as well, it was decided that he would be better suited retiring and going home to help her with that rather than continue work that he couldn’t do and do well.”

           “Do you think the retirement caused him to lose sight of everything that he deemed important?”

           “I think it was a catalyst, but the retirement was because he was losing his grasp on reality even before he starting killing. In his evaluation, he discussed his daughter with a behavior and dialogue verging on obsessive, and he referred to their time together as a form of honoring who she was and what she was. Her upcoming graduation, coupled with a red stamp of disapproval on his sheet were only the straws to ultimately break the camel’s back, not some singular moment that made him fantasize about killing.”

           “Was it killing, in his mind?” Hannibal asks. Will handles the two books, shifts and paces along the rug in order to study a painting on the wall depicting two women in a glade beside a well. He stares at the painting, at the oil on canvas rendered with care and adoration, and he shakes his head, whether Hannibal can see it or not.

           “He was honoring them, and in doing so, honored her,” he says slowly. “They thought that his retirement would give him the time to spend with her before she left, but that sudden shift in a life plan, coupled with what he thought to be a loss of his daughter, pushed him over, and the intrusive thoughts and dreams he’d already struggled with took hold until he couldn’t see his way out anymore.”

           “You told Dr. Bloom that he wasn’t like most psychopathic empaths –the title for them is, of course, in itself a paradox.”

           “He’s not,” Will says it, realizes he’s speaking as though Hobbs is still alive. “He…was sensitive. His delusions, his dreams made him believe that he was honestly honoring those girls, giving them something beyond themselves as he found a way to connect to his daughter without having to hurt her. He tried to make their deaths as painless as possible.”

           “In comparison, you shooting him will have felt far more jarring after you experienced the form of care that he gave to his victims while giving him no such respect in his own demise.”

           The fact that he can see that, the fact that Lecter says those words with such assurance, such confidence is staggering, and Will turns back to him to stare, swallowing down a noise of indignation and surprise. He meets Dr. Lecter’s gaze and it holds for far longer than he’s ever held a gaze with someone –such things would have normally pulled him into the dark depths of the iris, the knowing place where ugly things were left to rot inside of the mind. With Lecter, though, he isn’t drawn in; instead, he notes the pleased crinkles near his eyes, the faintest of twitches near his lips that suggests he knows exactly what Will is doing, roaming around touching his things.

           Dr. Lecter doesn’t mind it in the least.

           If anything, he seems amused to see Will invade his space with the behavior of someone that is used to doing that for a living with no one to stop them. Will finds it in himself to sit down, still holding both the book of art and the book of poetry like shields against Lecter’s immense sense of knowing.

           “She was his golden ticket,” Will finds himself saying. “He was about to destroy it because all else was lost. The FBI took his job, his future, his plans, his…aspirations, left him to go home where life itself was taking away the one pride and joy he had, and in his mind they let him go to watch the only thing he had left leave him. I can unequivocally understand him, but I don’t regret killing him.”

           “No, in the heat of the moment, I’d almost say you enjoyed it.”

           He rears back in his chair, gripping the books tightly at that. There is no indication of judgement or censure in those words, just a calm and almost detached tone to it, like Lecter is commenting on the particularly pretty shade of blue in a pair of off brand dress slacks.

           “…Killing is the ugliest thing in the world,” he finds himself saying. Slow, purposeful. Like he has had to recite the words in his head several times before forcing them out.

           “There is something beautiful in its power, though; we inherited our capacity for violence and cruelty from our human ancestors, not our animal ancestors. There is something to be said to be able to enjoy it from an artistic perspective, as you tend to have to do when you look into the eyes of a fellow empath and see how they felt in killing.”

           “Trying to trap me, doctor?” Will taunts lightly. “Going to tell Jack I’ve an itch for killing people now because of Agent Hobbs?”

           “On the contrary, my intent is to show you the many ways in which you can understand that killing, for all of its horrific nature, the ugliness you see it to be, can also be purposeful, right. You’re allowed to take pleasure in the way you took control of your circumstances and saved your life as well as the life of Abigail Hobbs. That in no way makes you the monster your mind would have you be.”

           “’The Caverns of the Grave I’ve seen, and these I show’d to England’s Queen. But now the Caves of Hell I view, Who shall I dare to show them to?’” Will quotes Blake, fingers tapping lightly over the cover. Hannibal considered him, head tilting slightly to the other side, almost animalistic in nature, before he smiles, a clever and engaging sort of thing.

           “Me, Agent Graham; you show them to me.”

           When he sees Will out from a second door used for patient exits, Will goes to return the books he’d thumbed through. He’s surprised when Dr. Lecter refuses, instead pushing them back towards Will’s chest with that same damned, ambiguous smile he wore for the rest of their conversation.

           “Please, Agent Graham, you’ve certainly earned the time and leisure to look through those as you like. Return them when you’ve found what you’re looking for.”

           Later, setting them alongside Beverly’s tablet with Dr. Lecter’s articles in the journals, he wonders what exactly he’s looking for that the good doctor seems to know everything about.

-

           He gets coffee with Alana because she insists, and because she’s a good enough friend he’d hate to disappoint or worry her. It’s a small shop that deserves more customers than it has, what with the fair prices and elegant, old-fashioned way of making coffee, but Will is glad for it. It’s just them, the woman running the counter, and a couple tucked into the corner with their Sudoku and their crosswords.

           “Hannibal tells me he’s met with you a few times,” she says, stirring a chai latte. Time has made it so that he hardly has to look at her to see what she’s feeling or thinking. Relief and pleasure are a film on the table that wasn’t quite wiped clean.

           “Yes.”

           “Has it helped?”

           “Did you know about his ability to be unread by empaths?” Will wonders out loud. He doesn’t have to wait for an answer. He glances to her mouth, sees the guilt at keeping what she’d consider a secret. “I didn’t ask, therefore you didn’t tell me.”

           “I figured you wouldn’t believe until you saw,” she says with a nod.

           “That’s true.”

           “Has it helped, Will?” she presses when he says nothing else. “He went with you when you went to the RA’s home.”

           “That’s his house, but it’s not his home. There’s somewhere else he keeps his secrets.”

           That’s how it was with empaths, although the look of confusion on Alana’s face tells him she doesn’t quite follow his train of thought. Dreamers in particular, like Dolarhyde, are trained to build walls, to create safe spaces within safe spaces. Although he couldn’t hide his fear, he could build enough walls with his dreams that he could hide his secrets and save them for another place.

           “Jack is getting me information regarding what he was working on before he went rogue, and another agent sent me an address to a place he liked to frequent between jobs,” he continues rather than explain what he meant. “Dr. Lecter wants to follow along.”

           He doesn’t reveal that he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would, Lecter’s following along. After visiting Dolarhyde’s house, he didn’t say much over coffee, allowing Will to mull over what he’d felt and seen. Someone betrayed Dolarhyde, that much was certain –whether on purpose or not, he couldn’t say, but it was a betrayal all the same. After their conversation at Lecter’s office, his ability to know that Will enjoyed killing Hobbs, there is a sense of something odd, something alluring in the manner in which he tracked Will throughout his office, gleaning more information from Will than Will thought he’d gained from Lecter.

           It was a little exciting, if he was being completely honest with himself.

           “He’s worked with empaths before, and he was my mentor in school. Apart from his professional recommendations, I put my stamp on him.”

           It means more to him that she recommends him than anyone else, although he’s not sure if he should say that. His level of comfort around certain people is something he holds close, not using words to express how much or little someone means to him. That creates vulnerability, and Will has had enough with vulnerability, with letting too much in. He’s had to share a bed with two dead bodies; he doesn’t want to imagine a third, one alive and needing validation of his friendship.

           “He’s smart,” he allows after he finishes his coffee. “I read his work.”

           “All of it?”

           He doesn’t want to admit that yes, of course he’d read every single published piece. “A bit. He seems to understand empaths differently than others. He doesn’t fear us.”

           “People don’t fear empaths,” she says, but at his cross look, she amends hastily, “at least, not the way you imply. No one likes their secrets being exposed by a simple glance. No one likes thinking that if someone touches them, they know everything.”

           “No one likes an empath going rogue and killing people,” he says sarcastically.

           “You’ll find your RA,” Alana assures him.

           “I was talking about me.”

           That takes her by mild surprise, and she has to think about his words for awhile before she can find something to say to try and comfort him. Will isn’t looking for comfort, though; when he gets a call from Jack to meet him at a crime scene, he figures he’s looking for something similar to comfort, but something that doesn’t ache so much on the way down.

-

           It’s an open field with tall grass swaying in the wind, a cool breeze to whisper the cold day that it’s going to be. Will takes his jacket off and rolls up his shirt sleeves to really bask in the feeling of the environment around him, and he picks his way around a few vehicles to walk along a path stamped down from use. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun bears down on his gloved hands. When a bit of stray wheat dances and brushes against his arm, he can feel the pressure of a grasshopper leaping, of a doe rushing with wild panic. He twitches away from it and continues on his path.

           Jack has had enough time to make sure the crime scene is ‘safe’ for him, and Will steps around a few police officers in order to take in the scene. It’s a bit nauseating, and the coffee roils in his stomach, but he forces himself to look because that’s his job and that’s what he does so wonderfully well.

           “Whenever you’re ready,” the annotator tells him.

           Sometimes he wonders if it’s a test from the FBI, the things he’s seen and the death he’s witnessed secondhand. Surely no one would take a young woman and throw her onto the head of a stag; surely the FBI merely wants to test his mettle, his obedience to them when they ask him to look at things like this. As he circles her, arms splayed in supplication to the heavens above, he knows that such thoughts are nothing but paranoia, though –he’s seen enough into the hearts and minds of mankind to know that there are plenty of people that, given half the chance, would eat someone alive if it got them one step ahead.

           He inhales the stench of open wounds, of a chest cavity missing a vital piece for life, and after removing his gloves, he presses his hands into the blood, throwing walls down rather than letting them fall on their own time.

           You are nothing.

           You think of yourself rather highly, as any with privilege does; this is not so, though. Through these actions of mine, I’ve reduced you to what you truly are –a pig, as easy to kill as the swine to the slaughter, as malleable as clay as I slice down your chest and break past the ribs to remove what gives life anew through each breath. Are we not more than flesh and bone? Yes, yes; as life was so given to you, I take away and give myself at my leisure, at my pleasure.

           Will opens his eyes, and the woman before him –Cassie Boyle, his mind provides –still lives. She struggles, but he holds tight, and brown eyes meet his with the sort of panic and fear one gives when they know just how close they dance the line to death.

           He doesn’t smile at her, nor does he taunt her. His actions are methodical, as smooth and unhesitating as one ties a shoe. With strength, with utmost precision he lifts her and slams her onto the stag head, and the screams of agony that rip through her invigorate him, embolden him. As she flails and tries to free herself, a knife is produced and the clean, forced line down her chest is one of time, of practice and strength. Her screams turn to whimpers, to gasping chokes as her brain struggles to comprehend what is happening –

           -Will needs no such effort, though; he knows exactly what he is doing as he does it.

           The lungs are removed, and along his hands he sees gloves and an odd, vinyl suit over a nondescript black top. With finesse, he removes them and stares down at wide eyes and a gaping mouth, a body struggling to provide what it no longer can.  The contrast of skin to blood, of bone to gore is empowering, and in her final moments of life, as her heart shudders and struggles, Will stares down and imagines just how beautiful the backdrop of the field around them set to the woman impaled on the horns, her purpose nothing more than to provide a contrast to Garrett Jacob Hobbs and a freshly prepared meal.

           Can’t you see, Agent Graham? This is the sort of thing you have the capacity to be.

           He comes to and takes several steps back, grasping for a wet rag that’s provided by someone he can’t see, stuck as he is blinking back the sensation of what lungs feel like in gloved hands, what bones feel like jutting through skin. He lifts his walls in his mind, raises them high, but they fight him for longer than he likes, and he has to use another rag to fully remove all of what he’s consumed through his skin.

           “What’d you see?” Jack asks him. The annotator stands nearby, pen poised over the notepad. Will gasps and inhales sharply, closing his eyes tight for several furious heartbeats.

           “…This is for me,” he murmurs, and his voice is half-strangled.

           “You?”

           “It isn’t Dolarhyde,” he says, and he opens his eyes to look at Jack. “That’s why you called, isn’t it? You thought it was Dolarhyde?”

           “Who is it?”

           “I didn’t see that,” he says, and once his hands are sufficiently clean, he holds the rag out and someone takes it from him, allowing him to put his gloves back on with jerky, curt movements. “Intelligent psychopath, a sadist; not one I’ve seen before. He removed the victim’s lungs while she was alive, after he impaled her on the antlers. He’s either eaten, or he’s going to eat the lungs.”

           “Eat the lungs,” Jack repeats flatly.

           “He sees her as a pig. He sees all of us as pigs, and he wanted to show me that.”

           “Why you?” Jack presses. “Is it another empath? Another rogue?”

           “No, this…this person knows about me. About what happened with Hobbs, I think. Hobbs impaled women on antlers, so he impaled this woman on antlers.” He scrambles to try and think, to focus past the chill down his spine at someone that spoke so vividly to him. “He…asked me if I could see.”

           “He asked you?”

           “He did this with me in mind, Jack. He did this to get at me.”

            “Why?”

            “I don’t know,” Will snaps, and he thinks of the last line before he was able to pull himself away. He should tell Jack what the voice said, dissonant, faraway, but he can’t quite bring himself to. This is the sort of thing you have the capacity to be.

           He doesn’t tell Jack. He doesn’t want Hansen called in. He doesn’t want a therapist, god forbid a review of his mental state if they think he’s getting too close to the edge. He surprised, then, to hear Hannibal Lecter of all people say,

           “Could it be that there is a copycat or a protégé, Agent Crawford? Someone that Agent Hobbs worked with?”

           Will turns his head to look, and the person holding the bloodstained, wet rags is Dr. Lecter of all people, gloved and dressed for the cooler weather.

           “Could be,” Jack admits, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not Dolarhyde? You’re sure?”

           “That’s not Dolarhyde; the tone is different. Dolarhyde seemed purposeful, in control, but this…this was methodical. This was planned, and he was amused the entire time, like it was some kind of punchline to some great big joke.”

           “Are you going to have Agent Graham look into it?” Dr. Lecter asks. Someone nearby reaches for the rags in his hands and disappears with them. Will tracks the movements, studies the flex and twist of Lecter’s wrists as he turns them behind his back casually.

           “Oh, no,” Jack says before Will can speak. “Agent Graham works with RA’s if we can help it. He only gets these guys if we’re in way over our heads.”

           “An intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, is very hard to catch,” Will says, and he chances a glance back to her body, splayed out and vulgar in its expression. “You have to wait for them to make a mistake, leave something that an empath can see beyond the thoughts and impressions.”

           “We’ll have a Feeler ghost along the stag head and the surrounding area, see what comes up,” Jack says, and that’s Will’s sign to leave. He’s not just a Feeler, and he won’t have to deal with the case unless they’re in over their heads.

           Instead, he’s got Dolarhyde to keep him busy. He’s not sure which is the better trade-off.

           “Do you have information about his cases?” he asks Jack.

           “Director Purnell told me that she’d e-mail you,” Jack promised. An evasive answer, and Will takes it sullenly.

           Dr. Lecter follows him to his vehicle as he signs out from the crime scene, and they pause near the driver’s door, Will sneaking short, quick glances and the good doctor gazing with steady intent.

           “…Are they going to have you at every single scene I go to?” Will asks warily.

           “For the time being,” he replies lightly.

           “That a sign they don’t have any faith in me?”

           “It’s a sign that they want you to make a healthy, smooth recovery from the trauma you endured,” Lecter says, and at Will’s scoffing, indignant bark of laughter, he continues, “Where there was a stag head involved, they had suspicions it was a tie to Agent Hobbs, and they wanted to ensure you wouldn’t have a flashback of any sort to the previous incident.”

           “I didn’t,” Will snaps.

           “Didn’t you?”

           “No, this was nothing like Hobbs,” he says, waving a hand at Lecter’s amused expression. “Don’t give me that look, this was…Hobbs loved those girls. He wouldn’t disrespect them like this. He wouldn’t be vulgar, cruel. He thought their deaths were quick and merciful, but this guy…this guy was happy to relish in her pain. He knew the cuts to make, the way to turn her at just the right angle that she was impaled rather than falling against the antlers and sliding to the side. He…relished in her screaming.”

           Will is careful to speak slowly, that he can ensure that he says ‘he’ rather than ‘I’.

           “A foil to Agent Hobbs?”

           “A foil to Agent Hobbs,” Will agrees. “And…and a jab at me. Whoever they are, they’re jabbing at me.”

           “Does that make you feel threatened, Agent Graham?” Lecter wonders. In the brilliant sunlight of the crisp fall day, his hair holds golden hues, his skin alive and positively glowing. Will studies his expression, the way that his eyes can only take in what he can see rather than what’s behind the face.

           “…No. If anything, I-” He stops himself before he can say anything stupid, before he can say something he’ll regret. Dr. Lecter tilts his head slightly, prompting.

           “You what, Agent Graham?” he prompts.

           Will swallows, glances back to the scene in the short distance, agents hurrying to and fro, another empath standing off to the side and waiting, their back to the scene. He grimaces, adjusts his glasses that slide down his nose no matter how hard he tries to fix them, and he lets out a short, forlorn sigh.

           “If anything, I’d say they’re trying to play a game with me,” he says at last. To his surprise, Dr. Lecter doesn’t bother to attempt to correct him.

[mo3lefay]

Rogue Witch

I wrote how Jacke and Nef first met because I’ve lost control of my life

Preview: Assassinations were always quick work to him.This time it was a witch. He had been told there was one hiding around these woods, perhaps an affiliate of the Nightmare Court. They were creating weird, terrible poisons; homemade and so expertly done his guild hadn’t been able to figure them out or find any counter reagents. They were lethal, and in the wrong hands, downright deadly. Many people had fallen victim to them- and if the Nightmare Court having it wasn’t bad enough, cases of similar toxins had been reported to be showing up on bandit weaponry and on the kills of centaurs in the area, suggesting that this witch was expanding their selling territory.And without a viable cure, this situation could only get worse.The guild had suggested he ask around the Watchful Source and see what he could find. The locals perhaps had dealt with this person before...

Zinder Slope was a humid nook nestled high against the side of a great mountain. The jungle canopy was more spread out and scarce compared to the density of Caledon- marking the end of the jungle and the beginnings of the vast, Brisban Wildlands. Rocky crags and ragged ravines carved through the landscape, vines and all sorts of wild vegetation climbing up the stone walls as they reached for sunlight. Nestled within a small clearing, a Sylvari village.

It was less of a village and more of a rest stop, he supposed. Watchful Source held mainly merchants and blacksmiths that sold supplies and repairs to weary travelers passing through- prepping for the inevitably long trek through the wildlands. There were many Valiants of the Hunt stationed here, their inner calling taking them away from the Pale Tree’s roots. They wandered around as almost self-proclaimed Wardens, banding together to stave off trouble. As he heard, there seemed to be a lot of it out here.

Jacke wasn’t here to join them, but he was here to help. In his hand, he held a small piece of paper- notes he took on his briefing. The guild had sent him out here on a small mission. It wasn’t anything huge. In fact, he’d done stuff like this countless times before.

Assassinations were always quick work to him.

This time it was a witch. He had been told there was one hiding around these woods, perhaps an affiliate of the Nightmare Court. They were creating weird, terrible poisons; homemade and so expertly done his guild hadn’t been able to figure them out or find any counter reagents. They were lethal, and in the wrong hands, downright deadly. Many people had fallen victim to them- and if the Nightmare Court having it wasn’t bad enough, cases of similar toxins had been reported to be showing up on bandit weaponry and on the kills of centaurs in the area, suggesting that this witch was expanding their selling territory.

And without a viable cure, this situation could only get worse.

The guild had suggested he ask around the Watchful Source and see what he could find. The locals perhaps dealt with this person before.

The first villager he saw happened to be a young looking Sylvari, probably just venturing forth out of the Grove for the first time. He could sense her inexperience and unbridled spirit. She had fuchsia skin and deep, iris leaves that swept back over her head away from her bright blue eyes.

“Excuse me,” he said as he approached, offering up a charming smile. “I’m new around here and was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about this place?”

Her face perked up excitedly, seeming to be delighted to be asked a question. “Oh! Welcome! This is Watchful Source! Uh, I’m not very certain on its exact history but there are a lot of Valiants here that are drawn to this place… Are you on a Wyld Hunt?”

“No, not currently,” he answered politely. “I was only curious as to what makes this place such a magnet. I see many Sylvari gathered here, so far from the Grove…” He let out a wistful sigh.

“I believe they are drawn to all the bad energy… Some of the older folks around here say the soil is stained in much blood… And all manner of villains hide in these woods.”

“What sorts of villains?” he prodded tactfully.

She shook her head, making a face. “The more prominent are the human bandits. They have several little hideaways and camps out here around the mountain. I think they want the Skritt treasure… or something. And then of course there’s the Inquest lab that is hidden somewhere in the marshes to the south. And recently the Court has begun popping up.”

“The Nightmare Court you say? Oh, that’s terrible…”

“It is… They mostly stay within the ravines and don’t usually bother us but sometimes they slink out of the shadows and attack… it’s very scary. Especially their wolves. They destroy all the wildlife and creatures around. Their claws befoul the area.”

“’Befoul’?” he asked, curious to the choice of words.

“Yes. It seems that whatever they touch seems to wither and die. If you get struck by them, you become awfully sick.”

“Sick? Like its… poison?” the Sylvari thief fished hopefully.

“Something like that. The mender probably knows more about it than I do.”

Mender. Now that was a term he hadn’t heard in a while. A Sylvan doctor was what it was, specializing in healing plant life and creatures born of the Pale Mother. “Where can I find them?”

The girl made another face, this time one of unease and uncertainty. “Um… I’m not sure…”

“Do you know where they live?”

She shook her head. “No… Somewhere nearby I think? She only comes into town once a week, sometimes less than that. People leave notes and stuff for her on the board and she takes them with her. The shop woman over there sells her potions, she can probably tell you more.”

Jacke thanked the sapling for her time and smiled again, backing away. The next person he was directed to had yellowish green skin, somewhat like his own. However, she had long, ruby red petals and leaves protruding from the bridge of her nose, slightly obscuring one of her eyes.

“Hello, traveler,” she greeted. Her formality suggested she was older than the previous Sylvari. Her dark eyes twinkled as she glanced behind him. “I don’t know what you said to poor, little Cianthe over there, but she looks completely enamored.”

“What?” he questioned, looking over his shoulder. The small sapling he had spoken to appeared to be staring after him with big, doe eyes, giving a sigh. She was so wrapped up in her trance she didn’t even seem to realize she was blatantly staring. He huffed amusedly, “Saplings… They do seem to get easily fascinated with new creatures, don’t they?” He felt old just speaking like this. He was hardly a sapling but nor was he up there with the first or second born Sylvari. He hoped he wouldn’t grow to be as dull as them.

“They most certainly do… Was there something I could do for you, stranger?”

“Yes, I was informed you sell potions. I was curious about them.”

The shopkeeper nodded enthusiastically, turning behind her and rifling through a large, burlap sack. “Ah, yes they just arrived this morning. Fresh brewed elixirs, good for any sort of ailment. Do you plan on going far?”

“There is a possibility,” he fudged. “I’m worried about these Nightmare wolves Cianthe just told me about… She said their claws may be dipped in some sort of poison? Dreadful business…”

“Yes, that is correct. The Courtiers have been getting creative it would seem. I think it’s their fraternizing with the bandits. The humans use bad berries to coat their weapons and to slip into the food and drink of their enemies, but it doesn’t affect us tree-folk. Whatever the Court has is not friendly to our kind, and it seems to affect humans just as well. Perhaps a modification of some kind, I’m not entirely sure. It’s all guesses.”

Sounded like his target.

“Will these potions help against the poison?” he asked.

She nodded. “Certainly! The mender studied the claws of the beasts and came up with a cure. These potions will definitely do the trick. I wouldn’t go anywhere near the ravine without one or two.”

That didn’t sound like his target. His guild had resources all over Tyria and no matter who they sent samples to, no one could tell them how to counteract the poison. If a simple mender could do it then surely the poison the Nightmare Court was using wasn’t made by the witch.

He promptly purchased two of the elixirs, handing the sylvan woman a small sack of coins. She gave him a quizzical look as she thumbed through the coins.

“I… don’t have change for this much.”

“Keep the change. Give a tip to the mender for me. She must be doing some good work.” Jacke dipped his head gratefully. “In fact, I was hoping I might be able to speak with her? I’m concerned about these advancements the Court seems to be making… And if they start using these tactics in other areas, it may be wise to make sure other villages are as prepared as you all seem to be.”

The woman blinked. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense… The mender is rather elusive, however… She only comes down for emergencies and when she needs supplies or is dropping off her stuff to me. I’d direct you to her cottage but… I don’t really know the way, exactly.”

“She doesn’t live in town?” he asked, slightly surprised. A mender usually stuck close to wherever their duties lie. If she didn’t live here where would she live?

“She likes her privacy, I think… Not much of a talker, that one. Her house is somewhere deep in the woods just north of the lagoon. But she isn’t very fond of being bothered.”

“Huh… Well this a rather important matter. I’m sure she’d find an exception to this?”

The unease in the shopkeeper’s expression did not relinquish and she only made an indistinguishable noise. “Maybe? I’d say you should wait till she comes into town again but she was just here this morning… You’d have to wait until next week for her to come back around.”

“That would take quite a while and I’m rather pressed for time…”

The woman seemed to be debating something within her mind. After a few moments, she rustled a few of the gold coins he had given her and placed them into his palm. “Here. Give her your tip yourself, that might help her mood a little… She also likes unique things, rare plants and such… I don’t know if you have anything like that, but any little bit helps.”

“You make it sound like she might be dangerous,” he laughed.

The seriousness did not falter in the shopkeeper’s eyes. Upon seeing it, his cheerful smile faded away.

“… She is not someone I’d trifle with.”

He stood there in mild shock, befuddled as to how a mender- a person meant to be a devoted healer- could spark such a chilling reputation. Dangerous was not a word he would typically throw around someone who was supposed to be saving lives.

“Uh… alright. Well, I guess I’ll be going then.”

The woman sent him off with a small, nervous wave, and he was aware of her eyes boring into his back his entire way down the path. As he made his way to the outskirts of the village he could see from the high ground the lagoon. Its waters were a deep, dark turquoise, some places sporting patches of sour green algae. He could only see a small stretch of it, but it appeared to go deeper into the jungle ahead. The mender lived somewhere over there.

He looked to the sky, estimating the time to be around late afternoon. Perhaps he’d be able to smell a fire or some sort of scent that would indicate a house was nearby. He’d poke around at least until nightfall before calling it a day.

Jacke hardly hesitated going into the jungle, masking his presence and sliding through the brush like a shadow. He wasn’t familiar with this area, and there was still the possibility the Nightmare Court was up and about. Not to mention there were bandits and the Inquest to look out for as well. It was no wonder this place was considered a lawless land…

But as he traversed through the dense thickets he found no sign of his person of interest. Just the wildlife, which only moved and fled on the off chance they caught sight of him. He was more used to slinking through urban areas. Tall buildings, crowded streets… The woods, though his birthplace, was a bit different than what he was accustomed to. It took a while for him to adjust to moving upwind so that his scent wouldn’t give him away, and hiding things on his person- such as his bright kerchief- that stood out in the predominately green landscape.

He stopped to stake out and rest for a bit within the boughs of a tree, gloved hands gripping into the rough bark as he made his way up into the canopy to hide. As he moved higher, he felt his palm catch on something sticky. He instinctively flung his wrist to be rid of it, only examining it when it became apparent it wasn’t going to come off.

The substance was silky and white- threading together in a large clump on his fingers. He made a grimace, smearing the spider web onto the tree branch beside him before continuing his ascent.

After he got nestled into his perch, he scanned the environment critically, muffled groaning echoing from his person as he observed more webs weaving through the branches- large and draping all around him. He hoped he hadn’t disturbed some sort of nest…

As he thought it, a shadow moved through the underbrush of the forest floor, causing a small racket as it threw up a tiny whirlwind of leaves in its wake. It skittered on multiple, thin legs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was down there… Jacke felt himself scowl, pulling a knife from his boot. He closed one eye and waited, wondering if he’d be able to make a shot like that from here. Of course, the spider would have to come out of the bushes first…

For several minutes, there was nothing but silence. The spider did not return. He eventually let down his knife and clutched it in his lap, slightly disappointed. Now what was he going to do to entertain himself? His head reclined back against the bark of the wood, scratching at his scalp. His eyes turned upwards to the sky, small flecks of bright blue peeking through the gaps in the leaves. He probably should have picked up a snack before he went on this little trek…

His thoughts of food were abruptly cut short at the sound of a snapping twig.

Eyes darting downwards, he reflexively readied to throw his knife again, watching the underbrush wriggle as something threatened to come through.

He found himself reeling back his instinct to throw when a woman appeared, a basket slung over her arm.

She was incredibly petite, slender... And he realized he hadn’t seen her coming because her skin was a dark, dusky green color- blending in near seamlessly with her surroundings. The only brightness to her was the paleness of her hair, drawn up in a loosely closed bud surrounded by vines that hung to frame her small, round face.

She wore traditional Sylvan garb- homegrown petals that covered her chest and fanned around her waist like a dress. Accentuated fronds extended from her shoulders and several places off her back. Her expression was stoic and grim, eyes a deep, calculating amber. The irate glint to them told him all he needed to know.

This was the mender.

She stood at the edge of the clearing, looking around searchingly. Upon deciding nothing was amiss, she wandered over to an overturned log and struggled to lift it away, revealing a damp patch of wild mushrooms underneath. The mender crouched and went to work, pulling out stalks and placing them in her wicker basket.

For a few moments, he merely observed, debating on whether to say something or just follow her around until she led him to her house. He pressed himself against the tree, stilling his breathing and waiting. Something prickly brushed against the side of his face and he fought back the urge to snort it away, nose twitching. He glanced off to the side, wondering what it was.

A large, brown, hairy appendage had come to rest next to the side of his cheek. Jacke let his eyes travel upwards, taking in the seven other legs and the great mandibles of a spider. The creature was oddly still, and he noted that in many places, the hairs on its legs had been rubbed clean off. Strange protrusions were coming from its joints, yellow and orange in color.

He squinted, and after a couple seconds of the spider not reacting, waved his hand in front of its face. Its many black and beady eyes did not spark or illicit a response. Not even its fangs moved. Jacke confirmed that the creature must be dead. But it didn’t just appear out of nowhere… And it hadn’t been there before…

He adjusted his position to move away from the corpse, gaze returning down to the clearing.

The mender was as he had left her, bent and back turned to him- the many, long fronds coming off her back a dark purplish hue. She rummaged for a few minutes longer before tucking her findings away on her arm, digging through the basket to pull out what appeared to be a piece of charcoal. She moved just beneath the tree he was resting in and began to draw something on the trunk.

The dead creature beside him began to shudder.

Its mandibles began to move, running over its face and rousing it from what seemed to be a deep sleep. Its legs flared up, stretching. He braced his knife as the spider finally acknowledged his presence, skittering onto the branch and facing him.

With near lightning speed, he planted the knife directly into its head.

However, the spider did not stop. It started thrashing under his weight, legs trying to pin him down. Its abdomen flexed as it attempted to catch him within a web. The noise of the struggle did not go unnoticed, and soon enough he heard the mender call up to the trees.

“If you come down I’ll tell it to stop.”

Tell it to stop? Was she controlling it?

Jacke let out a frustrated grunt, taking back his knife and rolling off the branch to land to the ground below in a readied crouch. The mender pivoted to him and the spider followed soon after, stopping at her raised hand.

“Who are you?” she asked gruffly, eyes drilling into his head.

 “Nobody of consequence,” he answered in good humor, hoping it would make her more approachable.

The mender returned his quip with a cold glare.

He stood and brushed himself off, cautiously putting away his knife while certain her eyes were on him so she knew he meant her no harm. Standing on level ground with her, he found she was incredibly short in stature- at least a head beneath him. She seemed so small that a breeze could blow her away…

“You’re not from around here,” she observed, giving him a quick up and down look over.

“No, I am not.”

“Well? What's your business? I haven’t got all day.”

So snappy…

“I was told I could find the mender of Watchful Source in these woods. I presume you are her?”

She sighed impatiently. “Yes, yes, that’s me. What is it you want? What did those silly Valiants down there tell you I could make? A love potion for your dearest of hearts? A hex to put on your rival? Or did you just want your fortune told?”

He frowned, a bit bewildered. “Uh… No… I was just wondering if you could walk me through an antidote…”

Her eyes suddenly became less hard, a spark of intrigue entering them.

Jacke reached into one of his pouches and drew out one of the bottles he had procured from the shopkeeper earlier, tossing it to her. She lurched forward to catch it in both hands, almost dropping it. Upon turning it over in her palm, the glare returned.

“This is mine.”

“So I understand,” he replied. “They told me it does wonders for the poison the Nightmare Court seems to be fond of using lately.”

“Yes, that’s the idea,” she huffed, tossing the elixir back to him unceremoniously.

He caught it with ease. “Well as I told the merchant, I am concerned that courtiers will start using this toxin in other areas. I was hoping that maybe I could… purchase the recipe for this potion from you to give to other places tormented by the Court.”

She stared at him with a blank expression, emotions clouded from him. He noticed her jaw clench.

“It’s not for sale.”

It was his turn to glare now, brow scrunching in confusion. One would think a mender would jump on the opportunity to have their work used and recognized by other menders… He shook the shock from himself and rummaged through his purse for his money. “I have plenty to compensate for it. Would this change your mind?”

He held out his palm, showing off a sizable pile of glittering gold coins.

The mender stared intently. She seemed to be considering his offer. He watched her breathe deeply, tossing the idea around in her mind. But after a moment she took a resolved step back.

“It’s not for sale.”

He kept his palm open. “May I ask why not?”

“I don’t know you. You say you have good intentions, but you could be lying. For all I know you’ll sell off my recipe to every poor sod that needs it and I will see no return from it. You could also claim credit and no one would be the wiser. It’s not for sale.”

Snappy and incredibly distrusting. Jacke tucked the coins back into his fist. “Perhaps I could convince you?”

The mender narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “And how would you intend to do that?”

“Well, I might be sticking around here for a while… Could you use any help? It is just you out here, isn’t it?”

He was getting side tracked. He was supposed to be finding the witch dealing the poison, not making friends. But the antidote was important and he would rather earn her permission to share her cure before handing it over to his guild to dissect within a few days. Her work still deserved respect, after all.

She considered the proposal, lips puckering into a pursed, slight pout. The mender looked to her spider minion and it turned and scurried away up the tree. When her attention returned to him she let out a small sigh.

“If you intend to stay in Watchful Source, then… I will find something for you to do. But just because you help me does not mean I will end up giving you my recipe. Understand?”

He nodded excitedly, just happy he had a chance to try. “Yes! How should I reach you? What would you like me to do?”

His enthusiasm and wish to dive right in seemed to surprise her. The mender fidgeted unsurely, swaying on her legs in thought. “There is… a board in the village. They leave orders tacked on it for me to collect. Each morning you are here, go and see if there are any messages for me. If there are, take them and bring them to this tree-” she reached out and patted the trunk, charcoal marking still etched into the bark. “-and I will meet you. And if I feel at any point you have anything less than good intentions, I will let the spiders have you.”

Sounded fair.

“Then what?” he asked.

“Then…” she trailed, giving a moment to think. “If I have thought up any chores for you to do I will let you come with me to do them.”

He could do that. He was sure the guild would understand the small diversion. Maybe he could get her to tell him a little bit about the properties of the poison the Court was using? Any little leads helped.

“What should I call you?” he piped as it looked as though she was turning to leave.

She stopped and stared at the forest floor, an awkward edge creeping in her tone when she answered.

“My name is Nefirhea.”

“Well, uh, before you go,” he huffed, selecting a few coins from his palm, “I wanted you to have this.” He reached out in indication for her to come take them.

The suspicion came back as she shuffled the few steps over, holding out her hand. He dropped the coins into them and she peered at them intensely.

“A tip for the potions I bought earlier.”

Her nervousness suggested that people didn’t do this sort of thing often. “… Thank you…?” she finally said, looking up to stare at him, voice tapering off quietly.

“Kejacke,” he said, answering her insinuated question. “People just call me Jacke.”

“Well, uh… thank you, Jacke.” She put the coins in her basket. Again, she turned to leave, this time a bit hurriedly.

Despite her not being able to see it he gave a little wave. “See you tomorrow!”

She didn’t look back or reply, her form simply disappearing into the brush she had first come from. He listened to her steps fade off into the distance before taking note of the tree and the marking upon it. It looked like some sort of rune… He couldn’t decipher it. Part of him debated copying it to see if someone in town could tell him more about it, but their lack of knowledge on the mender’s whereabouts and methods alluded they weren’t going to be a much better source of information.

He let out a long breath, opting to leave it and save it as a question for another day. It appeared he would be spending quite a bit of time with this mender anyways. He’d have plenty of time to pester her.

Jacke gave one last look to the area Nefirhea had vanished into, noting the direction in his mind. Then he turned and left the same way he came in, emerging at the edges of Watchful Source about twenty minutes later. It was dusk, and the sun cast bright pink streaks across the sky. Satisfied with his work for the day, the thief found lodging with some Valiants, and spent the rest of his evening writing in his log and making note of all the information he had gathered thus far.

Tomorrow would hopefully yield more leads...