#this is why I can’t thrive here I literally need someone falling to their knees for me at every given moment

[m0llygunn]

you guys I hinted towards it being my birthday last month and nobodyyyyy clocked the age change in my bio you guys fake asf🙄

[poppy-metal]

"The first time you hear Izuku moan your name, its with you hiding on the other side of his closet door, your hand clapped over your mouth in shock.”

A/N: im placing this before the sexual side of their relationship begins. A prelude of sorts, if you will.

Cw: voyeurism, smut, dekus secretly dirty mouth.

All things considered izuku’s room was...not as gross as you expected a staple college aged guys dorm room to be. It was cluttered but not disgusting, posters of comics and figurines and manga and some clothes strewn about, everything kind of frenzied and haphazard. It was so incredibly deku, a secret smile pulled at your lips, even though your reasons for being here were less than innocent

He’s wearing fucking pink. Because of course he is, of course izuku is humble and comfortable in his masculinity enough to pull off a bright pink t-shirt. It hugs his chest too, and you have to wonder if literally any of his clothes fit him and the tits he decided to grow in college. His image is so utterly imposing, his smile so bright, and laugh so airy, it sends butterflies flipping through your stomach at just the sight of him and that makes you want to vomit. Your lips curl in a sneer and you’re walking towards him and the group of friends he’s talking to as if on reflex. 

Stupid, lovely deku. You knock your shoulder into his as you pass, hard enough that his books clatter and fall to the floor, scattering. And then those green eyes are on you, giving you his attention and your body feels alive, your blood cells buzzing under your skin even as he frowns. The dimples on his freckled face fall as he takes you in. Yes, you think, look at me, see me, want me. 

Out loud you say. “Watch where you’re going, stupid deku” and you’re looking at him like he’s the dirt under your shoe. He’s not. He’s the center of your universe. Your world tilts around his axis. “Pink isn’t your fucking color by the way”. it is. 

Izuku huffs. He’s past the point where he used to turn as red as a tomato and duck his head whenever you stood in front of him, but he’s still deku at the end of the day. An easy target. “If looking at me bothers you so much you could just ignore me.” He crouches down to pick up his things. His words make you itch, if you could ignore him, you wouldn’t fucking be here. Its because he exists too much, that you want to push him down so much. 

You step your manicured foot onto his notebook right as he’s about to grab it. He tugs at it, you dont budge, and he looks up at you, exasperated. “Can i have my notebook, please?” 

Why is he so fucking pretty? God, you want to throw up. You dig your heel in further, covering the flutter you feel in your chest with a practiced sneer. “I like the way you say please, deku.” You lean down a little, “Say ‘your highness’ and i’ll move” 

It’s a thrill, seeing the way his jaw sets, his brow furrows, his eyes go annoyed. Sweet, sweet, friendly izuku. You’re the only one he looks at like this, like he wants to throttle you. But he won’t. You see his adams apple bob, his cheeks dust pink, even as he glares. “No” 

You pause. It’s not the first time he’s gotten snippy with you, but the conviction behind it is new. You feel something in your stomach give a jump, your blood thrumming in your ears. You jerk your foot towards you, sliding his notebook out from his hands and standing completely on top of it with both your feet now. Your sticky lips, glossy and plump, spread into a mocking grin, “No? Do i need to slam you into some lockers and take you lunch money?” You feel a thousand feet tall, towering above him still kneeling, you on the high ground, looking down at him below you, where he can’t reach you. Can’t ever see the truth. “C’mon pansy, you’re already on your knees anyway” 

But he isn’t anymore. He jerks to a stand, and now he’s taller than you, but you puff your chest out, not letting that affect you. It always affects you. Not that he knows or ever notices. Your eyes are widening when he steps forward so you’re practically nose to nose and chest to chest. “I don’t have time for you” he snaps, irritated. And then he’s stepping away as suddenly as he stepped up, the rest of his things gathered in his arms, he shakes his head at you, a tendril of that mossy mousey hair falling into his eyes. “I gotta get to class” 

And then he’s gone, brushing by you, disengaging. You stand there, your breath stuck in your chest, not moving. ‘I dont have time for you’ over and over again rings through your head like a mantra. You step off his notebook robotically and kick it across the floor. It bangs against a wall and you feel your fists clench, nail beds digging into your palms harshly. ‘I dont have time for you’ 

You turn on your heel, away from the direction of your class, fury blinding you. Anger in place of humiliation, vindication in place of being humbled. You don’t know what crawled up his ass and made him think he was above you all the sudden, but you weren’t having it, not the fuck at all. 

And that’s how you found yourself snooping through izukus dorm, with the intention of finding some kind of dirt, or something to hold over his stupid head. He didn’t have time for you? How dare he act like he was better than you, like he had things more important to do than to indulge you. You were still so mad you wanted to throw a tantrum, kick and scream and claw his eyes out. Straddle his stupid broad waist and shake him until all he saw was you, you, you. 

You really hated him. Hated that because of him you were basically a bully because any attention from him was attention you thrived and lived under. Maybe if you weren’t so prideful, so disgusted by the weakness of your own gooey emotions for him, you would have tried to be the center of his attention in a nicer way, but as it was you were in too deep. This was the sick game you played, and losing wasn’t an option. 

You hated how much that made you similar to bakugou in a way. You didn’t like that guy, and even weirdly so, you wanted to gouge his fucking eyes out for the way he treated and talked to izuku. Was it jealousy or possesivness that drove you to want to be the only one who could rile izuku? You wondered, sometimes, if bakugou felt the same way about you. 

It was the loss of control, for you. Better yet, it was the way you liked the loss of that control. You had always prided yourself on being strong willed and a perfectionist. But whenever your eyes so much as grazed izukus, all your emotions went rattling around your stomach in sick twisted ways, giving you goosebumps, making you...nervous. It was a crush that had turned into an obsession, wasn’t it? And you wanted to make izuku suffer not only for invoking those messy feelings, but for not seeming to return them as well. If he couldn’t love you or want you romantically or sexually, you’d force yourself onto his radar and into his head until thinking about anyone else was impossible. Until you squirmed under his skin as much as he squirmed under yours. 

Acting like you didnt exist was unacceptable. Obviously you’d slacked off on your taunts and actions, if he could just brush past you so easily, not taking your bait. You needed to even the playing field again, and by even you meant you needed to be towering above him again. 

Towering over him so you dont have the time to think about how much you want to be under him, your mind whispers at you as you pick through his room, trying to find anything incripting. Someone like izuku would probably have something utterly embarrassing like a diary or some weird porn magazines, shameless, helpless guy that he was. 

You huff as you open his drawer next to his bedside, nearly slamming it back shut in shock at what you see there. 

You’re not stupid. You’re a healthy, young woman with an active sexual imagination and access to the world wide web, to porn. 

Izuku has a fleshlight in his drawer. Izuku has a sexytoy. Izuku. And its green. 

Izuku has a sex toy that he probably uses. That he probably sticks his cock into and moves- 

An absurd laugh barks out of you, shocked and helpless. Because while in your head you knew izuku had to be some kind pervert, what other explanation was there for the way he blushed and darted his gaze around like a ping pong ball whenever you leaned forward and get caught a glimpse under your blouse, this is...unexpected. Imagining izuku in explicit scenarios, doing lewd things, it was something you didn’t allow your mind to wonder to often over. You didn’t like the way you got all squirmy and meek whenever you thought too long about izuku without clothes. 

You feel kind of squirmy now, hot and uncomfortable as you shift around and try to gather your wits back about you. Revenge, that’s what you’re here for. 

With a shaky exhale you turn away from his dresser, your thoughts flitting around your head like annoying gnats. What, who, does he think about when he…? What does he look like? What does his...c- You shake your head, slap your cheeks, trying to center yourself from the images floating around, flustering you and distracting you. 

You’re in the middle of lifting the covers on his bed to peek under it, see if there’s anything there, when you hear the handle on his door jiggle. You freeze, every muscle in your body locked frozen like a deer in headlights as the knob twists, and then catches. Right. You’d picked the lock with one of your hair clips and then made sure to lock it again behind you just in case something like this happened. And by the, “Ugh” on the other side of the door, yep that’s definitely izuku. You’re shoved out of your shocked state, and bolting for his closet door as you hear the jingle of his keys twist in the lock, trying your best to close the door as quietly as possible behind you, it swishing shut barely a second before the door to his dorm opens and you hear him step in. 

Class must have let out early or something, you think huffily, gently rearranging yourself into a comfortable position on a pile of his clothes as he shuffles around his room. You hear the thumb of him dropping his books, the shuffle of his feet, the clutter of him taking off his shoes and the squeak of his mattress as he plops down on it. 

You tuck your knees to your chest and roll your eyes, picking at your leggings as you wonder how long you’ll have to hide before he goes to the bathroom or something so you can leave. It’s fucking stuffy in his closet already, the air hot. Your hand touches the soft fabric beneath you, realizing you’re sitting on one of his hoodies. Its too dark to see which one it is, but you imagine it as your favorite red one. Maybe you’d steal it as compensation for him making you sit and wait in his dumb closet while he probably stared at the ceiling with no thoughts in his dumb brain.

You hear him sigh, loud and dramatic, and then a muffled scream/groan into his pillow. Your lips twitch, he’s such a fucking drama queen. 

Your little smile drops off your face when you hear the sound of his drawer opening.  

Oh god. Oh no. 

Your face feels like there are embers burning under it as you hear the unmistakable sound of clothes being shucked, a zipper and and then flop, and then….a slick wet sound and a sigh of relief. 

Your eyes feel like they are bugging out of your head. Izuku is really about to fuck his fleshlight with you hiding in his closet with him none the wiser. You feel suddenly embarrassed and hot all over, hiding your face in your knees as you hear him let out a moan. A loud one. 

You’re on fire, every part of you. You don’t think you can take this, don’t think you can sit through this and listen to this, think you should just burst out of his closet and use your bravado to somehow flip the situation and make him feel humiliated for getting off in the privacy of his own room, like he’s in the wrong even though you had violated so many boundaries for even being here right now. 

You could do it too, you know. You’re good at twisting things, at powering through the complicated mess of flustered feelings izuku makes you feel and making it his fault, making him back down and cower. You could do it...you’re uncurling your legs and pushing your hands under you in the middle of getting up to do so when- 

“Fuck. ___” Your name. You freeze, for an unholy, goldy second you think you’ve been caught, that he has acquired x-ray vision and has spotted you but no. His voice isn’t surprised or upset its...breathless, airy. He moaned it. 

The first time you hear Izuku moan your name, its with you hiding on the other side of his closet door, your hand clapped over your mouth in shock.

Heat immediately shoots between your legs, your core throbbing unbidden in reflex to the sound, helpless to stop it, to have any other reaction. Your ass plops right back down. You turn slightly towards the door, pressing your side against it, your ear smooshed against the cool wood as you listen, as if drawn under a spell. 

“You’re such…” You hear izuku pant, his voice deeper and more rough then you’ve ever heard it before. “A fucking brat” 

Wet between your legs, seeping through your panties at his words, seemingly ripped out of him. God, he sounds pissed, wrecked. He cursed. You’ve never heard izuku curse before, never, even when you’d pushed him too far. Something really was different about today. 

The slick sounds are more frequent now, steady and...and sounding like real sex you’d heard from porn before. Wet, sloppy, and slapping. Your knees knock together as you lean forward even more. There’s an invisible string pulling, tugging you forward, you want to see…

“Fucking slut” He grunts, and there’s a heavy slap, your breath catching in your fucking throat as you realize that...that must be the clap of his balls hitting the back of his fleshlight everytime he thrusts into it. “Always running your fucking mouth, looking down at me, so mean, you’re so fucking mean to me…uh..” 

The sounds of sex fill the room and you can’t take it anymore, you’re burning, burning, burning, fuck the consequnces. You hesitantly and slowly turn the handle of the closet door, letting it slide open just a crack, enough for you to peek through, to get a glimpse.

His lean muscular back is the first thing you see, he’s facing directly away from his closet, thank god but oh god, that means you see..so much. The flex of his shoulder blades under his tan skin, the smattering of freckles over his shoulder, the long slender slope of his spine as it curves down his broad back, the dimbles at the bottom of his spine, flexing as he fucks his toy. His ass, because of course izuku would have a perfect round bubble butt. There are freckles there too. 

Your eyes skate down, hungry to his large and heavy balls, low hanging and full, currently smacked right up against the base of the little pocket pussy he’s practically straddling on his bed. 

It hits you again than, that deku is imagining that toy is you, he’s imagining fucking you in this position on his bed right now, imagining its your cunt hes pounding into, and your face he’s spitting those filthy words at. 

Your hand is really moving without your permission when it slips under the band of your leggings into your panties, fingers immediately dipping between the slick folds of your pussy, silky and wet. 

“-Wet” Izuku grunts, as you dip a finger just barely inside. “Fuck, i knew you’d be so fucking soft and good inside. Such a bratty girl would have a sweet cunt attached to her, huh?” 

Fuck, where and when did izuku start speaking like this? His soft voice curling around such crude words is making you gush all over your fingers. You wish you could see the kind of face he was making when he said them. 

“Yeah, you like taking my cock don’t you, baby?” He croons and if you close your eyes you can almost imagine he’s speaking directly into your ear, behind you. His thrusts get heavier, rougher, he lifts his leg up on the bed and you see a flash of the little green toy being fucked on his cock, big and angry looking. He’s being so brutal, hammering the thing down on his dick as he hips rut to meet every downward tug. “Milk it. Milk my fucking cock you whore. Wanna- fuck, wanna hear you say my name when you cum, want you to know who’s pouding that little pussy. The loser you fucking hate, yeah? Gonna cum for me?”

Yes, you whimper in your head in answer to him, your fingers curling deep, deep, inside, fucking yourself on them in earnest. He’s so big and you only caught a glimpse, but it was enough. Enough to know he’d fucking cleave you apart if he tried to fit that monster between his legs inside your tight little pussy. But you want it, god you fucking want it. You wanna feel him splitting you open, making you cream around him, making you beg for it. Making you bleed. 

“One of these day” he says, his voice breathless but steady, even as it cracks. You know he’s close. “I’m gonna fucking snap. Im going to make you look me in the fucking eye and apologize for making me want you, and then im going to split that pussy open- fuck, im coming, fuck, fuck, fuck. Do you understand, b-bitch? Gonna fucking make you mine, yeah, take it, take your senpais cock you dirty fucking girl, ah!” 

He slumps forward, hips humping into the toy and balls spasming as he pumps it full of his cum, shuddering deeply with little aborted whimpers. “Good girl, good girl” he pants, trailing off, giving one last little jerk of his hips before stilling. 

You bite your lip so hard you draw blood to stop yourself from whimpering out loud. You pull your sticky fingers out of your cunt and shuffle back into the dark of the closet, curling in on yourself as izuku lays there, panting heavily for a few moments before moving. 

You stay stock still as you hear him get up and shuffle around, his footsteps padding into the bathroom where you hear the door click softly shut. You spring up to your feet and don’t care if you make noise as you dart out of his room and into the hallway, sprinting like a bat out of hell as you make you way to the girls dorms.

You’ll think about how to reevaluate and recoup later. Right now you just really need to get to your bed so you can rut pathetically onto your own fingers and imagine izukus fat dick breaking you open. Never in a million years did you think he had those kinds of feelings for you, and you know it changes the whole game, is a whole other level of playing field where you now know he wants you on a physical level. 

You feel powerless and lie you’re slipping again, don’t know how you’re going to point your finger at him and laugh when you know for every insult you throw his way, is another way hes fucking his toy at night, adding it as another thing to get you back for. If he ever snaps. 

If. you want it to be a when, so bad, not an if. 

You’ll make it a when. You’ll push him off the metaphorical cliff he’s teetering on to make it so. 

. 

[iwishtobeastorm]

Congratulations on your 200 followers! I’m proud to be one of them! Can I request a Frankie Morales with plus size reader? Maybe reader thinks that Frankie likes someone else? 🥺 angst and fluff? Thank you so much in advance, I love your writing.

“I was afraid I’ll lose you.“ “Never.“

A/N: Thank you so so so much babe! I'm so grateful you're following me and that you like my work. 💕 When I saw you requested Frankie I almost fainted because I love the man more than anything and I couldn't wait to finally write something about him. I hope this angsty fluffy thing won't disappoint!

The most dangerous thing - Frankie Morales/Chubby!F!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff

Word count: 2200+

Celebration | Masterlist

It's as if everything around you stopped, the whole world just froze, the sounds got drowned by silence, the light turning into darkness as a huge wound opens in your chest sucking in all the warmth that you felt after Santi's last joke. You can't look away, your wide opened eyes filling with tears, before Benny nudges your shoulder, taking you back, your gaze snapping to him, the loud roaring of the bar fills your ears as you're met with the baby blue of his irises, watching you with worry. "Y/N, are you okay?" He speaks softly, his hand squeezing on your shoulder. You don't know what to say. You're sure he can tell perfectly you're not okay by the hot tears running down your cheeks. "Uhm, sure. I just need a minute," you murmur, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands as you rise from the table, rushing to the toilets before any of the boys come back to sit down or before Benny's able to stop you. You close the door behind you, locking in, before you lean your back against it, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle your sobs as you slowly slip to the ground, clutching your knees to your body, your tears now coming in burning streams, blurrying your vision. All of this for one man.

You've met the boys while working at the bar as a part-time job to have more money to cover your university life. You immediately grew to the whole group, spending maybe too much time joking around with them for your boss's liking. They've always flirted with you, or most of them did. Most of them, but never Frankie. And you being the little fool you're, of course you fell in love with him. He was always quiet and shy, never holding an eyecontact for too long, never teasing you. He rarely spoke to you at first, which made him even more attractive in your eyes, more mysterious. But when he started talking to you? Oh boy. You learned how smart he is and so perceptive, while he told you about a new book or an article he read or that caught his eyes, while he waited for the rest of the group and you hanged on his every word, watching him with unhidden fascination. You know he's older than you, but that doesn't mean the two of you couldn't work together. Actually you think you two would make an amazing couple. You can imagine falling asleep in his arms while he reads to you or spending the weekends with the boys, playing pool or cards like they sometimes do, as Benny told you once. You could get used to the life with him more than easily, but those are all daydreams. The longer time you've known them, the more you found out about Frankie and his past. You got to know he's divorced and has a little daughter and that all of the boys served in special forces, that's where their nicknames come from. The more you've heard about Frankie the more you grew to him. A few months ago you were invited to Benny's b-day party and ever since that, you hang out with them from time to time. You know you technically don't belong there, but they never made you feel like the third wheel, more like the little princess they all have to protect as your knights in shining armor. That's when you got significantly closer to Frankie. You two found yourself caught up in your own conversation more and more often, sometimes leaving the noisy company of the rest of the boys, just sitting on Millers' patio in the rocking chairs and talking about everything and nothing, laughing together until your ribs got tough sometimes. Frankie brought out a part of you you didn't know you had. All of those little things made you believe it was going the right way. You go along well, right? What else should matter? Until today Frankie was late. You were late yourself bacuse you had an important assignment to finish, but Frankie was never late. He was always the first one there, always. It made you worried, because apparently none of the boys knew what was actually going on, until Frankie showed up with a lady by his sight. Pretty one, a bit older than you and much much thinner, making your insecurity thrive. That's why you ran away like a coward, hiding in the bathroom, curled up into a ball on the ground to cry your eyes out. This is not how you imagined this night. You thought it will be the usual. A bit of friendly flirting with Pope, life-check up with Will, a lot of laughing with Benny and nice conversation with Frankie, before you retire to your stinky dorms. Not this. Maybe you could climb out of the window and run away. No, no, you can't because you left your purse at the table. Or maybe you could pretend you were sick and sneak out? That could work, but you're not really prepared to face Frankie and whoever that lady is. You're screwed. "Y/N! Are you in there?" There's a banging on the door, making your form shake with it and you slowly raise your head, wiping away the tears that got stuck on your cheeks and taking a deep breath before responding to Benny's question. "Yeah, I- I just don't feel really well," you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Well, technically this isn't a lie. "Would you open the door for me?" He asks, hint of plea in his voice. "Uhm- just wait a second," you say softly, raising from the ground. You know that if you said no, Benny is able to kick the door open without hesitation. You check yourself in the mirror, getting rid of

any signs you've ever cried, before opening the door, just to find the younger Miller brother leaning against the doorframe, face curved in worry. "What's going on? Are you alright?" He asks, stepping in, letting you close the door behind him. "These are restrooms for women, Benny. You probably shouldn't be here," you murmur, trying to sound like you're teasing him to lighten up the mood and also mainly to avoid answering his questions, but there's no way Benny would let it slip. Not after the anguish he saw in your eyes and the tears that rolled down your cheeks. "Spill it, Y/N. I know something's up," he states, folding his hands on his chest like Frankie does sometimes, the mental mention of him reminding you of the lady by his side and your eyes start stinging again. "I just- didn't feel good," you say softly, trying to sound persuasive. But Benny's way past buying that. "Because of Sylvie?" He asks and you frown softly. "Sylvie?" You raise an eyebrow at him, making him chuckle softly. "Yeah, the lady that Frankie brought with him," he states, making your heart sink. "No," you murmur to respond to his initial question. "Are you sure?" Benny raises an eyebrow at you, leaning his body against the wall, eyes never leaving you, so you have to watch your expression carefully. "Yes. Can I leave now? I really don't feel good, Benny," you say, not really waiting for his approval, reaching for the door to open them, but Benny pushes his arm against it, holding it closed. Your strenght is nothing compared to his, so you know you're trapped. "Let me leave, please," you look up at him. "I saw the way you look at him, Y/N," he states, his gaze softening. Your eyes fill with tears but you refuse to let them fall. Always so stubborn, as Will says. You look down, trying to hide all the emotions your eyes could give away easily. "Why don't you tell him?" Benny asks, leaning against the door. "Because it would be useless. I- I thought he feels the same but apparently he doesn't. I don't need more damage. Would you now let me leave, please?" you say softly, tugging on the door. "It's not like that. Pope set them up. Frankie didn't want it," Benny states. "Does it matter now? He's out there with her on our night, isn't he? And- and he looked happy so-," you clench your jaw, trying to open the damned door but it's useless when Benny's leaned on it. "Get away from the fucking door, Ben. I- I'm not playing," you grumble, the tears slipping over your eyelids and rolling down your cheeks at your struggle. Benny steps away from the door and tries to reach for you to continue with his attempt to comfort you, or whatever that was supposed to be, but you dodge his hand and storm out of the restrooms. You head straight to the table, not looking at anyone, just grasping your purse and murmuring quick I gotta go, before you're out of the door, their shouting of your name rings in your ears even as you walk down the street to your dorms. It's over. It's all over. He left you. He never felt the same. And now you have nothing.

You've spent the rest of the weekend in bed, eating ice cream and watching Bridget Jones, hoping that will heal the aching wound in your chest, but by now you doubt anything ever can. You turned off your notifications on the phone, not letting a single one of the guys know what is actually going on, so Benny remained the only one cursed with knowledge. On Sunday evening you finally get out of the bed and clean up a bit, since your roommate will return tomorrow morning from their visit of their family or whatever and if they saw this mess, they'd probably beat you up, so you play some lazy songs and get into it. Just as you're cleaning up the small bathroom you have, there's a knock on the door. You at first think it wasn't your door, since there's literally no one who could've been knocking at your door at this time, but then it's there again, louder this time, forcing you to turn off the water, wipe your hands and head out to find out who it is. When you open the door, you hesitate the urge to shut them again, your heart squeezing in your chest, making it feel too tight for your liking. "Uhm, hey," you murmur, your eyes meeting the dark brown irises you sometimes dream of. "Hey. I just- can I come in?" He tilts his head towards the inside of your room, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Y-yeah, sure," you murmur, stepping away from the door and letting Frankie in. You close it behind you, biting on your lower lip. There's not much space in your dorm room, so you gesture to your bed so Frankie has somewhere to sit down, while you pour him a glass of water. "So- what is that you need?" You ask softly when you return from the bathroom, handing him his glass of water and biting on your lower lip. "I- I'm here because of Friday," he states and you wish you could jump out of the window and run. "Okay," you murmur, not really sure where this whole thing is going. Did boys send him here because they are worried and they know you two are close? Or did Benny tell them what he found out? Either way you seem to be fucked. "What happened, Y/N? You left in such hurry and- I saw you were crying," he swallows nervously, his grasp on the glass tightening. Benny told them, eventually. It took a long time, lots of beers and lots of pressure from all of the guys but he told them. And Frankie's here to make it all good. "It's nothing," you murmur, adverting your gaze, your cheeks burning. "I know it's not nothing, Y/N. Please, you have to tell me," he reaches for your hand, squeezing a bit on it until your eyes meet his, welling up in tears. "I just- I- I like you Frankie. Like a lot. And- and I just- when you brought Sylvie I-," you take a shaky breath, your throat getting too tight with the sobs you hold back, making you unable to speak. "Shh, come here," he murmurs, grabbing your other hand too and leading you to sit on his lap. You're so surprised you forget how to breathe for a moment as your hands rest on his shoulders, while he cups your both cheeks with his calloused hands, wiping away your tears. "I like you too, darling. Sylvia is Pope's fault. I- I insisted there's nothing I feel to you and he then dared me to take some girl out to persuade him about it. I didn't want to. All I wanted was you. And I realized it fully when I saw you leaving the bar. I just- I'm sorry," he mumbles, sighing through his prominent nose, that you adore dearly. His words make you smile, warming up the empty cold darkness in your chest, finally bringing you back to your usual self. "I was just afraid I'll lose you," you admit, playing with the little curls on the back of his neck. "Never," he says, raising your chin so your eyes meet his and before you're able to do anything, Frankie's soft lips are on yours. He pulls you closer, hands squeezing on your hips, making your cheeks flush red as you run your fingers into his hair. You fight the grin on your face as you realize what this means. You have Frankie now. And Frankie has you.

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[stupid-stew]

i took notes on the art stream dana did tonight in my own way, yes this is also what my school notes look like so my formal apologies

dana didn’t have many friends or anything in college (self defined recluse)

king is the hardest character to draw due to his specific skull shape

dana loves pokemon and the king resemblance is a coincidence, and she drew everyone to be RIPPED

XENA THE WARRIOR PRINCESS WITH THE ABS LMAOOOO

young entrepreneur out here art queen getting that bag WHY WAS SHE MAKING SHIP ART OF HER CLASSMATES FOR MONEY AT THE AGE OF LIKE 11 IM SOBBING

king ruined the sand castle :(

the mcdonald’s coffe, it sucks apparently

insomnia dana supremacy, felt that

DANA WINS ROUND 1 (against her will)

side note i think i need to start watching more anime, that’s just for me the remember tho

“let’s get weird”- dana terrace 2021

“give us the most uncomfortable furby suggestions please”- also dana terrace 2021

FANFICTION JOURNALS CAN WE GET THOSE PUBLISHED

hard time communicating outside of drawings (one of us 👹)

toh is script driven, sicknasty

her test was turned away SPILL THE TEA

dana proposes to furby suggestion giving chat member

8months struggling for job

turned away from power puff girls boooo

“i called up a friend and we had a drink and i cried :(“ -dana

FURBY WITH HUMAN ANATOMY

YES YES YES MITCHELLS YES YES YES YES YES YES YES

the director had to fight to make the furby scene happen and sir we appreciate it

“androgyny is beautiful”- dana, about a furby

yes girl let jesus take the wheel on that anatomically correct furby

WHY WAS SHE TRYIKG TO TEACH HER FURBY DO CURSE THATS SO FUNNY

“fuck you! fuck you!”- not dana’s furby

$80,000 in debt for this

“shit shit fuck shit”

“as good friends, as disney would say”

dana trying not to lose her job

“AH GOD NO THE FEET THE FEET”

straight black coffee you psycho

DANA LOOSES TO THE CURSED FURBY

HAHAHA TINY NOSE IN THE SIGIL

cannot cook, girlboss, win dana with food

CATBOY SHREK

catchphrase? “AAAAAAAHHH”

scared of spiders

do not wake the cat

“is that a pile of garbage or is that ur self esteem after i fucking demolish you”

-dana terrace 2021

the iconic “byeeeee” was difficult

why can’t she draw shrek

“i need validation please jesus christ”

-dana terrace 2021

someone buy this woman the cat gamer headphones alex hurry up

she does not like the booth but she does it for us thank you queen

dana fainted getting a stick n poke rip

AWWW SHE GOT STEVE BLOOM THATS SO CUTE FOR HER

SHE DISLIKES FANTASY???? BOI WHAT THE HELL BOI

at least she’s having a good time making her own gross little fantasy land, improvise adapt overcome

dana unlocks the idea of things being done in different ways and have them all be good for the masses

“limitation breeds invention”

“wow ur really wise dana”

“….thanks dawg”

“well i didn’t have friends… no one laughed.”

i want the little comics of her pets

cat person dana

DANA WINS CATBOY SHREK

awww little stick and poke on her ankle

does not celebrate her birthday

OOOH THE HAMMERHEAD IS HER FIRST ONE I LOVE THAT ONE

#mood bunny

KERMIT ON STEROIDS

“how can we make this weird” GIRL IT IS KERMIT ON S T E R O I D S

HER LITTLE LAUGH IM SOBBING

this is literally psychological warfare

dana has not watched the muppets but she knows him drinking the tea so winning

DANA THE ANGST QUEEN LMAO

she’s proud about her making dipper and mable fight

DANA ANIMATED FOR NEXT WEEK MARK UR FREAKING CALENDARS

hooty is the owl house canon?

i wish the owl house was like a creature that would have been so funny

CAT APPEARS

season 2 is outline heavy when it comes to the writing

dana knows what she wants for season 2 and we love that

execs up the wall on season 1

DANA LOSES MUSCLE KERMIT

dana has not found the character porn! keep it up girl! stay over there!

oooh bike queen

SWING DANCE OH MY GOD

TAP DANCING

THIS WOMAN IS AN ICON I LOVE HERRRR

yes get that energy out girl

ddr stan, loses to matt braly at gravity falls team bowling hang out

cat is sad :( give her a snack :(

AWW GHOST HAS ASTHMA omg kinnie moment

conspiracy theory enthusiast when intoxicated

vaccination queen

does not believe in ghosts, kill me girl i’ll haunt you don’t worry i’ll prove it

DOG WORKING IN A CAFE

“the ow house get ready to get some boo boo”- this other guy because it made me cry

“you’re gonna have to pay me to write shit because i don’t work for free”

not a music person

DO A FLIP

dana do a flip for charity please i’ll donate like an organ or something

she can canonically do a flip and she’s not gonna show us this is homophobic

AH FUCK MY STREAM CUT OUT

her neighbor is parking yes get it

draw left hand

while holding pen wack

do it in online version of ms paint

“MS pain”- dana not finishing her word

and stick and poke

show us the work stuff dana >:(

an ARTIST

“he’s a strong independent dog”

“4 minutes 20 seconds 😏 h e h e h e”

WHY CANT WE SEE HER HEADBANG THIS IS SO RUDE

not the muscle pulling girl not now

“also dog”

CHAMPION DANA

IMAGINE DANA CALLING UR ART CUTE

H E L P THE FURBYS I CSNOT

ghost gets rejected

“he’s not impressed with ur bullshit”

catra shrek fan girl moment

dana has probably done drugs

“i am a fan of waluigi”

AN ITALIAN POLITICIAN SMACK TALKING THE OWL HOUSE LMAOSJB

note to self dana will only marry you if you look like kermit the frog

also dog comes from a land where dogs eat people at starbucks

LOWES AD

“he’s making out with it! he’s using tongue!”

there are bouncers in cafes where also dog comes from

dana has worked the cash register

someone make real witch merchandise

Q AND A YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES

hooty is he has a very he has more he has a backstory it exists it’s written out but we might not ever get it because it’s just for her dana please i am on my knees

would play dnd if she could

favorite episodes haven’t even aired but currently is echoes of the past or keeping up a fear ances because they’re personal especially a fear ances

TOO LATE FOR EXTENDED SEASON THREE BOARDING HAS STARTED IM GOING TO CRY

SPIN-OFFS SHORTS AND COMICS STILL ALLOWED IM LITERALLY DEAD ON THE INSIDE

mentally she is thriving with the show and it’s going to end well 🙏

“it’s just my voice :(“

BYEEEEEEE

[thebigqueer]

"Growth" - Piper McLean & Jason Grace - One-Shot

Summary: Jason & Piper share a moment together as her birthday comes to a close

Note: WOOOO HAPPY BIRTHDAY PIPER ILY and also this is purely platonic

Word Count: 1979

Read on AO3

A cool draft of night air pours over Piper, and she hugs her arms closer to her body in an attempt to block out the cold. It’s awfully chilly for a June night, but she doesn’t mind; she prefers the crispy air anyway. It’s liberating.

The black sky spills like ink overhead; twinkling stars poke white holes into the mesmerizing darkness. A gleaming white moon spills over Piper like a spotlight, and her eyes sparkle under the beautiful night.

She sighs contentedly and pulls her knees to her chest. These are her favorite moments - the ones on the roof of her house, with nothing but the empty, dark sky before her and the cold for company.

She’s comfortable in her skin here. She’s herself.

It’s a nice change from the eventful night she’s had. She and her friends have been celebrating her birthday all day, first by spending a day out in the city, and then throwing an eventful party at her house during the evening. Her body aches with a happy exhaustion, and her mind still buzzes with the music that pulsed just hours ago.

But as much as she’s loved today - especially after seeing most of the Argo II group - an urge has been humming in her head since the evening. An urge to just be alone, to slip away.

Now most of her friends are asleep inside the house, and finally, after hours of laughing and celebrating, hours of smiles and stretched enthusiasm, Piper can throw off her mask and let herself deflate.

The midnight sky embraces her. Its cool, comforting arms wrap around Piper and accompany her in her solitude. The shadowed trees dance under the moonlight as another brush of wind sweeps through the clearing before her.

Piper leans her chin against her knees and allows a soft, quiet smile to slip over her mouth. A feverish and excited warmth blooms under her cheeks as she gazes ahead into the night, its darkness full of possibilities for the future.

She’s so lost into the silence, so consumed into the solitude, that she barely notices when a large thud rumbles behind her. It’s only when a warm arm brushes against that she realizes she isn’t alone.

Anxiety beats in Piper’s heart at the brush of contact. She reaches for a dagger by her side as fear courses through her. What if it’s a monster? What if someone’s here to steal her?

The look of surprise and terror in her eyes must be pretty amusing, because when she finally meets the gaze of her intruder, a warm, familiar laugh falls over her.

“It’s just me,” says Jason. “No need to get jumpy.”

A groan of relief escapes Piper’s chest and she scoffs, turning her gaze back to the scene before her. The prior calmness that floated over her has completely dissipated and she frowns in frustration. “Geez,” she mutters. “Can’t you be a little more quiet?”

“If I was quieter I’m sure I would have made you accidentally fall from the roof,” responds Jason. He gestures to the empty spot beside her and raises an apprehensive eyebrow. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Despite her annoyance, a small smile quirks over Piper’s lips. Usually she’d be angry if someone came to interrupt her alone time, but knowing that it’s Jason, she’ll allow his intrusion. She scoots over and nods. “Have a seat, Sparky.”

Jason’s body thuds softly against the roof as he sets himself down. His long legs dangle next to hers, and against the next gust of wind, both their feet sway like wind chimes.

Piper watches Jason closely, a suspicious line drawing itself over her mouth. Her eyes travel over his physical being, searching for any new changes that may have appeared in his absence. Pale moonlight washes over his features and offers Jason an almost ethereal, elvish glow. His blond hair gleams like sunlight; his pale skin glows as it absorbs the cool, empty gleam of the moon. Behind his glasses, Jason’s electric eyes spark in the darkness.

The demigod turns his eyes to her, almost as if he knows she’s watching him. A confused smile quirks against his lips. “What?” he asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Piper shakes her head and smiles. “Nothing. It’s just… Seems like you’ve grown quite a bit since I’ve last seen you.” She nudges her shoulder against his playfully. “It’s weird growing up, isn’t it?”

Jason laughs softly, and the sound of his amusement billows in the air. He grins at her. “Gotta say, didn’t think we’d even make it to eighteen. Seems like a feat in itself.”

She hums in agreement, then turns her gaze back to the scenery around her. A warm blanket of quiet wraps around the two demigods, pulling them together in the intimate darkness, and Piper finds that she doesn’t mind this closeness with Jason at the moment. It’s been so long since she and him have truly taken a moment for themselves.

After a few moments of calm, Jason shifts a little, his sweatshirt rustling against his body. A slight whooshing sound slips over him - the sound of paper rustling against clothing - and Piper turns her head curiously to the noise.

In his hands, she notices a paper plate with two slices of pink cake, along with two white plastic forks. She offers a quizzical look to her friend.

He responds with a shy smile. “Do you wanna eat some with me? We can hoard it for ourselves before the others wake up tomorrow morning.”

A soft laugh puffs from Piper’s lips. She pulls a fork from the plate, jabs it into the cake, and pulls a piece of it closer to her mouth. Before biting down, she teases, “Damn, Grace, didn’t take you to be the rebellious kind.”

Jason chuckles as he takes his own fork and takes a chunk for himself. “Leo’s been a bad influence on me, I guess.”

Piper doesn’t miss the pink that bleeds over his cheeks at the mention of Leo’s name. After swallowing her bite down, she offers a sparkling grin to Jason. “Ah, yes. Your boyfriend.”

She relishes the sight of Jason’s red ears. “My boyfriend,” he agrees shyly, a hum of excitement lingering over his voice.

“How are you guys? Enjoying your new apartment together?”

The blond shrugs timidly, but Piper doesn’t miss the prideful smile over his mouth. “Yeah. It’s been kinda fun. He’s really hard to share a bed with though.” Jason rolls his eyes. “He hogs the blanket, which is stupid since he can literally turn to fire and be his own heat warmer. But no, he insists on leaving me in the cold.”

“Well, they never said love was easy.”

“Hm. Yeah, I guess so.” Jason offers her a pointed look now, a glimmer of excitement overcoming his own eyes. “And what about you? How are you and Shel?”

Now it’s Piper’s turn to blush. She stuffs her cheeks with another bite of cake, and watching her do so, Jason laughs merrily.

“Well,” she huffs after swallowing her food, “we’re good. We’re considering doing long distance for college. We’ll give it a try.”

Jason nods, and an almost pitiful look comes into his eyes. “Bet that’s gotta suck to leave her behind. But I have faith in you guys.” He nudges her. “And, if it doesn’t work out, then that’s fine, too. We’re still growing and we’re still learning. We still have a lot of life to live.”

Piper shrugs in reluctant agreement, but at his words, a chill of dread trickles down her back.

Growth. It’s all about growth. Life is about blooming and thriving, about setting up roots in one place and being ready to get transported to new soil whenever Fate decides it. As beautiful as growth can be, sometimes Piper wishes she could just stay in one state of mind for a while. But life just feels like a constant shift, a constant rotation of changes. It gets a little tiring.

She sighs and picks on a thread against her sweatshirt sleeve. “Jason,” murmurs the demigod, “I- I miss everything. You know? I miss the old days. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love how much we’ve all grown and stuff, but it’s just… I miss being with everyone again. I feel lost sometimes.”

Jason nods his head and gazes wistfully out to the trees. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Like, I don’t miss the danger and fear and trauma. But I miss the chaos and stuff in our group. Remember when we got Leo to snort all those Smarties on the ship one night?” A huff of laughter echoes from Jason’s chest, but this one isn’t as full as the others. It’s a little empty, like he’s laughing into the past. “Man, that was fun.”

Piper snorts. “Yeah. Poor Leo.”

Another curtain of silence falls between them, but this one is tense, high-strung, almost as if it’s waiting for some kind of confession.

Piper sighs and leans her head against Jason’s shoulder. He flinches at the contact a little but - after accepting her touch - he leans his own head against hers. Piper locks her elbow with his and closes her eyes, losing herself in the warmth of their bodies.

“I miss you,” she says. “I know we never really had any romantic feelings for each other, but… I miss our vibe, you know? I miss our friendship.” She smiles softly at him. “You were my best friend, Jason. You are my best friend. I guess I just miss being with you and Leo as a group together.” She rubs her finger over his wrist in an attempt to ground herself. “I just miss when it was us three against the world. Now we’re… growing farther apart. Living on different sides of the country.”

Jason sighs. “We miss you too, Piper. Trust me. Every night I always feel… I don’t know. I feel like we’re always missing some important piece of us. That important piece is you.” He chuckles sadly. “We can’t be the gay trio while you’re in some totally different state.”

Piper laughs hollowly. After another beat of silence, she whispers, “We’re growing up, Jason. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Jason doesn’t respond for a while. Piper looks up at him, wondering where his voice has gone, but finds that his gaze is fixated upon the trees. He’s not quite here, not in her hands; instead, he’s drifting over some other plane of reality, thinking through all that’s around him.

Finally, after what seems like hours, he says, “Yeah, we are. And it hurts to leave so much of our past behind. But… growing up doesn’t have to be all bad. Think of it like an important milestone for us.” He turns and smiles at her. “Everyday that we live and grow, we’re achieving greatness. We’re pushing the Fates and daring them to hurt us. We’re reaching closer to our destiny, if you believe in that stuff.” His fingers grapple with hers and he squeezes softly. At Jason’s touch, a spark of joy jolts up Piper’s arm and explodes in her core. “We’re growing,” he murmurs, “and while that can be sad, I think there’s a lot of power knowing that we’re making it as far as we are.”

A comfortable, fleeting warmth blooms in Piper’s chest as she gazes up at Jason. Only love and admiration for her glimmer in his eyes, and for once in her life, Piper feels like she’s been found.

“So philosophical,” she chuckles. Then she squeezes his hand and leans closer to him. “I love you, Jason. Thanks for being my best friend.”

“I love you, too.” Then, in a sudden movement, he throws his other arm around her and sighs contentedly. “You deserve the world,” he whispers. “Happy birthday, Piper.”

[sinkix]

~ Haikyuu!! Boys baking with reader - Ft. Ushijima, Tendou, Oikawa, Hinata & Nishinoya ~

YO! SO UHHHH... I’M BACK??? I GUESS?? MAYBE??? After a little break I had this in my drafts for a while and realllyyy wanted to complete it since it’s such a cute concept. Honestly at this point my posting frequencies are so sporadic and random pls forgive me lmao.

@deathcab4daddy​ gave me the inspo to include Ushi and it was so funny coming up with ideas for him, he is no.1 country boi chef 

Dude I’m listening to the Mario Kart soundtrack ‘Coconut Mall’ while I continue writing this someone save me. Like u think I’m joking. UR WRONG.

Ushijima:

The most straightforward yet idiotic baker you will ever come across.

Before you even THINK about performing step 1, he will read the entire fucking leaflet like it’s a Shakesperean monologue.

INGREDIENTS INCLUDED.

LIKE SIS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW IT CONTAINS  MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE THANK YOU.

I’m surprised he doesn’t count every single particle in the brownie mix.

You bought him a frilly cupcake-printed apron stating ‘best wife’ not expecting him to actually wear it

But since he’s secretly a big softie and treasures anything you buy he wears it proudly.

His stoic and dignified disposition is a comical contrast to the words printed on the front lmao.

Ushi best wifey bro.

The tight fit of the apron is pretty hot since it outlines every ridge of his pecs and tightly toned torso.

Gotta resist groping your mans while stirring the brownie batter.

tbh he’s more likely to grope you, he can’t resist that a$$.

And let’s face it he’s def an ass/thigh kinda guy.

Can and will try to casually initiate some form of unholy activities by lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, goading you to slowly lick the spoon and locking gazes before pulling you in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the incomplete creation himself.

Ushi���s lips and brownie batter are a knock-out combo js.

Literally has the most serious face when he’s cracking the eggs into the bowl

The amount of concentration is equivalent to that of when he’s performing a serve at match-point.

HAS to set the temperature to the EXACT degree stated on the box

Everything is done by the book if you do one thing out of place he will pull you up on it lol.

“(Y/N) you were supposed to stir it for 5 minutes, not 7.”

When its done you feed him some and he can’t help but smile its so ADORBALE AHHH.

You end up eating most of it since Ushi doesn’t strike me as much of a chocolate/junk food lover.

STILL A VERY FUN BUT F R U S T R A T I N G EXPERIENCE.

Tendou:

The complete opposite of Ushi

Does everything wrong and the unconventional way.

Absolute disaster but doesn’t even sweat it since Tendou basically thrives in chaos and the disorderly.

To him instructions are purely equivocal, will read them for five seconds then toss them away.

Step aside Gordon Ramsey, Chef Tendou is here.

Despite doing everything the unorthodox way it still comes out amazing.

Like??? how???

Will cheekily place a dollop batter on your nose then lick it off fh3jkeffefds

Or if he’s feelin’ a lil freaky, he’ll swipe it off with his long ass finger and make you suck it clean, smirking at your submission as you coat his finger with your saliva.

oop-

Constantly cracking jokes and shitty food puns, pretending to drop the bowl to make you go into preemptive cardiac arrest before you can swat him with the spatula.

While you’re waiting for the timer to ping, Satori being the schemer he is will use this as an opportunity to pull some fuckery and tease you in any way he can.

u better be praying like bodhisattva TanaNoya rn because he is MERCILESS.

Suggestive comments, the brush of his fingers against your thigh, it’ll leave you A C H I N G in frustration by the end of it.

Unholy activities aside, once your baking session is completed you finish it off by feeding PHAT forkfuls of brownie to each other and giggling like dorks when it gets all over your mouth.

The jackass actually got a fingerful and SMEARED it over your cheek and forehead, drawing a little cross and snickering when the crumbs fall onto your nose.

Tendou was smart to draw a cross bc he gonna need jesus with the ATTACK you launch on him after that, which promptly leads to an all out food war in your kitchen that neither of you want to clean up after ward.

Don’t worry though it’s Tendou, he’ll somehow find a way to make such a mundane activity fun.

Nishinoya:

stirs WAY TOO VIOLENTLY

IT’S LIKE AN ELECTRIC WHISK ON OVERDRIVE.

IT WILL SPLATTER OVER THE COUNTER, CUPBOARDS AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR WITHIN A 1 MILE RADIUS.

You best believe he will try and eat some of the batter and you have to swat the spoon away from his mouth since he has NO REGARD FOR THE FACT HE COULD GET SALMONELLA.

Plus you know what Noya’s like once he starts eating something the whole thing will be gone in a matter of milliseconds.

He somehow managed to get Baking powder EVERYWHERE and even gave him self a little moustache with it.

The white substance kinda looked like something else but you didn’t really wanna say lmaooo.

could explain why he has so much energy all the time oK ILL STOP-

While you’re putting the mix on the tray he is SO extra and will do fancy lil swirls and over extend his arm like a swan to gracefully spread the batter

until he nearly fucking knocks it over.

During processing time since he is so excitable and impatient you best believe he’s gonna suggest a game of ping pong or something because my guy can well and truly never sit still.

ping pong match with the spatulas, kitchen island and a hard boiled egg.

Pls be careful he will rolling thunder that egg and pimp slap it so hard with the spatula it’ll damn near give you a concussion, not intentionally, but like protect your noggin. Wear a helmet.

For the remaining 5 minutes of baking time y’all just sit like kids in front of the oven and watching it rise like starved hyena’s observing it’s pray before demolishing it into sad particles of cocoa.

And lemme tell u, once the timer pings, that baking tray is free real estate for Noya. Half of your creation will be devoured before you can even put it on a plate and marvel at your handiwork. 

He kicked your ass at spatula ping pong btw I’m sorry sweaty but short kings stay winning.

Oikawa:

Such a dramatic bitch like he got the whole she-bang going on.

Strapped with a pink apron, a whisk at his side and standing proudly with both hands on his hips.He is prepared like a greek gladiator going into battle.

You better believe he gonna make some snarky remarks and tease your method of doing things. 

“Ah-ah-ahhh (Y/N)-chan you’re doing it all wrong, let me show you how a PRO does it.”

Proceeds to drop entire bowl on his foot and yelp like a little girl in pain.

Well and truly embarrassed with himself, you put a band-aid on his toe and he piped down after that.

Shattered big toe and mixing bowl aside, actually a really good baker??

He is a PRO at decorating, y’all decided on cupcakes since its literally his forte to make them look aesthetic and pretty.

You almost don’t wanna eat them from how good they look.

jk almost

You take it in turns breaking bits off and placing pieces into each others mouth with a loud “aaaaaahhh!”

Places a piece in your mouth, leans forward and locks lips with you in a soft, passionate kiss before pulling away and uttering the words “It tastes even better coming from your mouth ;)”

hnnnNNGGGGGGggGg.

You both whine and bicker over who cleans up after.

“You cleaaannnnn!”

“no Toru YOU clean!”

“but I made the cupcakes look pretty :(”

“not as pretty as you <3″

He did the cleaning after that.

Like just stroke his ego with some compliments and he’s whipped with a smug grin on his face for the next 30 minutes.

You decide to save the rest and bring them to his next practise.

Literally on the verge of tears when he sees you beaming and holding the platter of treats, Kiyotani mauls half of them in a matter of seconds to which Oiks gets salty over LMAO.

Hinata:

So excited oh my god he’s so precious please protect him I will CRY-

Has a little sunflower apron on and JBJKNDDDKDW IM SMILING JUST IMAGINING HIM FIDGETING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THE THOUGHT OF BAKING COOKIES.

Yes you decided on cookies bc he goes rabid for some choc chip biccies.

You have to guide him v carefully because of how easily confused and clumsy he is.

Cannot for the life of him crack the eggs without getting a quarter of the shell in the bowl so you have to do it instead.

Has a surprising amount of strength and forearm power bc holy shit boy can stir FAST.

Hums a little tune while he does it and bobs up and down with a wide grin on his face it’s so adorable, he has such a gentle singing voice I can’t-

Attempts different shapes with the batter when pouring it onto the tray but fails pretty miserably lol.

he tried ok???

Once they’re done he takes the tray out of the oven and since it was heavy, subconsciously propped it with his knee and nearly dropped the entire tray from the pain. (I’ve actually done this before when making chicken nuggets I do not advise being that brain dead)

Had to put some burn cream on the bbies knee :’((

When you decided to dig in, he handed you a cookie that looked like a crooked circle and said he tried to make that one a heart and insisted he feed it to you.

Blushed VERY hard at the moment of silence and intense eye contact while he fed it to you.

Nearly short circuited when his fingers brushed against your lips.

Moe moe x100000000000000000000000000000

You offer to do the cleaning after because he hurt himself and you didn’t wanna make him do any work, but he still offered to wipe the surfaces for you bc he’s an angel <333

literally just wanna marry him.

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s notes: It's 2 am and I've been furiously typing this away while chugging some coffee, so please excuse the errors if you find some. It's already February 14 where I am, so Happy Valentine's Day, have some filth.

VII

desire, I'm hungry / I hope you feed me / how do you want me, how do you want me?

Yamane had all the opportunities to examine her nebulous, twisted feelings for the tattooed militant; she just never took them. She avoided confronting the feeling. Now, a Heart game of all things is forcing her to face the ugly truth.

Or perhaps, she should have expected it from a Heart game. She experienced firsthand how terrible they can be, after all.

Yamane never really told anyone about what she felt about Last Boss. There are rumors circulating in the Beach about trysts between them because of her little visits after games, but neither gave away any substantial hints. The only way for anyone to know about Yamane’s feelings was if they heard her moan his name in one of the nights that she spent pleasuring herself.

It’s also suspicious that their fellow players are either couples or people who have feelings for each other. Whoever designed these games knew the players intimately.

They’re all being watched.

And now, these people wanted to watch how they would act in a scenario that involves possibly hurting the person they desired the most.

Yamane locks eyes with Last Boss, and she can't read him at all. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t fight against the restraints. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for her to make a move, or just waiting for her time to run out.

“Two minutes remaining.”

At the warning, Yamane stops pondering about the nature of the game, and starts panicking.

She had considered taking the gun and shooting him somewhere that won’t kill him, but she doesn’t really know how to use firearms properly. Shooting him in the arm would run the risk of shooting him in the chest, and shooting him in the leg would doom him in future games. Either way, he might end up dead.

Yamane said she would kill to survive, but can she kill him? She’d be lying to herself if she said that she didn’t get attached. This newfound hesitation is precisely the reason why she used to play the games alone.

“Of all people to get attached to,” she thinks. “Why you?”

Desperate, Yamane pulls at her hair and screams, despair overtaking her.

Finally, Last Boss says something.

“Yamaneko.”

Yamane turns to him, her eyes wet with tears and her eyeliner running down her cheeks.

“Whether it’s you or me, when all is done, we’ll simply return to the soil. I’m thankful for this world. You should be too.”

Wiping the tears that blurs her vision, Yamane regards him for a moment. Last Boss continues to surprise her with every interaction; she never expected such wisdom from him. Perhaps this outlook is what made him a powerful player in the Beach.

Last Boss will live his life in the borderland to the fullest, literally carving his path away, until his time runs out.

But Yamane wants to be a part of that, and it’s too early for it to end now.

“No. Wait. I can figure this out,” she sniffles, fingers tangling through her hair.

He doesn’t say anything else to her.

Yamane strains herself to think. In her last Heart game, the rules were written in such a way to make players believe that they will have to spill blood by killing someone, when medical implements around them would suggest that players only needed to spill a portion of their blood. She looks to the X-cross for clues, but fails to find any hints.

Her eyes flick to the gun in front of her, and she grabs it. There must be something about the gun she can figure out. She runs her thumb against the arrow engraved on the side, and her mind wanders back to the time she and Mai went to an archery range. The instructor scolded her for pulling the bow when it’s not loaded.

At the memory, everything in Yamane’s head clicks into place.

Yamane aims the gun upwards, and unloads all of the bullets to the ceiling.

The sobbing girls look at her in surprise, then Yamane points the gun to Last Boss. Unsure if her plan would work, Yamane spills everything that’s in her heart.

“Last Boss, I’ve only known you for a little while, and truth be told, I was terrified of you when you and Niragi came to my apartment. I expected the two of you to rape or kill me on that day, but you two brought me someplace where I can thrive. There is nothing expected of me here except for playing the games. I am free to be who I am without repercussions from society.”

The tattooed militant’s eyes flick towards her, interest piqued.

“One minute remaining.”

“There’s nothing waiting for me in the real world. My family and friends all turned their backs on me. As fucked up as it sounds, when I’m in the Beach, when I’m with you, I feel like I finally belong somewhere. In this new world, I felt accepted for the first time. My new life has only just begun. So please, I don’t want this to be the end for either of us. I don’t want my time with you to run out yet.”

Now, Last Boss is giving her his full attention.

“Thirty seconds remaining.”

“I’ve come to appreciate you. I- I prefer your presence to Niragi’s too. When you entertained my request to instruct me on how to kill someone painlessly, you didn’t think twice before sharing what you knew. You were tracing the vulnerable points of my body, and your touch felt too damn good. When you came behind me to guide me, I wanted more of your touch. You’re in my head when I- I...”

Yamane begins to stutter.

“Ten seconds remaining.”

She’s saying too much.

“What I want to say is I want you! So please, accept my feelings!”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Yamane pulls the trigger, and waits for the end.

Just in case a laser comes firing at her skull if the plan didn’t work, at least she’d die with no unfinished business.

But the laser never came.

“Game Clear. Congratulations!”

The restraints on the X-cross release, and Rina runs over to catch Hiro’s body before it hits the ground, sobbing and hiccupping the entire time. Last Boss lands on his feet, and he rubs his wrists as he looks at Yamane’s disbelieving expression. The girl that Daisuke was kissing in the backseat barges towards Yamane and slapped her hard enough for her to tumble backwards.

“Why?! Why couldn’t you have told Daisuke the solution? Now he’s dead!”

Yamane, still in shock, could only laugh at the girl’s face, still surprised that her plan worked. The girl raises her hand again, but long, thin fingers grab her arm. Last Boss tears her away from his fellow militant, and drives his sword through her heart.

Rina screams, still holding on to Hiro’s dead body, and the girl’s body slumps to the ground.

Panting, Yamane looks to Last Boss, who sheaths his sword, then to the girl he just killed. She felt nothing. Legs shaking, she tries to walk, but her knees fail her. To her surprise, Last Boss grabs her, not letting her fall.

“Let’s get out of here,” Yamane whispers, and they turn around to leave.

But before they can walk out of the room, Rina calls out to them.

“Wait,” she cries, voice trembling. “How- how did you figure out the solution?”

Yamane looks at her, heart heavy as she watches her cradle the dead boy, then looks away. “I figured that the game is made specially for people who either have sexual or romantic tension, or are already together. Whoever came up with this game wanted to see the dilemma of whether one would shoot the other to survive, or sacrifice themselves for the person they desired. The rules didn’t say anything about firing the gun while it’s loaded, though. Heart games tend to have loopholes you can abuse, if you think hard enough,” she explains, unable to look at the grieving girl as she did.

Rina sniffles. “All this time, I could’ve avoided killing Hiro? Oh, God, what have I done? I killed him...”

“Heart games have a way of doing that to you, kid. I was lucky enough to play with someone who knew how to handle them a while back. I’m sorry.”

When Rina didn’t respond and buried her face in Hiro’s neck to grieve, Yamane turned to Last Boss once again. “Let’s leave her to grieve. We need to get back.”

Her fellow militant nodded, and wordlessly followed her out. The circular white table with a Nine of Hearts card is waiting for them outside, and Yamane tucks it away in her jacket. She was more than ready to leave this place, but one hand pulls at her forearm, spinning her around, and another grabs her other arm, pinning her against the wall.

The tattooed militant is looking at her with intensity that punched the air out of her lungs, just like the first time she made eye contact with him during their first game together.

“All those things you said, are they true?” he asks her. He gives her a pleading look, one that is searching her for answers.

Yamane nods. “I wouldn’t be alive if I was lying.”

Pausing, her eyes flick towards Last Boss’ lips, and she gulps. “Please, just kiss me already,” she whispers, looking him in the eye.

Trembling lips that are too soft for a man so rough claimed hers, and Yamane’s eyes fluttered shut, sinking into the kiss.

Soon, the kiss became more desperate. Yamane slips her tongue in his mouth, and he lets out an involuntary groan, hips bucking into her as they shared the sloppy kiss. She rakes her fingers down his back, through the fabric of his hoodie, and it only spurred him on.

He tears away for air, and looks at her with wide, hungry eyes, like a tiger’s. Yamane only needed one look at his flushed face to know that this was his first one, and he wanted more. She didn’t dare to say anything that will embarrass him, though.

“Takatora,” he mumbles, still pressed against her.

“Huh?”

“My name is Takatora. Use it when it’s just the two of us,” he says to her, voice low. Yamane nods, and she kisses him again. Under her bikini top, her nipples are starting to pebble, and the fire in her loins is almost unbearable.

As they break the kiss, Yamane breathlessly sighs his name. “Takatora. Heh. How befitting. I always thought you looked like a tiger.”

His shaking hands clamp over the globes of her behind, and he grinds against her, his movements inexperienced but still arousing, nonetheless.

Then, Yamane hears movement from the room where the game took place.

“Let’s continue this at the Beach,” she whispers, and she grabs Takatora by the hand, leading him outside the hotel. He gets in the passenger’s seat, while Yamane drives. On the way back, his hand is on her pale thigh the entire time, squeezing and kneading like a damn cat. The wildcat’s heart is racing, driving like a madwoman so they can get to her bed sooner.

Upon arrival, they converge with their fellow militants at the entrance. The survivors of the games go to the Hatter’s meeting room and turn in their cards one by one. All this time, people were staring at the two of them. Yamane realizes too late that her lipstick has stained Last Boss’ mouth. Fortunately, no one said anything about it.

Until Niragi arrived, that is.

“What the hell is that on you?” he asks, coming in for a closer inspection. Yamane leans over to look at Niragi, her eyeliner running down her face and her lipstick smeared.

Niragi puts two and two together and gives them a wicked grin. “So you made a move after all,” he says to Last Boss, and slaps his back.

As Niragi strolls away, Yamane gives Last Boss a questioning look.

“I told him to stay away from you,” he droned, and Yamane’s eyebrows perk up in surprise.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted you to myself,” the taller militant replies, turning to look at her.

Before Yamane could say anything else, it was their turn to surrender their card. Yamane holds up the Nine of Hearts, and the collector’s eyes widen, while his buddy comes running to the Hatter.

Soon, Hatter joins the fray, and when he sees the value of the card Yamane and Last Boss had on them, he breaks out into a grin, taking it from Yamane’s little fingers and holding it up. “A Nine of Hearts!” he exclaims, walking around the room. As onlookers are whispering amongst themselves, Aguni steps closer to see what the excitement was about.

Hatter turns to the militia’s chief, and breaks out into a laugh. “Aguni, I didn’t expect your people to bring me a high-value Heart card, of all things.”

The Beach’s number one then turns to the two militants, a mad glint in his eye. “You two, thank you, thank you! I’ll move your ranks higher as my show of gratitude.”

One of the executives stepped closer, a woman with straight bangs and long hair. “My my, one of these days you two will have to tell me how you cleared such a game,” she comments, eyeing the card with a wide grin. It’s Mira Kano, resident number seven. Heart specialist.

“Yamane, isn’t it? First you cleared a Five of Hearts with your fellow militants without casualties to the Beach, and now you survived a Nine with him. I’m surprised that someone from the militant sect has the makings of a Heart specialist. I won’t forget this,” she croons.

The interaction left Yamane stunned. Her? A Heart specialist. No. If anything, she’s a Spade player. “Sunohara was there to calm everyone down in the Five, and I just got lucky with the Nine.”

As the excitement dies down, Niragi walks over to the pair once more. “So, what did you two do to win the game?”

“I had to confess to whom I found the most desirable and then shoot ‘em,” Yamane replies. Last Boss is looking at his fellow militant with a neutral expression, not bothering to wipe off the lipstick stain off of his face. “Turns out, shooting while the gun isn’t loaded is an option. Two players died because one of them chickened out, and the other shot her crush.”

“So, you’ve got a crush on Last Boss?” Niragi is doing everything he could to make Yamane uncomfortable, and she knows it.

“Actually, yes, I fucking do,” Yamane replies, looking at Niragi with confidence. “I asked him to kiss me after the game,” she hisses. “Oh, and I thought of him while you fucked me,” she adds partially to bruise his inflated ego, and partially because it’s true. “Do you have a problem with that?”

At Yamane’s admission, Niragi laughs at her face. “I fucking knew it. I was tired of you anyway. Have fun with him, Yamaneko.”

Blood boiling as he walked away, Yamane had considered going after him, but Takatora placed a hand on her good shoulder and pulled her closer to him. “That’s just how Niragi is. Let him go. Let’s continue where we left off,” he whispers.

With a cheeky smirk on her lips, Yamane shows her agreement by holding his hand and leading him out the door. They get in the elevator, and as soon as the doors are closed, their hands are all over each other’s bodies.

Small hand trailing down his torso, Yamane palms at his cock, earning her a nip on her lower lip, and he kisses her in a frenzy as she pumps him through his pants. “Suck my tits,” Yamane hisses. His lean arms held her close to him, shaky fingers clawing at her back and undoing the string of her bikini top. Takatora pushes her against the wall, hands grabbing her breasts, and he latches on one of her nipples, tongue eagerly lapping the hardened bud.

Yamane moans, and the elevator door opens, revealing two girls with surprised looks on their faces. The surprise turns into horror when they see the tattoos on Last Boss’ arms, and Yamane’s messy double buns, realizing who they just ran into.

“Are you two just going to stand there, or are you going to move?” Yamane questions them, not even bothering to ask Last Boss to stop. Not a single shred of shame is left in her body.

The girls jump out of the way, and Takatora wraps her legs around him, carrying her off.

“Which door?” he pants against her chest.

“Third one to the left!”

The door swings open, and Takatora kicks it shut as they enter the room. They crash into Yamane’s bed, both panting.

Spindly fingers pull at her bikini top, and Yamane sheds her jacket, tossing it aside. She moans his name as he fondled and sucked at her breasts again, back arching against the mattress. Takatora pauses to kiss her, and she takes this opportunity to flip him over, grinding against him. He looks at her with wide eyes, freezing at the loss of control.

“Relax,” she croons. “First time?”

He makes a small, reluctant nod. “Are you nervous?” she asks again.

He shakes his head. “I take you’re excited then?”

Takatora nods. Relieved, Yamane chuckles. “Then there’s no need for me to hold back.”

Takatora corrupted her by bringing her to the Beach. Now it’s her turn to corrupt him.

After watching the rise and fall of his chest, Yamane leans in and plants a gentle kiss on his eyelid as she pulls his tank top up, then presses her lips to the tattoos on his cheek. She presses another peck on one of his moles, trailing kisses down to his neck, and she hears him growl. Yamane smiles against his skin, lips tracing down his chest and abdomen. Deft fingers unbuckle his belt, and Yamane takes out his cock from its confines.

She swirls her tongue around the tip and Takatora groans, bracing himself against the mattress. After running her tongue from the base all the way to the tip, Yamane encloses her mouth around him, and his hands fly to her hair, both of them grasping her buns.

“Yamaneko,” he hisses, thrusting into her mouth.

Filthy noises fill the room as Yamane continues to suck him, enthusiastic with every bob of her head. The growls and groans he gave her spurred her on, relishing in the way she makes him feel. She ends it with a wet pop, and proceeds to stroke him with her hand while her tongue fondles his balls.

Takatora sounds feral now, grasping and pulling at Yamane’s hair, her buns coming undone. Yamane takes him in her mouth again, and she goes as far as her gag reflex would allow her. Niragi’s cock was thicker, but Takatora’s was longer, and she tried not to choke as she took him all in. She can feel that he’s close.

Hips bucking, it didn’t take long for him to come, and Yamane takes it all in, each spurt painting her tongue white. She sticks her tongue out to show him his load, and swallows every drop. Watching her, he gulps, Adam’s Apple bobbing.

The wildcat had expected the night to end there, content with making her partner come, but the tiger had other plans.

Takatora flips them over, now on top of her once more, and pulls away her skirt and panties. “I’ve read on the internet that women like it when men return the favor,” he mumbles, and dives right between her legs. Yamane gasps, palming at his head through his hoodie. “You’ve read good sources then,” she pants. His tongue made broad, sloppy strokes at her labia, and she squirms at his ministrations, legs in the air.

“There,” she moans, instructing him where to go. “Right at that nub- use a little less pressure- fuck, yes,” she hisses, throwing her head back at the feeling. “You’re a fast learner…”

Her tiger lover pauses, looking at her. “You too, Yamaneko.”

Then, he dives right back in, his saliva and her juices staining the sheets. Yamane encourages him in every step of the way, teaching him how to please her. As Takatora eats her out, he grinds his hips against the mattress, already hard again. Yamane notices it, and smiles.

“Tora,” she pants, and he smirks against her cunt upon hearing the affectionate nickname. “Do you want to fuck me?”

He nods enthusiastically, mouth still against her cunt.

“Fuck me then. Take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The tiger kneels, and with no hesitation, he plunges his cock in her dripping cunt.

Yamane screams, pleasure shooting up her spine. Takatora took her brutally, sharp hip bones slamming against the soft flesh of her thighs, leaving red marks as he went. One hand bracing the bed frame, Yamane’s other one reaches down between her legs, finger rubbing her clit furiously as he fucks her. Meanwhile, his hands palmed and squeezed at her breasts, and his growls and groans echoed in the room.

It didn’t take long for her to reach her limit.

“Tora, I’m going to come,” she cries, and he responded by grasping her hips and fucking her like the animal he is. A sharp cry escaped Yamane’s lips as she came, her walls milking his cock, white spots blinding her. Her fingers leave her clit, thoroughly sated, but Takatora isn’t done yet.

Her lover doesn’t stop pumping into her, and it’s becoming unbearable.

“Tora, oh God, it’s too much” she pants, palming at his chest, but he pays her no heed. He flips her over, pushes her head against the mattress, and clamps a hand around her mouth as he penetrated her again. His tongue drags against Yamane’s neck, and his lips planted rough kisses on the fragile skin. She screams against his palm as his wild, uncoordinated thrusts force another orgasm out of her.

“Fuck, is this really his first time?” the wildcat thinks to herself as she comes down from another high. She didn’t expect the night to go this well. From the ache between her legs, it’s almost going too well.

Thankfully, Takatora finally reached his limit as Yamane’s walls milked him again. Spilling his seed deep inside his wildcat’s womb, he bites her shoulder as he comes, hard enough for it to bruise the morning after.

Sweating, panting, he collapses on top of her.

“Mine,” he growls, scooping her into his arms. “Say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

[connieswriting]

Nightmares// Fred Weasley

Paring: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: @iprobablyshipit91​:  “Ahh I could literally request so many Fred Weasley imagines with these prompts! I’ll go for 6, 76 and 79 if that’s okay! Thank you!”  

@seppys-return-to-madness: “62, 45, 15 with fred?”

6: “You can’t die. Please don’t die.”

15: “Are you still awake?”

45: “I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

76: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”´

79: “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

A/N: I got so many Fred Weasley requests, so I’m trying to pair them up a bit. Thank for them though, and please keep sending them in. I might post a Charlie Weasley imagine soon because I may or may not have a big fat crush on him. Hope you enjoy this request, I wrote everything at three a.m. so I cannot promise it is very good. Anyway, enjoy and I hope this is what you wanted when you made the request! :)

Everything seemed to be falling apart, and quite quickly, as a matter of fact. The walls that had once formed the once awestrucking castle that had been their school, their home away from home, until the past year, now stood before them in ruins. Professors and students, family and friends, all stood side by side, casting spell after spell, protecting, defending the prior peaceful wizarding community. Fred looked around him- Percy was the closest to him. ‘Merlin’s beard. He really is here with us.’ Fred thought, quickly casting a protection spell at a young Gryffindor who had chosen to stay and fight. If you had told Fred a mere twelve hours ago that his older brother would return, turn his back against the Ministry of Magic and apologise, inevitably admitting his mistake, he would have most likely laughed in your face. Chances would be he would even joke about you taking his place in the pranking community.

Percy looked at the twin, throwing him a quizzical look, which Fred understood immediately. ‘He’s right, I have to focus on protecting others and myself, I don’t have time to wonder about other things now.’ Alas, it had been a counterproductive thought- the instant he thought about protecting others he thought about protecting you, specifically. He started thinking about how you were, whether you were still alive or not… But you had to be, right? A wonderful witch like you, the best in your year at both Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, you had to be pulling yourself quite well.

(but the death eaters had so much more experience)

You were fine, of course you were. You had been in the Dumbledore’s Army, you knew how to fight

(if you had been forced to face bellatrix, you wouldn’t be able to survive, he knew that)

A scream pulled him away from his thoughts. He realised now that George had joined both him and Percy fighting against the hooded Death Eaters who seemed to only know one single spell. Secretly, he was thankful he was able to at least know where his twin was and how he was doing. Although he would never actually say those words to him, he wouldn’t know what to do if he died. There was another scream that seemed to echo through the entire castle. It was impossible to know if that scream had or not come from you, but that didn’t stop his mind from thinking so.

“(Y/N) is fine.” George shouted from his left. Once again, he had proven that twin telepathy could be real. “She was helping Madam Pomfrey just now, since she has been having so much difficulty keeping up with everyone who has gone in and out of the make-shift infirmary. She was also trying to stop Ginny from going to the battle to fight, although I must say she is failing miserably.” Fred chuckled, more motivated to keep fighting, knowing you were not only thriving, but helping others in the process.

Another spell was cast and the hood from the Death Eater standing in front of them fell, revealing the Minister of Magic.

“Hello, Minister” Percy stated, as he casted another Protego spell. “Did I mention I was resigning?” From a few meters away, Fred was able to make out Harry, Ron and Hermione, all rough-looking but with a smile in their faces, possibly because of Percy’s comment.

“You’re joking, Perce. You’ve got to be joking.” Fred laughed, letting his arm, the one that held the wand, fall to his side, looking at his brother in disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since… Well, since- “Before he was able to complete his sentence, there was a loud explosion, sending him flying away.

He didn’t have time to act, he barely had time to comprehend what was happening. Debris were falling everywhere, some a lot bigger that others. He heard yet another scream, although this one was much closer and much more familiar- Hermione’s, a sound he had, unfortunately, become all too familiar with. Someone pushed him to the side, just as a large piece of wall fell. Much to his dismay, he couldn’t see who his saviour had been, as a cloud of dust filled the air all too quickly, once the wall had hit the floor.

Just as the air had finally been lifted, George had pushed his twin brother to his feet, pulling him back to battle.

“Move it. This thing is far from over, we don’t have time or the privilege, as a matter of fact, to just sit there on our arses!”

In no time, they were both back in full motion, trying their best not to lose anymore focus and just making it out alive. It was harder now, to fight. Fred was exhausted, you were still no where to be found and the battle didn’t seem to be close to an end.

Just as he felt his legs break under his weight from standing up for too long, there was another announcement. Voldemort had given them an hour to collect and treat the people witches and wizards that had not been so lucky, and if during that time Harry Potter did not appear then the battle would recommence. Fred didn’t care about the rest, he only cared about one thing- you, specifically if you had or had not been one of those unlucky people. He went to the Great Hall where the bodies were being rolled in at an alarming pace. Oliver Wood passed by him quickly, not bothering to send a second glance his way, as he carried Colin Creevey in his arms. Fred was made painfully aware of his hammering heart, hoping, nay praying, that he wouldn’t find your body beyond those doors, but rather just you helping.

He felt a hand tighten on his shoulder, turning around to find his older brother Charlie, who gave him a sympathetic smile. “I reckon everyone is alright. There were a few painful casualties, like Tonks and Lupin…” The older stated as they passed by two beds where the couple laid motionless, lifeless, each with a hand sticking out, both barely touching, their faces radiating a calming energy that almost made Fred believe they were just sleeping. He felt his gut clench at the thought of your body laying like this, in this state. “But I think… I hope,” Charlie quickly corrected as they continued to advance through the sea of people crying and holding each other. “That the rest is doing quite alright.”

But something in front of them made Fred second-guess Charlie’s words. His mother was hugging his father, her head buried on his shoulder, Ginny was crying silently, holding Bill’s hand who, in turn, was holding Fleur’s. Hermione was also there, on her knees, next to a bed, shaking her head from side to side, in this belief, with Ron’s arm around her shoulders, his face completely apathetic. Mrs Weasley was the first notice the arrival of her two sons, wasting no time in pulling Fred into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Fred. With all the commotion, they were only able to find her body a few minutes ago, and by then it was too late to do anything. Madam Pomfrey tried everything, but she really is just… gone.” Over his mother’s shoulders, he was able to see the body his family was surrounding. He felt his heart sink, the air leave his lungs as he saw your hair lay flat, most of it on the floor, your eyes closed, your face pale, and just like Tonks and Lupin, lifeless.

“No, no, no, this can’t be real, this is not real, it just isn’t!” He rushed to your side, feeling the tears already forming in his eyes. “You can’t die. Please don’t die.” He pleaded taking one of your hand in his, allowing his other hand to run through your face, trying to find any signs of life, even if part of him, knew it was already pointless. He still had to try, he couldn’t bare thinking he wasn’t able to save you, he wasn’t able to spend your last few minutes together, he couldn’t bare to think you were gone and so was your future together. He couldn’t bare to think that was the end of everything.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny kneel next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Freddie… I can’t believe it either, but she really is gone…They told me it was during the explosion, she got caught under a wall, I think…” He stopped listening after his sister said, ‘the explosion’, the rest of the words just seemed to be muffled out. You were killed during the explosion, the same one in which someone had miraculously saved him, and he could just put his hands in fire on how that someone had been you. If only George hadn’t pulled him so hastily out of there. If only he hadn’t so foolishly been taken aback because of Percy’s comment and hadn’t gotten so distracted in the first place. If only he had taken everything much more seriously, then maybe you would’ve been there, with him, alive.

“No, that’s- that’s not true. Come on, she’s just sleeping, can’t you see?” His voice cracked with each sentence, the disbelief present in it, as he caressed both your hands and your face a bit more forcefully now. “Come on, love, wake up. You need to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.” His whole body was shaking, trembling in fear. Why did you have to die, why were you the one that had passed away and not him? Why did you decide to save him instead of staying put, alive and well? Before he knew it, a scream erupted from within him.

It was a silent scream, more of a loud cry really, but still he kept at it, he kept silently screaming until he realised, he was no longer at Hogwarts but rather at the Burrow, in his tiny childhood bed which he was now sharing with you. He sat up quickly, looking at your peaceful face, this time he knew you were just sleeping, your chest was rising and falling slowly, a small smile plastered on your face, and he hoped you were dreaming of him.

A dream, that was all it was. A nightmare, really, but still just fiction, you did get caught in the explosion trying to save him, but you were found just in time to be cured. You had been treated carefully and after a few months of recovery, you were good as knew, brighter and livelier than ever.

His hand flew to his face, wiping away all the tears that didn’t seem to stop falling. He turned to you once again, making a bit too much movement, his body still trembling, and he knew if he tried to get out of bed and onto his feet, he would immediately fall. “Are you still awake…” He spoke quietly, trying not to wake you up in case you weren’t.

“Well, now I am. You made such a commotion standing up and turning around, it was impossible not to wake up.” You smiled, yawning, sleepily turning to meet his face. As soon as your eyes met his you stopped smiling. His shirt was covered in tears, his nose slightly red, his face pale almost as if he had just now seen a ghost. “Wha- What happened? Freddie, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, instead he grabbed your face in his hands, carefully analysing every aspect of it, making sure you were real, making sure you had survived and that had all been nothing but a dream. As soon as he had a confirmation, he pulled you into a hug, before pulling away once again to look at your face.

“Fred, what happened? What are you doing? Why are you crying?”

“I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I’m sorry I woke you up.” He continued his forceful tear-wiping, looking the other way, trying to stop you from seeing him like this, so broken, so emotional, so out of character.

“Hey, look at me.” You let your hand rest on his cheek, pulling his gaze towards you. “It’s okay to cry… Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You questioned as he shook his head quickly. It had been too much, he didn’t want to ever verbalise it, or at least not so soon after. “Okay, we don’t have to if you don’t want to, but just know that I’m okay, I’m here, we’re all here, as a matter of fact, your whole family, even Ginny and Ron. We are all fine. Emotionally? Not so great, but physically we are all amazing. You don’t have to worry about us, specially not me. I have a special talent of pulling myself through really tough times if that means I can go back to you and annoy you endlessly.” He smiled at your joke, as you continued to caress his face with your thumb, wiping some tears. You pulled him in for a quick kiss before getting up.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going to the kitchen. I’m going to make you some tea and we can both sit in the living room, we can even cuddle if you are in the mood for that, so you don’t have to go back to sleep right away.”

He shot out of bed as well, going up to you and pulling you into a tight hug, almost squashing you in the process. “I don’t know what I would do without you, (Y/N), I really do not. You’re it for me, you’re my whole life, you know that right? You know that I love you?” There was a hint of desperation in his voice. Losing you in a dream had felt far too real, he never wanted to go through something like that ever again. “I can’t lose you, I just can’t.”

“You’re safe now, Freddie, I’ve got you. Just as you got me. We’ve got each other.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead before taking his hand in yours. “Now, come on. I can tell you all about Percy’s adventures with the Gnomes and how Ginny ‘accidently’, or so she says, hit him in the head with one today. That ought to cheer you right up!”

He looked at you once again, a smile playing on his lips. A nightmare, that was all it was. You were there, there with him, still bubbly and full of life. You were unharmed, you were whole, and so was he.

————————

Send in them requests, if you want. You can use the prompt list too :)

[randomoranges]

good god almighty. here is part 4. somehow longer than the other parts. somehow with more Emotions. i decided to not be vague and call the spades spades. this one is more nsfw because of things étienne mentions. 

again, minor character death and lots of introspection ha ha .

ive been working on the beast for like almost a month now. part 5 aint even done. im so glad i hacked it up in the end. 

PART IV

“The 60s were good with that – for forgetting and moving on. There was – or seemed to be this renewed sense of freedom, as if the people were finding their true purpose in the city. A great big curtain was being pulled back and we were given the opportunity to redefine ourselves. It felt like hope, in a way and with the distance put with the church, I felt I could breathe a little more and I was able to find myself. By the time Expo rolled around, it gave me purpose – something to do. The energy in the city was astounding. The projects people were coming up with – the possibilities they were unveiling – I had never felt something like that. I thought for sure this energy would see us through the next one hundred years; we’d be feeding off of it and returning to it for years to come. It would be our source of creation. Everyone seemed to be excited; the world was literally in our backyard and it felt good to bask in the attention.”

 It made sense for Étienne to have Expo, considering how good he was at catering to others – at giving them the good time they wanted. He thrived in giant crowds and lived for the attention. Plus, at the time, Montreal really did feel as though it was the center of Canada. It still felt like an other-worldly experience and there were still times when Edward wasn’t convinced Expo hadn’t been one massive hallucination. And he’d only been a small part of it, unlike Étienne who had lived every stage of it.

 “With the change of decade, going into the 70s, I expected much of the same – moving forward, the endless possibilities of the future and such. For the first time in a long time, I was actually looking forward to having more time – to being immortal and being able to experience every change. To make new connections. Expand and broaden the horizons and such.”

 “And then it all went to shit, starting with the October crisis. There was a lot that happened in the 70’s and not everything was bad, but for me, personally, it was a series of euphoric highs and devastating lows. In the same breath of the Crisis there would be a Cup win, then there was the Exodus, the language debacles and it never seemed to end. Up and down and up and down. One giant roller coaster that never gave me a chance to catch my breath. It was hard to feel anything let alone make it constant. It took a toll – added up and left me reeling in ways I had never thought possible. I couldn’t finish celebrating the Cup that I would get notified that something terrible had just happened. I would be relishing in disco and there’d be a murder. It was too fucking much. I couldn’t take it anymore. Everything I had worked so hard to build was slowly being torn from my hands and what was left didn’t seem to matter enough. The proverbial carpet had been yanked from under my feet and no matter how many times I tried to get up, I just kept falling and falling and falling... there was no end in sight.”

 Their correspondence at that time had petered off, somewhat. They’d both ended up in unpleasant situations and the last thing Edward had wanted to do was to take a pen and write to his friend to let him know how miserable he was. There’d been times when he’d wondered if his friend hadn’t found out about his fate and had left him for dead as well and it had only been later – much later – that he’d found out through Étienne exactly why he hadn’t written as often, if at all, for a few years.

 “I’m not exactly proud of what I ended up doing, but it seemed like the right solution at the time. I was a mess. I needed help but I didn’t realise it and I wasn’t sure there even was such help for such a lost cause. Working the streets and the clubs were as much self-punishment as they were the only place I felt I could succeed. It was easy to spread my legs to let some random guy fuck me in an alley. It was easy to pretend to be someone else. It was easy to get down on my knees and suck them off. It was easy to let others use me as they wanted and write it off as being unworthy of anything else. This was where I belonged – with the outcasts and the has beens.”

 There’s a shuddering breath that’s released and Edward has no idea if it’s his or Étienne’s. He’s astounded his boyfriend is willingly talking of this chapter of his life. It had taken years for Étienne to even speak of it to him and the confession had been a quiet halting thing that had taken him a while to piece together.

 Yet, despite finding out, it hadn’t changed Edward’s opinion of him. If anything, he had found Étienne brave and courageous for telling him about it and his heart had ached for him even more. Étienne was worthy. Étienne wasn’t a failure and he succeeded at so many other wonderful things. In his opinion, he was still as relevant as before and had never been an outcast or a has been. He was still a leader and trail blazer in his own right, even if Étienne himself didn’t always realise it.

 “When they gave me the Olympics,” Étienne goes on, once more showing that he is brave and more than the terrible things that he had gone through, “I hoped this would be the shot I needed – that it would be as wonderful as Expo had. If anything, it would be on a smaller scale than Expo. It would be a piece of cake, I figured. At least, they’d given me the Olympics in a timely way and not last minute. Therefore, there would be no excuses to fail. but for as much as Expo felt like a fever dream doused with magic, the Olympics were harder to get going. There were so many things that went wrong. So many strikes. So much corruption. The magic was gone. It was the opposite of what I needed and it just drove me further down my own spiral.

 “So I went for the drugs and the sex. One made me feel when I was numb, one numbed everything when I felt too much. And the sex was as much a means to an end as what seemed to be the only thing I could properly deliver. So I stuck to it. Went in and out of these phases. Went on the biggest of benders, woke up in places I had no recollection of going to and such. Drove Élyse nuts. But it didn’t matter to me; I’d still be alive, so who cared what I put myself through?”

 Edward wants to say that there were many who cared, but he knows that it would fall on deaf ears. He gets what Étienne means by it, but it still hurts him that his boyfriend had had to go through all of this. He gives his hand another squeeze and if anything, Étienne offers him a small smile, acknowledging the gesture.

 “I was all over the place and when I finally met Koffey, shortly after the Olympics, it was quite by accident and he took me by surprise.”

 “Everything about our relationship was different than the others I’d been in up until then. For starters, it didn’t happen the way the others had. It wasn’t the usual meet, sex and eventually develop feelings. He’d been living in the city for a few years when we met. He’d immigrated here, in search for a new adventure – ahead of the wave that would come later on. He’d decided to open up a restaurant, bringing us the local flavors of his own country. I stumbled there, quite by accident and I was most likely high and not even fully coherent. To be honest, I can’t even say I remember that day; he’s the one who told me later on.”

 “I ended up returning. Later. On a better day.  I think I was convinced it was my first time here, but Koffey was a little wary of seeing me again. Apparently, I had been a little rowdy on my first visit... Yet, he still gave me a chance and was still very polite while he served me, if a little guarded. I felt bad, so I returned and the more I went back, the more I was drawn – by him, his cuisine, and his quiet sense of humour and intelligence.”

 “He eventually realised I wasn’t a complete asshole and he’d start coming to talk to me when the restaurant was quiet. He was – a breath of fresh air, really and at the time the one good thing I had going on. It felt like being thrown a lifeboat – something to hang on to while I tried not to drown – by my thoughts, my life, the shit-show burning around me. A beacon of hope and light I clung to desperately.”

 “I honestly didn’t even think Koffey was interested in men. It surprised me, when one day, I hung around until the restaurant closed. I waited for him out in the back, not wanting to go home just yet. I also didn’t think going home just yet would be wise. I was still all over the place and I knew that if I went home I’d end up using or doing something even stupider. Having a friend helped keeping my thoughts on track. Koffey, without knowing what was going on in my head, helped keep my mind quiet. I wanted to know more about him and his life, so I focused on that. Anyways, it’d been a quiet night and we’d been having a grand old time chatting. I thought maybe we could walk around and bum out in a park. Summer was starting to settle in for good and it was a perfect night out. Warm and this side of humid, with a gentle breeze to make it pleasant.”

 Edward has his own thoughts and ideas about the description of the weather, but he schools his face in a neutral expression and listens on.

 “He was surprised to see me out back, but pleased and we picked up our conversation from where we’d left off. We ended up taking the long way back to his. I didn’t mind having to walk back to mine after and the extra detour would do me some good. However, he invited me in for a beer and I obviously said yes. He was my friend, after all and the thought of a cold beer to end the night sounded great.”

 “We must have spent a few more hours drinking beer and talking and somewhere along the line, he leaned in and kissed me. Completely unprompted. I was shocked and surprised and at first he thought I wasn’t interested, since I hadn’t kissed him back. He must have apologised at least a dozen times. It was quite funny, really. I’d keep trying to tell him that it was fine, but he wouldn’t listen. And the more he went on, the more afraid he was that I’d do something to him – which was quite sobering, let me tell you. I finally took matters in my own hands and kissed him myself. We’d been hanging around together for months, by then and had I known, I would have put a move on him sooner, maybe. The kiss finally got him to stop apologising and for a moment after that all we did was make-out on his couch like all the terrible clichés in movies.” He laughs at that, fond, as he twiddles with an unlit cigarette. “It was so different, though – soft and tender. Nicholas had been very forward with his kissing that first time. I knew we would end up in his bed the moment he kissed me, whereas with Koffey – it almost felt hesitant and cautious and I thought that was lovely.”

 “He still asked afterwards if I was that way, which I thought was both endearing and silly – considering I had just kissed him and wouldn’t have minded him kissing him some more. I assured him that I was and to prove my point, I kissed him again. I recall teasing him about it later, asking him if he needed another kiss to be sure I was into men. He thought I was being ridiculous, which was saying something.”

 There’s a gentle, soft smile that graces Étienne’s features, not for the first time during their talk, and Edward wonders what memories his boyfriend is reliving – what images his brain has conjured for him to revisit. He’s glad, though, that despite the heartache that Étienne still has fond memories of Koffey to go back to.

 “I wasn’t in love with him – not at that point, but I was certainly drawn to him. He was – beautiful. On the outside as much as on the inside; a gentle soul, really. I would have willingly gone to bed with him that night, but he insisted we wait a little and take things slow. This had never really happened and even though I was a little annoyed, I didn’t push the issue and floated back home after one last kiss.”

 “He actually – I swear, the next time I went to see him, he actually asked me out on a proper date. He was too much! And I couldn’t believe that a man like Koffey, sweet and gentle and kind, would want to date me who felt broken and used and soiled in so many ways. But he saw beyond that and insisted we go on a proper date before we went to bed together and so I said yes; because I did really want him and I loved his company.”

 “Our first date was nothing extraordinary, but it was nice – to be taken out – to feel as though I was worthy of someone’s attention and affection again. It was almost as good as a high. He took me out to dinner and then insisted we go to a movie and he was so gallant about the whole thing. He paid for the meal and for the ticket and don’t ask me how the movie ended, because halfway through we started making-out in the back and before the movie ended we left to go back to his.”

 “Koffey was – so very sweet to me. Our first time together felt like something out of a romance movie. There was no frenetic urgency to it. It wasn’t just sex because he wanted a fast way to get to his release. He made love to me. Me! It boggled my mind. He kissed and caressed every bit of me that felt broken and used. It was – wonderful and too much and I tried changing the pace to something that felt less consuming ‘cause I couldn’t handle so much love being given to me, but he kept on finding ways to make it less about the sex and more about us and I couldn’t take it. I eventually broke down in tears.”

 “And get this – he thought he, of all people, had done something wrong to me – that he’d hurt me in some way. I came clean to him. Told him everything. As much as I could. The drugs, the streets – the fall from grace. Every last ugly truth came out as he held me in his arms and made sure I understood I was someone worthy of love again. I felt stupid for breaking down and felt even worse for needing him to comfort me. And despite that, there were still things I couldn’t tell him. He tried asking about what was bothering me – because he could tell. Even when I lied – he could always tell when there was more – when everything in my head was too loud, but it was hard to explain. I couldn’t just say oh by the way, I’m semi-immortal and I represent a city. Yeah, fucked up I know, but I swear that’s not the acid talking.”

 “It wasn’t stupid,” Edward breaks. He knows Étienne is in a better place now, but he also knows his boyfriend is still prone to great bouts of self-doubt that do more harm than good to him. He’d hate to think that Étienne still feels that way.

 “I know,” Étienne responds quickly. Edward wonders if he isn’t deflecting, but he figures Étienne’s heart has been scorched raw enough for the day that he can let it slide for this time.

 “You’ve always been worthy of love,” He adds softly and Étienne stills for a moment.

 “I know.” He says again, but it sounds different this time around; a little more vulnerable and fragile. Edward wants to gather him in his own arms and hold him tightly, but instead he keeps hold of his hand and lets Étienne carry on with his story.

 “I made it up to him, later, once the storm had passed. I didn’t want him to think that I would be some emotional weight to him. He’d wanted sex so I made sure to deliver. He was still very sweet and loving with me and I tried to ignore it. I focused on making it good for him so that he wouldn’t toss me to the side and in my mind it worked. Yet, thinking back, there were still times when I felt like he was onto me. Like he knew when I was faking it for both our benefits, but he let me be.”

 “Still, for as much as Koffey was good for me and to me, he wasn’t a cure to all my problems. It would’ve been too easy. He helped – more than he probably ever realised, but I was still reckless and I still fluctuated. Bad days and worse days. On those, he’d simply hold me in his arms and let me cry in them.

Sometimes there’d be an okay day. He made it tolerable. To be alive. Made the sharp edges rounder. Made me feel like I could hang on another day. And there were those times when I felt like I genuinely wanted to be around – for him. I wanted to take him somewhere or kiss him again. I wanted to tell him some funny story I had heard or simply go to bed with him one more time. So I stuck it out and tried to survive.”

 “He was so kind and patient with me. He loved me, despite what I was and how I was. He loved me even when I couldn’t love myself. God, I never deserved him. He was too good for me and to me. And somehow, I repaid his kindness by making him sick and killing him!”

 “You don’t know that for sure.” Edward replies quickly, without thinking.

 He remembers the visit. Remembers finding out about the real significance of Koffey. Of going over to visit Étienne and finding him distraught and broken hearted. Of Étienne bringing him to the cemetery. The breakdown and the tears. The trembling murmured admissions of guilt. The dawning connection he’d made.

 Edward had been in his own headspace at the time and their correspondence had petered out, hence his grasp of Koffey’s role in Étienne’s life had been lacking in some regards. But standing by that grave, with his friend opening up about him and telling him what had happened had marked Edward.

 “I may as well have, Edward.” Étienne snaps. He lights up the cigarette he’d been previously playing with and takes a long drag from it. “He died and it was all my fault. I couldn’t even – I wasn’t even there when he died. I was too afraid. And ashamed. I was a coward. He’d chosen me and I may as well have tossed him out.” He flicks the ash with more force than necessary and when Edward spares him a glance, he sees the storm of hate and shame fight in Étienne’s eyes through his unshed tears. “He deserved better – after everything he did for me and I repaid his kindness by being a coward.”

 Edward knows that there’s no sense in telling Étienne that it’s not his fault. His boyfriend will keep berating himself until he runs out of steam and he supposes that it’s best to let him be and wait it out. Yet, it doesn’t sit well with him to have Étienne react this way. Sure, he could have been responsible for Koffey getting sick, but at the same time, there was no actual proof. He hates that it still eats Étienne alive and part of him wants to take him by the shoulders, shake him, and tell him to convince himself otherwise. Especially if it’ll help him move on. But – he’s known Étienne for too long and knows that such actions will do him no good.

 Instead, he waits and starts to itch for a cigarette of his own. He settles instead for a deep breath and then another. He thinks back to his own response to the crises. To the way he’d taken action. The misery and heartache he’d seen and lived. The friends he’d lost. The ones he’d buried. He thinks of running to Montreal to get away from it all and leaning on Étienne for a chance to forget and leave it all behind. There’s an irony here he still hasn’t fully grasped but it’s a reflection for a different day. There’s already enough that’s been looked over for one day.

 “I don’t think he would have wanted you to beat yourself over it,” He offers instead. Étienne sniffs loudly and doesn’t give him an answer. Instead, he remains quiet, fighting with his own demons.

 “You never did tell me why you called him Koffey,” Edward tries again, minutes later, when he feels that the mood has shifted once more and that Étienne has calmed down some. Perhaps this approach will work better, he thinks.

 Étienne sniffles and rubs at his eyes, “Oh,” He starts and a small smile deigns to make an appearance on his face, which Edward is thankful for. “Apparently, his regular customers used to call him that. He thought it was hysterical and he never really liked his own name. I never questioned it beyond that and it stuck.”

 Étienne grows silent after that and turns reflective. Even Mercury seems to sense the shift in mood and nuzzles her way up to his arms for cuddles. The distraction serves its purpose and Étienne focuses on her for a while, caressing her fur and scratching her behind the ears, which she seems to enjoy, if Edward is to judge by the wagging of her tail. He watches and lets them be for a while, glad the dog can help where he can’t.

 “You would’ve liked him,” Étienne quietly says after a while. He’s not looking at him, hands still buried deep in Mercury’s dark coat, but Edward doesn’t mind.

 “I’m sure I would have – he sounds like a great guy.”

 “The greatest.”

 Not for the first time, Edward wonders if Étienne’s feelings hadn’t become tainted with guilt over the years. He doesn’t question Étienne’s love for Koffey, but he wonders if the circumstances of his death haven’t left a lasting grip on him that wouldn’t have otherwise been there if the man had died of natural causes at a ripe old age. The wounds are still too raw and fresh to ask, so he lets the matter rest and figures that there will be other occasions to ask.

 They fall silent after that, both lost again in their own thoughts. He hears the occasional snuffle from Mercury and sends out a silent prayer of thanks to whatever higher power there might be out there for her presence in Étienne’s life. In the few years Étienne has had her, he already sees the difference and impact she’s made in his life.

 Eventually, Mercury settles back on Étienne’s side and his friend leaves a hand around her neck, absent-mindedly stroking her dark coat, while he reaches out for Edward’s own hand with his other. Edward is a little surprised, but he doesn’t mind and let’s Étienne play with his fingers. He traces the lines on his hand with the edge of a nail and draws loops with it afterwards. Edward watches the movement carefully with his eyes and finds it oddly grounding in a way. He hadn’t realised he’d felt a little unmoored by these tales and he wonders, not for the first time, just how attuned to him Étienne really is.

 They settle around each other, the breeze gently ruffling their hair and Edward takes a deep breath to process some of what he’s just heard.

 “And shortly after Koffey died, while I was still mourning him and hating myself for everything I had done, you came along at both the best and worst moment of my life.”

--

Part III Part V

[evesbeve]

it's tough to get away (tua s2 fix-it)

MAJOR SEASON 2 SPOILERS!

Summary: Ben has finally crossed the light, but has unfinished business back on earth. He does the only thing he can think of; he begs God to send him back.

Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & God, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves

(Read on AO3)

___

“I have to go back.”

In the end, Ben didn’t get to cross the light.

The first time he laid his eyes on it, he was only sixteen with a foot in the grave, quite literally. It felt as if he’d been staring at it for hours, debating whether he should take the next step or not, because truth was, he wasn’t ready. For every second Ben was still on earth, he lost another one of his senses, he felt more and more numb, more and more dead. At least he couldn’t feel the monster in his stomach anymore.

There was nothing left for him in the world, and yet he wasn’t ready to leave it behind. Ben had been stripped of everything. His senses, his feelings, his honor. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of sorry excuse of a funeral his father put together for him.

Looking ahead into the light should have felt reassuring, but it only made Ben more anxious. All his life, Ben had never been sure of what would happen next, but nothing had ever scared him more about the future than this.

So when he heard the voice of his brother calling him back to earth, Ben didn’t hesitate.

Klaus had told him, that first day he conjured him, that he could go back to light anytime he wanted. He had assured him. Ben wasn’t an idiot though; he knew his brother, and he knew the way he lied. Klaus had no clue whether what he was claiming was possible.

But it was okay, because that meant Klaus wanted him there. So Ben stayed.

He spent the next years alongside Klaus, watching him self-destruct. It was fine, for the most part, but Ben could feel himself growing bitter. There was a voice in the back of his head that whispered ‘I told you so,’ as if it was a price for staying, but Ben never figured out who it belonged to.

He did visit the light again. Occasionally.

But he never crossed it. Not even when he stopped feeling altogether. Not even when he was certain Klaus didn’t want him around anymore. Because despite everything, Ben was still scared.

In the end, the light pulled him in.

It was funny, really. Ben had thought he could avoid it forever, but of course he’d been wrong. It came to him in shiny flickers of blue, resting on his clothes, on his skin. It was there to take him away, but also to make him feel again; the more light came, the more he could feel his sister’s arms around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. It was almost seventeen years ago.

Vanya never pulled away from the hug, and Ben didn’t stop feeling it for a long time.

Heaven was… nice.

Really, there was no other word to describe it. It was nice. Ben felt content in a way he’d never felt before, and everything was calm and peaceful. He earned a blank slate. He could be whoever he wanted.

And yet.

“You know you can’t do that,” the little girl with the hat told him as she continued picking her flowers and placing them on her bike’s basket. “Once you cross the light, that’s it.”

“But I didn’t,” Ben insisted, wishing she’d look him in the eye. “I didn’t cross it.”

“Is that right?” the girl said with a smile—a devilish smile—and went right back to work.

Once upon a time, Ben would have dropped it and continued walking down the path alongside the flowers. But he couldn’t do that anymore, not when the place he was supposed to spend his afterlife in couldn’t offer him the things he longed for the most in the world.

“You don’t understand,” Ben said, and the girl huffed. “I have to go back. My family, they—”

“Your family didn’t even know you were there,” the girl said. Ben shivered and bit his lip, but let her finish anyway. “But of course you already know that.” She ran her fingers through the flowers’ petals, before finally settling on one and pulling it from its stem. “You aren’t the first to beg for a way out, and you certainly won’t be the last. I do understand. I have to, to run this place smoothly. I can’t just pick and choose.”

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” Ben said, his eyes still pinned on the flower in her hand. “You pick and choose. You play favorites.”

“Not all souls are corrupted, Number Six.” Ben sighed at the use of his number, but it didn’t stop him from feeling helpless. “But I can’t let them mix with those who are.”

Ben’s mind traveled back to the girl and her flowers; picking and choosing, sorting through them, moving them… Not all flowers needed light to grow.

“Want to know which one you are?” the girl said, a teasing tone in her voice.

Ben hated that he couldn’t say no to her. 

The girl moved to her bike with a bounce, letting her flowers drop in the basket, and gestured for him to follow her.

They walked through the gardens for a while. As much as Ben wanted to leave this place, he’d always enjoyed looking at the flowers. They didn’t need words to express themselves—just shapes and colors, in a black and white world. And yet, Ben always knew what color they were.

They stopped in front of some bushes, tiny things, and the girl leaned down to pick up a blossom. Her moves were always so calculated, but now she was letting the flower and its white petals rest on her palm almost lazily.

The smell hit Ben like a hurricane.

The small flower smelled of lousy evenings and teasing, of quiet nights looking at the stars. It smelled like stroking a string of memories that hadn’t been touched in years, of something distant yet so familiar. Of laughter, of coziness, of bittersweetness. It smelled of home.

“A gardenia?” Ben asked.

The girl nodded. “That’s the bush I picked you from,” she said, stroking the blossom’s petals. “Of course, you’re here now, so your flower doesn’t exist anymore.” Without missing a heartbeat, she crumpled the flower with a swift movement, and let it fall to the ground.

Ben felt a knot tighten in his chest.

“Why would you do that?”

He’d never understand how God, or whoever she was, could be such a prick.

“You care,” she said, crossing her arms behind her back.

Ben stared in awe at the crumpled flower, then back at her. He wanted to prove her wrong so badly, to stand still, or to walk away, and yet he couldn’t help but lean down and pick up the gardenia. Its petals felt soft, too soft, against his touch, at least those of them who were still holding onto the flower.

“It’s too late for it now,” she said. “It’s just a blossom, ripped from its home. It doesn’t have a stem to plant.”

Ben kept stroking the flower’s leaves, trying to ignore her words. She was wrong. The flower was right there, it was still alive, emitting its bittersweet smell, calling for its home.

“That doesn’t make it useless,” she continued. “It can be used as a fertilizer, to help the other flowers grow. But it will die out, eventually. After all, it’s been corrupted now—”

“Klaus isn’t corrupted,” Ben interrupted. The words came out of his mouth without him processing them. It was only when he heard his own raised voice that he realised what he had said. He hadn’t meant to say it, but it was too late now. “My family isn’t corrupted.”

A smile tugged at the girl’s lips. “Now, I never mentioned him, did I?”

Ben wanted to look away, but everything else around him consisted of flowers, and flowers reminded him of the blossom in his hand, and the way the girl had ended its life as if it was nothing, and if that wasn’t enough, he could still smell it and—

“I keep wondering why you want to go back. What was it he called you?” she asked, looking up, pretending to be in deep thought. “His ‘ghost bitch?’” Ben closed his eyes. “I never liked him, you know. But he must have told you that, I don’t think he likes me very much either. I suppose that’s fair. I wouldn’t like someone who kept choosing other people over me either—”

“He’s not—it’s not like that,” Ben said, but it was. It was like that, because Klaus had acted like a massive asshole by ignoring Ben’s existence and pretending he wasn’t there, by keeping him from his family who he had missed so much, and Ben didn’t deserve that, he knew it, but it didn’t matter, because Klaus needed him. Ben needed him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, locking them with the girl’s. “I never crossed your damn light.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re here now, and you need it.”

“Gardenias can grow in the shade,” Ben said.

“But those who never see the sun grow weak,” she said.

“I’ve never forgotten what the sun is like.” And he hadn’t. Ben was dead, detached from the world, but Klaus offered him a way out. He gave him oxygen, he let him breathe, he let him live.

The girl huffed. “You could thrive!” she said. “Inside these gardens, you don’t need to suffer anymore. You don’t need to hold onto a world that hurt you, that killed you. You could have everything you wanted here!”

“No.” Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

The girl looked at him for a few lingering moments before turning around and leaning over the bushes again. Ben felt his body tense up in defense, his hand clenching around the dead flower in his hand. He wasn’t going to let her harm them. Not anymore.

“Hand it over,” she said, and Ben took a step back. She sighed. “I just want to put it to rest.”

Ben glanced on the ground in front of her, where she had dug some soil out of the way; a perfect fit for the blossom in his hand. Part of him wanted to tell her no, but the way she said it sounded… genuine.

Ben nodded and dropped on his knees. He glanced at the girl one more time as she gave him a nod back and he placed the gardenia on the hole. He run his fingers through its petals one more time, before gently covering the hole with the dirt on the side. For a split second, he was back on earth, lying on the ground, taking in the texture of it for the first time in almost two decades. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the girl gave the soil a gentle pat.

“They put gardenias around my grave.”

Ben had no idea why he said that.

“I know,” she said. Any hint of hostility had long disappeared from her voice. “I know everything.” She crossed her legs and made herself more comfortable, wiping her hands on her white dress and staining it, before taking off her hat and letting it rest on her lap. “And yet, I was wrong.”

Ben raised an eyebrow at that. He supposed he could sit down for a little bit longer, so he rested on his thigh, not caring about the dirt. He hadn’t minded dirt getting on his clothes in a long long time. “Wrong?”

“Yes,” she said, pressing her lips into a seemingly forced smile. “You are way more stubborn than your brother.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know.”

Ben shifted so he was sitting down normally, his legs folded and forming the tiniest triangle between them and the ground. He leaned back, his weight supported by his hands placed behind his body, and looked up at the sky, so he could see the light.

Deep down, he knew it hadn’t been possible. Not everyone got the happy ending of their dreams, and Ben certainly didn’t deserve it. After all, his story—his life on earth, his family, Klaus—had ended seventeen years ago. You can’t turn back the pages on a book that doesn’t have any. You can’t leave a garden with no exit. And you certainly can’t bloom as a flower where there isn’t any light. This was meant to happen. All Ben had left to do was accept it.

He felt a bump on his shoulder, causing him to snap his eyes open. He hadn’t even realised he’d close them, until the figure of the little girl staring down at him came into view. She extended her arm for him, and Ben took it without any more questions.

Once on his feet, she spoke again. “Come on.”

“Why, is it curfew already?” Ben joked.

The girl rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of Ben’s hand. Instead, she started pulling him through the gardens again. “I said, come on.”

“Hold on,” Ben said, but she didn’t seem to be listening. “Hey, I said hold on, can you just—” He freed his hand from her grip, and it was only then that she stopped walking. “Where are we going?” 

She sighed, a hint of annoyance manifesting in her voice again, but it wasn’t rude like before. “Home, Ben,” she said. “We’re getting you home.”

Ben stared at her in disbelief.

“H-Home?” he said and she nodded. No. There was no way. “Home as in, home home?” She nodded again. “With my family?”

“Yes, Ben!” she said, and no matter how angry she sounded, Ben couldn’t shake the grin off his face. “With your dumb family!”

He covered his face with his hands, another chuckle escaping him. For a guy that was literally about to cry in front of God, he was feeling quite well. Spectacular, actually. He took a step closer to her, taking her hand between his. “Thank you, thank you so much, you have no idea—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… You’re welcome, and all of that, now come on,” she said. When Ben let go of her hand, she adjusted her hat and continued walking down the path with bouncy steps. She stopped, suddenly, turning around to look at Ben again. “I said come on, before I change my mind.”

“Right! Right.” Ben nodded to himself. He was going to see his family, he was going to see Klaus, he was going home where he belonged. Ben took one final breath and stopped fighting the grin threatening to take over his face. “I’m ready.”

The girl smiled. “I know.”

The first time Ben crossed the light, it was to get out of it.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 60: By Firelight

Lance is a good husband. Keith is *mostly* cooperative.

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Lance is sitting in front of the crackling fireplace, his own cloak wrapped around his shoulders, Keith’s draped over his lap. It’s unbelievably cold, like every night since he’s been here, but staring up at two slivered moons crossing paths above him, Lance can’t bring himself to care.

He’s neglecting his duties, but he hasn't really had the chance to look at the moons before, never stared up at the sky and seen another body so very near. On Altea, it’s so, so easy to feel like there’s nothing and nowhere else. It’s so easy to feel alone.

Sometimes, he wonders if that’s why his people looked to the stars before the Galra. Perhaps the moons made them feel less alone. Then again, maybe not given that the first thing they did when they finally achieved space travel was go conquer other worlds…

Ah well. To each their own. Not like the Alteans didn’t have their collection of occupied territories-

“Hey.” Keith, smiling at him, braid drawn over his shoulder, end disheveled from anxious fiddling. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I thought about retiring, but I wanted to stay up and watch the moons.”

“I see. Can I join you?”

“Of course. Want some dinner?” When Keith nods, Lance hands him one of the last remaining bowls he’d set beside himself for passersby. “You might want to scoop from the middle. I haven’t stirred it in a while and it’s cold, so it’s probably the only bit that isn’t scorched or chilled.”

Keith smiles, ladling some of the stew into the bowl. “Thank you for cooking.”

“Someone came by and shoved some ingredients and a recipe at me. I don’t think that they were expecting me to do a good job, but I did. Or so I’m told.”

“I bet that made them mad,” Keith chuckles, moving aside the red cloak in Lance’s lap so he can sit sideways against his chest. Lance pulls the cloak up over Keith’s legs to help him stay warmer. He’s shivering a little, but seeming unbothered otherwise. Accustomed to the cold. He tosses another log on the fire anyway, watching sparks dance against the starlit sky.

“The only thing they need to be mad at me is you, beloved. We both know that.”

“They don’t need that to be mad at you. They shouldn’t be mad at you at all. You’ve done nothing to them.” He takes another bite of Lance's stew.

Lance smiles, kisses the base of Keith’s large, fluffy ear as Keith’s tail finds his ankle. “Sometimes nothing is just as bad.”

“I suppose… This really is good, by the way. You did a wonderful job.”

“Thanks, beloved.”

Keith sets the empty bowl aside, turns to sit between Lance’s legs, facing the moons. Lance pulls the cloak up to the Galra’s chest to keep them both warm. “The moons will be new soon.”

“Both of them?”

“Yeah. It’s something that happens roughly once a centaphoeb… I was born under the new moons. It’s the darkest night you’ll ever see,” Keith whispered.

“Hm.” Lance stares at the sky, at the gaping voids in the stars where the looming silhouettes of the moons black out the sky. “Sounds terrifying.”

“Existentially, yes… Last time it happened, I was all alone. It was so dark and scary.”

“I can imagine.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company, listening to the crackling of the fire. Lance knows Keith needs it, just as much as he knows he hates to ask. Keith’s not one to make himself that vulnerable, to actually use the word ‘need’. He knows the Galra is just itching to go back to his usual self-sufficient ways. Keith’s not the type to enjoy being tethered to any one person, not even Lance.

“I feel like by the time your season’s actually over, you’re going to be sick of me,” he murmurs.

Keith’s fingers lightly squeeze his wrist. “I could never be sick of you. Though sometimes I do miss solitude. Nothing against you, obviously. Just sometimes I want to be alone for a little while.”

“Thace says it’s not good for you to be alone.”

“He’s probably right,” Keith murmurs, sighing. “But people can be… so much. Sometimes I just need silence.”

“I trust you to know what you need, when you need it.”

Keith drags Lance’s hand -the one not around his waist- into his lap, toying with his fingers beneath the blanket. “Are you ready to tell me what happened this morning? I could tell you’d been crying.” He kisses the underside of Lance’s jaw. “It worries me when I see you cry. You usually bury all that in your work.”

“Romelle doesn’t recognize my sister anymore,” Lance whispers. “I just- We’ve tried so hard to bring her back, and nothing works. My father says that it’s not in her best interests to try anything else. She suffers for it, and it doesn’t work. I agree with him, but it hurts. For decaphoebs, she seemed fine. Thriving, apart from a few headaches. Running around with me, Allura, Adam, and Lanval, getting into trouble… I miss that. I miss the four of us just being able to have fun together.”

“Growing up sucks,” Keith whispers.

“It really, really does.” Lance’s eyes search the sky, looking for familiar stars, but it’s hard to tell which ones are which from this new angle. “How was your day? I know this morning wasn’t fun.”

“Well, I accidentally called my mother a breeder, so… Could have been better.” The Galra chuckles.

“I take it that’s a bit of a derogatory term?”

“Not just a bit. Basically, I implied all she’s good for, or that bearers are good for, is pushing out kits.”

Frowning, Lance twists his head to look his spouse in the face. “Is that really what you think of yourself?”

“Sometimes. I mean, I am expected to bear your children. It’s kind of the reason I was selected. Well, that, and my uncle wanted to get rid of me.”

“Keith.” Lance winces at his sharpened tone, at the slight droop to Keith’s ears. “What exactly do you think is going to happen when we have children?”

“I don’t know… I guess I assumed you’d be running the kingdom and I’d be raising our kits? But I don’t want that. That’s fine for some people, but I want to be able to do other things. I want to be other things-”

“Do you really think I could run a kingdom by myself? I mean, I’m flattered, but there is no way I could do everything I could do without you. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. Listen.” Lance pushes some hair out of Keith’s face, trying to reach the luminescent eyes underneath. It falls right back into place. “We’re partners, beloved. Everything we do, we do together.

"You don't have to worry about me being absent or anything like that. I’m not my father, Keith-”

“I never said that! I know you’re not your father!” Keith’s alarm softens to something far more gentle. “You could never be your father, Lance. You’re too… you.”

“Yeah,” Lance whispers. “I know we’ve only known each other for a year, and we’re still learning a lot about each other. I mean, I learn new things about you every day. But I know you well enough to know that you could never be content being just one thing. Be everything you want, and if what you want right now isn’t parenthood, we have time. We can wait until your next season, a decaphoeb, a centaphoeb- However long you need to be ready for that. Then, when you are ready, we can do that.”

Keith tips his head against Lance’s chest, snuggling closer under the cloak. There’s always going to be a bit of conflict within himself, Lance knows. Keith is easily the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but the circumstances under which they met will always sting. The best he can do for his spouse is make sure it never happens again.

“What do you want, Lance? Are you ready?” Amethyst eyes stare up, glowing gold, glittering and almost hard, stubbornly waiting for an answer.

“I am so ready. I’ve wanted to be a father since I was a little kid.” Lance grins, thinking of all the times he imagined being a parent. “But like, I’ve got a couple milophoebs of life ahead of me, and so do you. We’ve got time for both of us to be ready first. We’ll live big, full lives, Keith. No matter what.”

The Galra’s still staring at him, but his eyes are soft, warm even with the unsettling glow of his night lenses. Lance isn’t sure if he ever truly found that nighttime gaze frightening, instead of mesmerizing. He knows it doesn’t frighten him now. How could it, when Keith’s looking at him with so much love? What could Lance have done to ever deserve it?

“Lance?”

Lance jolts from his thoughts. “Keith?”

“I love you.”

“Aw-w, Ke-ith.” Lance grins, presses their foreheads together just to hear him purr. “I love you too. To Daibazaal and back. Literally.”

“Literally.” Keith presses a smiling kiss to his lips. "Thank you, Lance. I- I feel better now."

"I'm glad. Tell me when you decide?"

"I'll tell you when I ready."

"Good." Lance beams down at his spouse, even as their cloaks slip away. As their lips meet again, Keith rises onto his knees, threads dark purple fingers into silver-white hair, the very tips of his claws scratching at Lance’s scalp. His own hands find Keith’s cheeks, cradling him close. Lance can’t help but giggle at the feel of Keith’s thin, raspy tongue, the way it feels against his. It’s just so different from his own, smooth tongue.

Sighing, Lance seeks out more, chasing after Keith’s taste. It’s delicious, intoxicating, the most he’s had after months of sudden nothing. So when Keith draws away, he follows a little before he remembers.

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs, hands trembling in Lance’s hair as he presses their brows together again. “I’m sorry.”

“Never,” he whispers, thumb grazing Keith’s cheek. “Come on. We should get some rest. It’s super late.”

“Yeah. Especially since we’re training with the Blades tomorrow.”

“Ooh, I wonder if Adam will do some training with me. It’s been ages.” Because he’s feeling generous, Lance scoops Keith up into his arms. He only gets a glare and an elbow for his trouble. It’s just as good. Or at least amusing.

“Adam can fight? I just assumed he nags his enemies to death.”

“Oh, yes. He uses a double-ended polearm. He has multiple different ones, with different heads on either end.”

“He would have that- Can you please put me down now? I’m not a baby!”

“I’m trying to be romantic!” Lance sets his spouse down, tugging on the end of his braid so Keith knows he’s playing, not upset.

“You can be romantic by letting me walk and then cuddling me for the rest of the night. How’s that?”

“...Sounds really nice, actually.”

“Then let’s go.”

Settled down for the night, Lance rubs the base of Keith’s ear. It’s not something he really needs anymore, but it seems to make him happy, and definitely makes him smile, so why not? The way Keith purrs, tucks his head firmly under Lance’s chin as he twists his tail back around his ankle just seals the deal.

Nothing will ever top this.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

“Goodnight Keith.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 126

The best thing to do for her now was take her home and put her to bed, so that’s what Tony did. He’d actually had reservations at one of their favorite spots, but what she needed was to be somewhere comfortable. She needed to rest. He didn’t want to put more pressure on her, but her spiraling like she was had consequences that went beyond herself. He was sure she knew. They didn’t need to talk about it. He just needed to be strong enough to wade through it with her and get her back to a place of semi-normal. And until then… she needed to be in bed. Away from everyone else. It was why he went straight to the private elevators, arm around her tight, guiding her. Not leaving her side until he’d taken her all the way into the bedroom. While he’d wanted to see her actually put to bed, knowing she could use it, when she sat down and put her head in her hands, she mumbled something about taking a shower. 

It chipped away at him, seeing her like this. Wanting to fix it immediately but not having the resources yet to do so. He’d make this better. He would. Kneeling in front of her, he helped her out of her heels. “You want me to stay?” The obvious thing to do- to start making this better- was to head straight down to the labs and start working. But she was a wreck. And he didn’t want to leave her, if she thought she needed him in the immediate area. 

He could tell she was trying to put on a brave smile. Tight and worn as she looked down at him. They held that gaze for a moment as she reached over, touching the tips of her fingers across his forehead. The action felt like it soothed them both. It was a question for another day, how he’d become so tangled with her… her voice was drawn when she found it. “I’ll be alright. If you have something to do, go ahead.” 

“Nothing more important than you.” Trying to make her understand. All of this really boiled down to one simple fact. He could make grandiose gestures of justice all day for the rest of his life. He could employ Iron Man and the Avengers to save the world every other week. He could try to protect earth with his dying breath but in the end… 

Looking at her now, holding her hands against his face as she’d touched down to hold the sides of his jaw in her palms… he sunk into her. Basked in the feeling of being here with her and for her. This was all for her. He needed her to be safe. He needed her to be more than okay. He wanted her to thrive. He wanted her to live and be happy. And they just… they weren’t there. Nowhere near it. 

The thought left him softly, “I love you.” Holding her as she still held on to him, eyes closing for just a moment. She’d been there as much as she could when he’d been having troubles- and still was, but almost nothing compared to what she was now being tortured by. She had the literal weight of the world on her shoulders so suddenly. While everyone else was content to sit in conference rooms and argue about the merits of right and wrong she went to work.

For them. 

She suffered. 

For them. 

Her voice wasn’t all there when she answered him. “I love you, too, Tony.” A balm for the soul. His, in fact. Because nothing made him feel better than hearing her say  those words. He tried on a smile for her, and felt better when she found an easier one to shine back at him. “If I need you I’ll call. I promise.”

Giving him permission to leave her side to go work on some lofty dream of getting them anywhere near normal. One thing had become very clear. They had to get out soon. The goals they’d laid out at the end of five years were in jeopardy, so she thought, and five years was inching closer, and the longer they didn’t get out the more they lost the chance at them. He had to finish this. Or else… 

He gave her a nod. “Alright.” Shifting up, one hand on the bed, he leaned in just to press a kiss to her forehead. Lingering there for maybe a little too long. Hoping being near to her imparted the same sort of calm he always felt with her, when he found himself in moments like this. She was already dealing with enough, he really should have just let her be. But as he stood in the doorway and watched her shrug out of her jacket and unbutton her shirt, he hated himself for calling her attention again. “Honey?” 

She looked up at him. “Yeah?” 

Because it was her, he had to hold himself emotionally steady. A hard enough thing to do when he had felt his heart slamming against his chest the entire ride home. Even worse now, as she looked up at him with those big, soft eyes of hers. Waiting. He had a split second to decide whether or not to leave it alone, and… “Earlier today- I’ve been thinking about it- you said Banner and I already found the scepter once. Were you thinking of the Tesseract?” 

It had been circling his brain angrily ever since it had come out of her mouth. And he’d had a long chat with Bruce about it, too. Though they’d both agreed at the table, he was worried about her sudden revision of history. She seemed confused, a cloud took over her eyes. Then she seemed a little flush with embarrassment. “I guess I was, yeah. I’m sorry. The thing with Loki- I guess I just have them all mixed together after everything that happened.” 

He understood that. Like some ugly mass. All inseparable. All part of the same thing. It made sense, but… 

She suddenly seemed sad. “Did I make things harder for you and Bruce? I’m sorry.” 

Quickly he shook his head. “Nah. We’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” At least this was  the truth. They had more than enough data to work with. “It’s a lower level of emission with the gamma pulses, but we should still be fine enough to start tracking it.” He played at casual with a shrug and crossed his arms. “Anyway. Seriously. Don’t worry about it. Just relax. When you’re ready for dinner just let me know.” A hot shower and a nice meal would probably do her some good. And a long night’s sleep. And taking the rest of the month off. If she would let herself. 

Her smile eased him at least a little. “Okay. I love you.” He never got tired of hearing her say that. It always drove a warmth so deep in his chest. 

He couldn’t help his smile. “I love you, too.” Truer, he was sure, every time he said it. 

With that he left the bedroom, and gave Dvahli with a stern warning that she better stop lounging and go curl up and provide some much needed cat love in his absence. Something he was sure the cat understood, as she lifted herself off of the coffee table (a place she wasn’t even supposed to be) and slinked her way past him and into the bedroom. Feeling pretty sufficient that she would be okay, he hit the button to call the elevator and got himself back down to the lab. 

Bruce was in their private section, set up and working on a handful of things. Though he looked up as Tony entered. “Short date night?” 

Tony sighed. “No date night.” And, deciding to be candid, he dropped himself onto one of the work stools and looked over at him. “She’s rubbed a little raw. Ellis has her on some council overseeing enhanced individuals as far as the United Nations is concerned.” At least that’s what Tony thought he got out of her weeping explanation of what had happened. He’d need to talk to her a bit more coherently about it later. When she was better. 

But this put a pause in Bruce. “That sounds… bad.” Then he quickly held a hand up. “Not that- not that I think she can’t handle it. She’s probably the best person for that job. But…” 

“Yeah. Sounds like we’re heading for a disaster.” Agreeing. Agreeing easily because that’s what had turned her so completely upside down like that. This spelled a lot of trouble. It was a bandaid, at best. “All the more reason to try and figure out this Ultron project now, wouldn’t you agree?” Forcing a grin. 

“We’ve got a few things more pressing than that fantasy, I think. Speaking of… did you ask her about…” Lowering his voice as if he was scared they were being eavesdropped on. 

“Yeah. I did.” Taking a breath he crossed his arms. “She said she’s just kind of wrapped all that Loki stuff up together. Pretty much what I figured.” 

Bruce’s eyes lowered. “Yeah. Alright. What about the... other thing?” 

A heaviness settled over the room. Tony’s heart ached. “Not right now. Besides. We don’t even have all the data yet.” 

“You can’t put it off forever, Tony.” 

“Not forever.” They both shared a look. But one Tony’s eyes dropped from. In partial guilt. “Just not right now.” 

Bruce frowned but nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Understood.” A long sigh left him. “Well. In that case. You wanna pick up where we left off?” 

Brushing past all that, Tony lurched off his stool and went over to Bruce’s workstation. “You read my mind.” Pulling a few holograms off the tabletop and into the air, “Ready to wrap on VERONICA?” 

“One less thing to worry about, I suppose.” 

                                                    ---

Someone was calling your name, you were sure. Except it didn’t sound like your name. The shape was different. But it was surely your name. 

You were hot. So hot you thought you might catch fire any moment. You had no idea where you were. Seemingly, maybe, nowhere. Just a deserted existence underneath a vast sky. There were noises. Too many. Hard to pick any single one out- except the cry of a name that was yours but wasn’t yours. And then, when you focused, still more screams yet in a language you didn’t know. Cries of pain. Sounds of… war? Attacks? Metal on metal on flesh. People you loved were dying- And then- 

Then you awoke in a sheen of heavy sweat and even heavier breathing. In bed in the penthouse. Your home. Safe, but panicking. The bed was empty, which made panicking that much easier to do. Flinging the covers aside you half fell to the floor on your hands and knees, trying to even out your breathing but failing hard. It felt like a great weight was bearing down on you. Your chest was seizing. You couldn’t breathe in here. 

It powered your limbs into flight, pushing yourself to stand, falling into the bedroom door and then wrenching it open, stumbling out into the living room where Tony was drenched in the light of his holotop table. Your sudden appearance and bumbling around startled him- he was calling you- your name- your actual name- along with a few, “Honey-”s thrown in. But you kept barreling forward towards the deck. And once you pulled the sliding glass door open, you fell out on hands and knees just trying to breathe. 

The air up there so high froze you to your core- more so was the steely downpour of icy rain as it soaked you, but it at least was refreshing in a punishing sort of way. But it wasn’t really helping, as your fingers clawed into expensive rooftop flooring and tears streamed past your lashes. Tony was there in another moment in a half kneel, one arm around you, his other hand holding an umbrella over the both of you- murmuring something. Words. But you felt the easy, recognizable heat of affection and worry in the place of actual understanding. 

Eventually the sound of his voice evened out past your ears and short strings of sentences actually started to hold meaning as he carried you through remembering how to breathe. Remembering that you were there, with him. Safe. And okay. Things your body and mind had forgotten in the flight of extreme panic. When all was said and done you found yourself thoroughly petered out, on your hands and knees bent so far forward your head was pressed against the floor of the deck, Tony’s hand sweeping up and down along your spine in long, slow passes. 

He was shivering, same as you, still speaking, but it was more the cadence of his low voice that helped the rest of your cognizance gather. Your shame was swift and just as punishing. “I’m sorry…” And, just like the child you felt like, as you sat up, you wiped your tears and snot on the back of your sleeve. Very dignified. 

“I’m the last person you need to apologize to.” Careful with you, as always, as he settled a hand on the back of your head, cradling the umbrella at the juncture of his shoulder so he could move his other hand to yours, helping you steady yourself as the both of you knelt there. 

“I was dreaming- having a nightmare-” Correction easy. No dream would have sent you in a spiral even as you laid there unconscious. Your hand raised up, absently clutching at your chest where you felt the painful heave of your heart. Hesitancy swirled around Tony as you lifted your head and looked at him. Perhaps unsure whether or not to let you go on. When he was quiet just long enough, “I think it was about my parents.” 

A sliver of guilt cut through the air between the both of you. Even in all your time together, you and Tony had never talked about your parents. Met with a vicious and violent ending. Your past- by design. Yours. You’d never wanted to. And you were sure some part of him respected and understood that. But still, you had always assumed… tucked away in police files and permanent records… something accessible that he had looked into. Probably around the time of your hiring. 

Due diligence some would call it. Others might call it snooping. 

Either way, it must have been stolen knowledge that knocked a piece of regret loose. Because now you were struggling, and he wasn’t sure how to bring up his own understanding without revealing his hand. All these years later. 

But his feelings were weighing you down, killing you while you were still too raw. So you dropped a shaking hand to his knee and let your head fall forward. “It’s okay.” I know you know. 

This only seemed to hurt him worse, but he put himself aside. He was not important just then. He swallowed hard. “...why now?” Instead opting to try and push forward to do whatever it took to help you. 

A very valid question. Some terrible tragedy that you’d been insistent on not being the foundation for your entire life. Not being the reason people felt sorry for you constantly. Not being the reason you were handed things, or looked at differently. Something you wanted… terribly to move on from. “I don’t know.” Voice shaky, when you found it, still sniffling. “Maybe it’s just the stress…” Trying to reach for any conclusion to make it not appear worse than it was. 

Just brain garbage all vomiting up all at once underneath immense distress. Sure. That made sense. 

“Well… what’d’you know…” Steadying himself a little. Realizing too little too late, as you always did, that your anxiety had infected him. But that he’d struggled to keep it together for you. His smile was tight as you looked up at him. “Great time for a vacation, wouldn’t you say?” 

You aimed your weakest smile back at him, something that lasted all of two seconds before you shifted over, coming in closer to just collapse into him. Pressing your hands at his chest and hiding your face in his shoulder. He was warm, even out here in the freezing rain. And perhaps you stayed there a little too long, because eventually he spoke again. 

“...you alright to go back inside?” Worried, still. And gentle. At your wordless nod, he moved into a small crouch, reclaiming the umbrella in one hand, sticking his other out close to yours. With such ease he helped you back to your feet, though in that moment the loss of energy became easily recognizable. “Do you want to go back to bed?” 

...even still. Tired as you were… “No. Can I just… I don’t want to bother you-”

“You never bother me.” 

“-...can I just. Sit with you? While you work?” 

His hand lifted a little higher up, settling at the back of your head again, bringing you in close so he could press a kiss to your hair. “Of course.” 

After a fresh change of dry clothes you snuggled up on the couch closest, and Dvahli was close behind, turning into a little vibrating ball of purrs in your lap. You picked at some warmed up dinner that you’d ignored earlier, and felt grateful for a steaming cup of earl gray all while Tony used you as a sounding board for a project he was just finishing up on. 

You’d been aware of the Hulk Buster armor that he and Bruce had been devising as a worse case scenario. But it was a true testament to how busy you’d let yourself become that it was now in its final stages. Comfortable and content, you drifted off just around the time Tony was detailing the AI- 

VERONICA. Tony swore up and down it stood for something… Very. Experienced. Reconnaissance. Operation. Nested. Inside. Cached… Drifting- had he said- Atmosphere? Automaton? Getting harder to remember by the second...

But. There was a telling hint of amusement that told you it was some sort of inside joke that you both weren’t privy to and weren’t awake enough to get. Even so… 

You remembered the curve of his voice and the beauty of his smile, the way he looked awash in holographic lights as you dozed off. Only disturbed briefly a little later as he turned you to lie down and tucked you in. Not sending you back to the bedroom alone- something else, even in your hazy half-unconscious state you were intensely grateful for. 

Just to have him near… 

                                                   ---

He protected you, when various members of the team came to call during business hours. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing for you to be hiding, especially not with what was ahead. But. It helped to clear your mind, not having to deal with any of that stuff. The reprieve would be short. Intensely short. March would be soon. 

Even shorter than you knew, as you sat in the back portion of a cafe, Happy on security detail. Just trying to pretend like you were normal and that you were enjoying life. A newspaper out front had caught your attention. The New York Bulletin’s detailing of how a masked marauder by the name of Daredevil had brought down Wilson Fisk. 

Just as you were finishing the article- some very juicy stuff about Fisk’s pretend good-man initiative turning out to be a money-laundering scheme involving lots of mafia moves and drugs- Happy approached your table. “Sorry to bother you.” 

You smiled up at him. “Don’t worry about it. What’s the matter?” 

He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Some guy wants to speak with you. Normally I wouldn’t break protocol but…” Protocol being that you were here enjoying coffee and a pastry like a normal citizen. And that you were technically on a sabbatical. So no one was to disturb you.

Shifting in your seat you tilted to see a very unassuming man standing at the front of the cafe. Dressed in a very beat up looking suit. He looked a little beat up himself. Dark glasses on. Cane in his hand- not just any cane. One of the ones used for the visually impaired to help see where they were going. You waved Happy in closer. “Not to be… I’m not trying to be rude…” Dropping your voice. “Is he blind?” 

“I think so, yeah.” 

“Then how does he know I’m here?” The only reason you cared about it. 

Happy seemed momentarily stunned. “Oh. I didn’t uh…” Didn’t think about it, is what he meant. 

You watched as the man in question smiled briefly with a shake of his head. Almost as if he’d heard you. Deciding that again coincidences weren’t a thing in your reality, you acquiesced. “Alright. Let him over.” 

With the order given, Happy gave a nod and then slowly walked back over to the man. They had a brief exchange and then the man walked your way. No assistance necessary. When he stopped at your table, you looked up at him. He was still smiling. “Thanks for letting me through your security, ma’am.” 

“You’re welcome. How can I help you?” 

“My name is Matthew Murdock. Of Nelson and Murdock.” Reaching his free hand up, he very obviously pretended to fumble around, patting his jacket down. “I thought I had a card…” 

You put an end to the charade. “And what can I do for you, Matthew Murdock of Nelson and Murdock?” 

Without the same act of grasping around, he reached out for the chair nearest and took a seat. “I wanted to say thank you. To you and Stark.” 

Unable to help yourself, your eyebrow arched. “Thank you for what?” 

His lips were a bitter twist of a grin. “We don’t have to play pretend. No one’s listening.” 

“I don’t know who you are.” Said about as honestly as you could. 

“Sure you don’t.” Grinning still. 

Tipping your head, “I don’t. ...you’re making it a little too obvious now but. I didn’t when you walked up.” Not needing to be fantastic at deduction for this. It was clear. This was the man in black. Or, now Daredevil, as the media was calling him. 

He sat there in silence for a moment until a small ripple of astonishment touched him. Either trusting your truth or… perhaps sensing you were indeed being honest. Well. Tony had pegged him as enhanced. You wondered in which ways. “...you really didn’t.” Seemingly pretty floored by this revelation. “But Stark-”

“Tony does, yes. I told him I didn’t want to know. Because I figured that was none of my business.” Being straight with him. “Or anyone else’s, for that matter.” 

“Stark didn’t seem to feel that way.” Just a tiny touch of agitation. You couldn’t blame him, really. 

But even so. “Tony is… he’s heavy-handed, when he thinks he’s being pushed against a wall. Fisk threatened us, so he started digging. You were probably just a pleasant surprise.” Defending Tony. As always. You sighed. “Even so. It’s wrapped up now, I just read. So. The data will get vanished. You have my word. ...and good work, by the way.” 

His smile was a little more friendly, after only a few bare seconds of consideration. “Well. Then that’s double the gratitude.” He reached out, aiming to shake your hand but his direction was a little off. 

You studied him. “...does the blind act work on everyone?” It was clear he could see. ...right? Or had you just said something utterly awful with no regard? He’d picked up that chair like he’d seen it. He’d seen you through a window, probably. He’d walked over to your table with no help of direction. 

Apparently you surprised him just a little, because a short laugh escaped him. “Worked on your goon.” 

“Happy is not a goon and if you insinuate so again I’ll have you thrown out.” Half-joking. ...maybe a quarter. You wouldn’t let anyone talk about Happy like that. But your nervousness got the better of you. “You aren’t really blind, right?” ...god you hoped not or else you would be just about the biggest asshole in existence right then.

“Can’t imagine how that would look. CEO of Stark Industries throws blind man out of a public cafe.” It was your giggles that turned his own laughter back out. He was a surprisingly pleasant person, when his entire world wasn’t being threatened and he wasn’t playing tough. Maybe he thought the same of you, because there was a light thrum of ease and enjoyment that he was otherwise trying to hide. Maybe just because he was making you sweat a little, as he’d sidestepped your question. Thankfully, when his chuckles died down, “Yes. I am blind.” 

You considered this. He wasn’t lying, but… “But you see in other ways. -not the general ways that come with being blind.” Going in full here. This was assuming a lot. 

“You’re very astute.” But you were rewarded for your boldness. 

Unable to help your smile, “I have to be when I accuse a blind man of not being blind. Huge PR disaster otherwise.” 

A softer noise of amusement left him but then he started nodding. “Yeah. Well. Please accept my gratitude. For everything.” 

“I didn’t do anything.” Assuming he was thanking you for whatever Tony had given him. “If you want to thank Tony, he likes sunflowers. And will only accept grand gestures, I assure you.” 

He stood, helping himself to his feet with one hand on his cane, the other he extended again. Straighter this time. “You did more than you think.” 

Giving him a firm shake you decided not to fight this. “Whatever you say. But. I’m serious about the sunflowers.” 

Matthew laughed again with a drop of his head. “I’m a little strapped for cash right now but I’ll try my best.” 

“I’ll order them for you in that case.” 

“Well now you’re just putting me in debt.” 

“Don’t be scared to stop by the Avengers Tower. We can discuss how much you owe.” While you didn’t know much about him yet, he seemed amicable and definitely like someone you wanted to keep around. 

“I have a lot of cleaning up to do of my own personal life if you don’t mind, and Hell’s Kitchen needs someone, too after this mess. But… if I ever decide to be less local, I’ll think about it.” 

Before he could turn and walk away you allowed a little bit of seriousness to enter. “Sometimes it’s not about being local, Matthew. Sometimes it’s just about needing people like us to do what’s right when no one else can.” 

His back was turned to you, and he went quiet. Thinking about this. It was almost a little surprising when he nodded. But it all died when he smiled again and instead of speaking on any of that, instead offered, “Call me Matt.” 

Whether he could see it or not, you smiled back. “It was nice meeting you, Matt.” 

“You, too.” 

He took one of your clouds with him, as you realized… you now had one less thing to worry about. 

How nice. 

[merryfortune]

Flower Power

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

Ship: Huntara/Perfuma

Word Count:  3,272

Tags: Post Canon, Slight Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Pansexual Perfuma

   Something strange was beginning to happen around Huntara.

   Flowers were beginning to bloom where she stood and lingered too long, she could swear that if she thoughtlessly used her hands to talk, the plants around her would bob and move with the way she moved.

   But, surely not right?

   Magic was not her forte at all but she supposed that if stars could return to the night sky, along side the moons and clouds, then maybe it was possible that she was, quite literally, a late bloomer when it came to magic. It helped that this new found affinity she had with plants seemed to coincide with when her dominion, the Crimson Waste transformed from a hinterland to a beautiful and burgeoning metropolis. And yes, that was correct, it was still her dominion even though the peoples of it, scarred and roguish, were beginning to reconnect with the outside society they had shunned and they had crowned Huntara their regent.

   She was their leader, not their queen and certainly not their princess. She was Huntara of the Crimson Waste - and yes, it was still called the Crimson Waste even though it was no longer how it had been for a millenia. Scorched red sand and a hopeless place. All sandy valleys of death and the lost with a harsh sun and foreboding conditions which made it impossible to thrive. Now that magic, all magic, had returned to Etheria from its core, the Crimson Waste had been renewed as an ecosystem. There were oases, real and genuine, in the sands which now teemed with all sorts of insectoid life and the like.

   Plants, too, apparently. Not just cacti but there were a few other, desert hardy things which had begun to spring up and bloom in the Crimson Waste and these strange things, with huge mottled petals, had a definite preference for popping up wherever Huntara was and she was in a lot of places. As leader, her people - her subjects, if she could be so bold and it felt awful, for once, to be that bold - had a lot of need and want for her opinions and she was a woman of the people. She wanted to be there. On the ground, helping. A strange difference from fighting but it felt good to do good.

   But she couldn’t ignore herself. She needed a little bit of help as well. And she knew exactly who to ask to get it. 

   Perfuma had received her with open arms - and then closed ones. She was a hugger after all. Huntara stiffened at the reception of such affection but she didn’t revile it. That would be rude and she was a leader now. Huntara had to be this new thing called “polite” and Perfuma made it easy. She was such a goody two shoes sweetie after all and despite it all, Huntara was a softie so she indulged but patting the top of Perfuma’s head as her skinny little arms tried their darned best to squeeze the life out of Huntara. 

   When she finally let go, Perfuma had to take a very deep breath. Only for her arms to fling back again and she beamed, so big and wide and proud. 

   “Welcome to Plumeria, Huntara, Princess of the Crimson Waste!” Perfuma bellowed so cheerfully.

   “Hold on, hold on, I ain’t no princess, princess.” Huntara scowled as she corrected Perfuma.

   Perfuma looked up at her, all innocently confounded. “Oh, my apologies,” she said, her hands shrinking in on herself, her dress crinkling, “I had received word that the Crimson Waste had made you their leader and since your efforts have been to reconnect the Crimson Waste to the rest of Etheria, I assumed that a new kingdom had been… reborn.”

   “Your right on those counts, I can’t blame you fer gettin’ your wires crossed… but I ain’t no princess.” Huntara said only to turn uncharacteristically ginger. “But I guess that’s why I’m here. Strange things are happenin’ and I figured you might know a thing or two. You’re the one with the green thumb. Not me, mine’re, uh, purple.”

   Perfuma giggled but she nodded. “Here, allow me to show you to my inner sanctum, we can talk there in private.”

   “Much obliged, flower girl.” Huntara smiled weakly.

   Plumeria was a very beautiful place. That was an objective fact. It was verdant and lush, easygoing and relaxed. 

   Huntara found it weirdly fitting that she would come here again. She had been part of an invasion which had hassled Plumeria a long, long time ago, when she was in the Horde. Returning from that outpost in Plumeria had been the catalyst that Huntara needed to desert the Horde. Seeing its wealth and bounty had made her yearn for more than what she got at the Horde. She didn’t deserve to eat grey ration bars when there were real fruits and vegetables out there. She didn’t deserve to only know hatred and misery if there was genuine love out there; of course, she came to convince herself that a coward like her, on the run from the biggest and most terrifying force in Etheria would never be truly deserving of such things so she ended up in the Crimson Waste. 

   But now, she was back and that felt oddly right.

   Perfuma had them settled down by the shade of some overhanging linen strewn about in the trees and on pillows with a small, wooden table by their side. A servant appeared and offered them tea and other light refreshments, some of which were tiny in size. Perfuma pecked at a few and then drank from her cup of tea.

   “Rose petal,” she said, a fanciful sigh escaping her lips, “my absolute favourite blend, it’s divine.”

   Huntara awkwardly accepted. The social customs outside the Crimson Waste were egregious to her but to be courteous, she drank some. It was hot, but not too hot for her mouth, and okay. Not her favourite.

   “So, what does bring you to Plumeria? You mentioned that you wanted my counsel for an important matter but were evasive over the communications… I’ve been shivering in anticipation for your arrival.” Perfuma rambled.

   “I feel like I’m going crazy but… but I think I have magic now, the same as yours.” Huntara stiltedly replied.

   Her eyes were far off into the distance, she sat, cross legged, and away from Perfuma. Anything to avoid her gaze. It was too intense and not in the way that Huntara could usually bear the brunt of because Perfuma’s intensity was very, very sparkly for lack of a better word and right now, she was incredibly sparkly even by her measures.

   She gasped, eyes widening, “No… way!” she exclaimed.

   “I-I’m not certain. I just think its possible, when She-Ra rejuvenated Etheria with a thousand years’ worth of stored magic that I absorbed some of it since I am, er, the leader of the Crimson Waste and, for whatever reason, leaders on this planet generally tend to be, uh, gifted. So to speak. With magic.”

   Hunata stared at her hands. They were not the hands of someone who ought to excel at magic or even have the rare privilege of practising it in any way, shape, or form. All the sorcerers that Huntara had the pleasure of meeting had these tiny, soft hands which were dainty and squishy. Perfuma’s hands were a fantastic example of Huntara’s observation, for instance. The only exception she could think of to such delicacy was Scorpia, but her heart and mind were plenty soft and squishy to make up for the fact that she had pincers.

   “O-M-G!” Perfuma squealed. “We could be flower power buddies! Doesn’t that sound awesome?”

   Huntara growled. “I told you.” she all but snapped. “I don’t know for certain. Maybe I’m just seeing things.” She huffed through her nose, a hot exhale. “It could be coincidence or whatever.”

   “I think we should at least try.” Perfuma gushed. “I believe in you.”

   Huntara stiffened. Perfuma’s words were so saccharine but so sincere as well. She huffed again, more defeated this time. 

   “Yes,” she supposed, “I guess we could try.”

   That word had become the bane of an entire inter-galactic empire. Maybe it could become the boon between a princess with confirmed flower powers and a totally not princess with unconfirmed flower powers. 

   “Here, let me come closer to help.” Perfuma said and she rocketed to her feet.

   She pranced about only to plop down next to Huntara. They were knee to knee, nudging up against each other. Perfuma held onto her ankles and leaned back, her hair falling back behind her and she looked at the sky. Huntara wondered if she ought to do the same so, she did. She tilted her head back and through the foliage of the trees above, she saw scant traces of the big blue sky.

   “Huntara, dearest, I want you to think about your happy place.” Perfuma said. “We are going to do a spot of meditating. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

   “Uh, I guess. Told you, flower girl, not really my thing.” Huntara said, gruffly reminding her.

   “But plant based magic is my thing and I want you to unlock your inner Plumerian so we can get to the bottom of this whole thing you're experiencing. It's scary and exciting, don’t you think?”

   “Uh, yea-” Huntara interrupted herself with a cough. She was Huntara of the Crimson Waste. The strongest being in the Crimson Waste. She wasn’t wishy-washy or the like, she was of the toughest resolve. Or so she would damn well remind herself. “Yes. It is.” She was still staring at what could be glimpsed of the sky through the dense forest. They both were.

   “I was taken to the Heart-Blossom all the time as a baby, by my parents, so I could receive its blessing but the earliest I actually remember being taken to the Heart-Blossom was the day I activated my connection with it and I used my powers, my magic, for the first time.” There was a nostalgic sound to Perfuma’s voice but it was tinged with something else. Something more bittersweet. “I was so excited but it was so scary. My mouth opened, my eyes glazed over - or so I’m told - and I just became an unstable conduit for the Runestone’s powers… I hurt a lot of people that day. Friends, family, both…”

   Huntara looked away from the sky and unthinkingly, she reached out. Her fingers grazed Perfuma’s upper arm in some scant attempt to comfort her. She looked down from the sky as well and met Huntara’s gaze. It was saturated with concern for her.

   “No one died that day but my parents still had some of the injuries I accidentally inflicted that day on them. My Mother and my Guardian… but they never blamed me. They helped me understand my powers and control them. I want to help you do the same since… since I think you're the same. You're scared by these new things but they are so, so rewarding when reined in correctly. That’s what makes it exciting. I have the utmost faith in you, Huntara, so believe in yourself. Let’s do it. We can do it.” Perfuma rambled. There were tears in her eyes.

   “Yeah, we can.” Huntara grunted.

   She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. Perfuma guided them both through the meditation. Huntara tried to focus on Perfuma’s voice and Perfuma’s voice alone but it was so difficult. Incredibly difficult as Plumeria was so alive. The wind sang in the branches of the trees; birds flew and flapped about; people came and went merrily as they pleased. There was so much to listen to but Huntara endured even though something as simple as sitting down and clearing her mind was strangely difficult for her.

   But Perfuma was soon more than satisfied with how Huntara did, ending the guided meditation after a minute or two, Huntara didn’t count and she had to control herself not to, she spoke again: “How do you feel?” Her voice was light and airy.

   “Focused.” Huntara elected to reply. She could think of dozens of disparaging or self deprecating replies but at the very least, she owed Perfuma something constructive, even downright positive.

   “Excellent. Open your eyes.” Perfuma ordered her, her words beginning to tumble with her excitable nature. She wanted to confirm Huntara’s magic powers more than she did.

   Swallowing, Huntara obeyed. She opened her left eye and then the right, only to be immediately dazzled by how bright the sunlight here was. It was a gentle sunlight, though but she still had to squint ahead.

   “I think you can do it. No, I know you can do it. Try and use your powers, Huntara. Please.” Perfuma told her next. It felt inciting but not like an order. Strange.

   Huntara took a breath and she stared at the ground, drilling a hole between the plush blades of grass around her. 

   “You can do it. Visualise a flower. Any flower you like and make it grow.” Perfuma encouraged her. 

   Huntara growled as she tried to follow through on Perfuma’s encouragement of her but it was very difficult. Her muscles visibly strained, her cheeks flushed, as she put all her might and power into trying to make one, teeny-tiny flower. Her efforts in vain, elicited something like sympathy from Perfuma.

   She reached out to her and her fingers caressed Huntara’s thick forearms. Her touch was surprisingly cool. Or maybe Huntara burned too hot but either way, she was soothed by how Perfuma’s fingertips ghosted over her leathery skin and Huntara breathed a bit more easily. And when she stopped trying so hard, lulled by Perfuma’s quiet encouragement, it happened.

   Magic happened.

   Before their very eyes, a flower managed to raise itself up and out of the grass, nigh out of nowhere. It was feeble and quite battered looking but as its petals, pink with white trims and golden middles, unfurled, it had an air of grace and resilience. It seemed to respond to how Huntara held her hand out to it, as though it wanted to be pet by her hands.

   Huntara’s jaw slackened and when it popped back into place, it turned into a grin. Gawky and toothy but an ecstatic grin all the same. Beside her, Perfuma squealed with joy - a helluva lot more than what Huntara had. She hugged Huntara from side on, snuggling into her rock-hard side and beaming as well.

   “You did it.” Perfuma cheered.

   “Y-Yeah, I did. I’m not goin’ crazy. I’m magic.” Huntara sounded breathless.

   “Yes, you are. You are very magical, my beautiful desert rose.” Perfuma told her, her voice husky.

   “You are very bold, flower girl.” Huntara half-warned her, she caressed Perfuma’s narrow face and tilted it upwards towards. Her arms slackened but Perfuma was very handsy, they remained nestled on Huntara’s hulking legs now.

   Perfuma giggled. “I’m about to get much bolder.”

   “Oh?” Huntara was intrigued; her brow quirked.

   “In my eyes, you are Princess Huntara of the Crimson Waste and I propose that the Crimson Waste becomes a vassal territory of Plumeria. I believe we have a lot in common.” Perfuma said and she seemed all too cocky, fluttering her long, blonde eyelashes and Huntara couldn’t be mad. She wanted to be but she was charmed by the strength that Perfuma was exhibiting instead.

   “That is bold.” Huntara agreed.

   “So, what do you think?” Perfuma asked.

   “I think I would prefer to be Huntara, Strongest of the Crimson Waste, brilliant and dashing leader, partner state to Plumeria and that’s it.” Huntara bargained, voice dropping low and even flirtatious.

   Perfuma giggled, she reached up and toyed with the jagged fluff of the collar on Huntara’s jacket.

   “How about… partner to the Princess and acting Queen of Plumeria?” Perfuma asked.

   “That’s a bit more up my alley, flower girl.” Huntara said and she caressed Perfuma’s chin gently and leaned in.

   Completely oblivious to such a signal, Perfuma squealed: “Ooh, it’s so exciting! We’re going to be in cahoots! I’ve never been in cahoots with someone before- and oh my gosh, you are trying to kiss me now aren’t you?”

   Huntara laughed as she poked Perfuma’s cheek with her thumb, stroking it backwards.

   “Ayup.” she grunted.

   “Please do that, thank you.” Perfuma smiled.

   “Sounds good, flower girl.” Huntara said.

   She leaned in and their lips connected. Perfuma giggled through the kiss, it reverberated on Huntara’s lips and she didn’t dislike it at all, as annoying as it was, and in fact liked it quite a bit. Still, it was more a kiss of lip to teeth but Huntara didn’t mind much as she there was so much joy in how Perfuma reacted to being kissed. So, Huntara kept at it, more than happily. Perfuma’s mouth was sweet with the taste of tea and the other confections which she had been snacking on. It was nice. Best of all, she didn’t mind one bit that Huntara had such big teeth jutting out her mouth, it seemed she even relished how they nudged up against her face as Huntara kissed her.

   Perfuma sighed when Huntara, regrettably, pulled back. They both had to breathe, after all. Perfuma giggled an awkward and overjoyed giggle. It was painfully shrill on Huntara’s ears but luckily for Perfuma, Huntara was endeared to such a raucous noise for one reason or another.

   “To a long and prosperous union between Plumeria and the Crimson Waste.” Perfuma said.

   “Sure thing, short-stack.” Huntara replied, bearing a cocky smile of her own.

   Perfuma smiled back, eyes closed, lashes fluttering and when she opened them, they were brimming so happy. Her hand swept aside and she plucked the flower from the ground, the one which Huntara had managed to make rise up from nothingness. 

   “Ooh, a plumeria.” Perfuma gasped as she half-heartedly examined the flower, twirling it between her slender fingers.

   “Heh, yeah, whaddya know, it is.” Huntara replied, pretending that she was any good at identifying flowers outside of what was edible and what would poison you.

   “A good omen, I think. Most fortuitous.” Perfuma nodded sagely. “Hey, may I press this flower for you? I want you to keep it, a memento of the first time using your powers on purpose.”

   “I’d like that, kiddo.” Huntara said and she petted the top of Perfuma’s head. Her hair was so tightly bound back over the crown of it and fed into that big, fluffy ponytail of hers. It was nice.

   Perfuma laughed and playfully swatted Huntara’s large hand away from her. She got up, her petalled skirt shaking and shimmying about as she dusted herself down.

   “I’ll be right back,” Perfuma said, “and when I do come back, I’d like it a lot if you let me help you practice your magic some more.”

   “I’d like that a lot too, flower girl.” Huntara replied, something of a contented sigh escaping her mouth as she leaned back, one arm planted to the ground to prop her up.

   Perfuma squealed excitedly again and Huntara cringed but if Perfuma was happy, she was happy. Simple as that. Perfuma hurried off and Huntara very much decided she liked to see that girl go; that halter drop on her back was very nice. But what was nicer, was how she treated Huntara. Felt weirdly good to be worthy of commemorative knickknacks and kisses. She couldn’t help but look forward to future lessons, speaking strictly as a liaison from the Crimson Waste, not their princess, merely their leader and liaison, both romantic and official to the Princess and acting Queen of Plumeria, of course.

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 10

oh god this took a whole weekend to write. and it’s reigning champ at 12.3k words, the most i’ve EVER written, especially since most of this chapter isn’t a dialogue dump. have fun my friends, for this is the finale of the shadow arc. and probably the last chapter that’ll work on tri’ama, theron, and naji for a while, because there are more characters arriving once we hit ziost!

-

TRI'AMA._DROMOUND_KAAS

"Get up!" The feminine voice yells loudly as she hits the roughly ground again, and something comes loose out of her mouth and she coughs hard as it scrapes the back of her throat.

Tri'ama is really beginning to hate dueling with her siblings.

Hell, she's beginning to hate fighting in general.

Wasn't like she ever had a chance.

She just barely picks herself up off the durasteel ground, blood pooling out of her mouth and spitting out a tooth as pain comparable to fire races up her arm. It's a back one, she can tell from it's shape as it falls from her mouth, coated in the iron red substance, so she's not overly concerned about her appearance to anyone after she leaves the training room. Still, it stings as she runs a tongue over it and her attention darts to the overlook, where Raegia, Scorvs and Kadasha stand. Her younger sister looks visibly terrified with a finger nervously twirling a strand of dark hair around it, while Scorvs looks indifferent with his arms crossed behind the two women. Raegia, or Rage-ia as she likes to deem her, is blazing with her fury written all over her face.

The pureblood matriarch is frustrated with her, Tri'ama can feel it through the Force. This always happened whenever she couldn't match the skillset that Typarnk had, and she often retaliated in a way that humiliated her.

Tri'ama wondered if she ever registered that she was her adopted daughter, not a trained arena brawler that could simply do whatever she wanted to whenever she ordered it. She was a child no less. Sith or not, Tri'ama wasn't meant for this.

"Typarnk isn't even pushing you hard, Tri'ama. There's a warrior buried in you, and I did not bring you here for you to continue to fail!" Lightning jumps from the woman's fingertips in the midst of her annoyance, and the two children closest to her back away her routinely, "Typarnk, push the attack. Give Tri'ama a challenge, maybe she'll push back when faced with the reality of real injury."

She wants to scream, she wants to yell.  What she wants to do is force choke Raegia (she was entirely capable of force choking at this age, but it was difficult to regulate and took a lot out of her), maybe even run out of the training arena entirely. Tri'ama wants to be everywhere but here, a nine year old girl pitted against her thirteen year old brother. Curiously, she wonders what every other nine year old girl is up to today, something normal perhaps. With friends, with family, maybe down in the forum. Blazes, anything else than being beaten down over and over again by someone older, wiser and stronger than them. No one elses' guardians had to be like this, it had to just be the Amarillis' that took her in, instead of someone sane. Tri'ama throws a pleading glance to her brother, and his vermillion red eyes soften at her broken form, "Mother, she's clearly had enough. She's been hit hard, I don't know what lesson you're trying to get across but people are going to assume you're abusing her -- or worse that you've taken a child for a slave."

Ouch, that one stung a bit. Yes, she was human, compared to the pureblooded Amarillis family, but having slaves wasn't above the Amarillis legacy in the slightest. She already suffered enough at the hands of other children when she was allowed off the estate property and the bruises were not assisting her reputation in the slightest, "She's nine, not nineteen. Pale skin doesn't hide bruises well either., as I'm sure you're beginning to realize."

Tri'ama tries not to smile. At least he's standing up for her at all, he could throw her into a wall and be praised for it, but instead he tries to protect her at the risk of rebuttal from their guardian.

"Are you talking back to me, Typarnk Amarillis?" She hisses loudly, and Typarnk lowers his gaze from the balcony at the scolding, Tri'ama by extension of the yelling, "Do tell, did you become all powerful because I thought you didn't need to be trained at her age because the galaxy is all hunky-dory? Coruscant has just been sacked, and as pitiful as the Republic is, they will retaliate. I will not watch my legacy fall to a bunch of force-wielding toddlers!" She rubs her temples as Kadasha shrinks back into her brother's strong form in mild fear, and turns her attention back to the field, "Typarnk, I asked you specifically to assist me in training her. I did not say be merciful, I said prepare her for war. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mother." A grimace crosses his face as he considers his blade, lower his head as his black hair falls in his face in defeat. He's nothing more than a teenager, a young one at that. He can't stop what was already coming. Tri'ama strains to resummon her own thrown blade to her hands with the Force, and takes up a defensive stance in Shii-cho. She doesn't want to continue to fight Typarnk/ Raegia and Yusaits had been less than loving to all four of them (she can name a few times she was convinced her family hated her), but her older brother had always tried to protect her from the worst of it. Not to say she'd even be able to wound him with her current set of abilities, but if a show is what Raegia wants, Tri'ama can't continue to deliver without something giving. There just isn't enough that she knows, and not enough power to harness properly. Raegia has made it clear that just because she is human doesn't mean she will be treated any differently than the rest of the brood, and while at one point she was grateful for this acceptance in her adoptive family, she's beginning to resist what the woman is doing. At first, all she'd wanted was to belong. But now, she wishes whoever her real parents were had taken her with them instead of giving her to literal psychopaths.

Every other nine year old isn't worried about what kind of abuse would come next from their guardians -- their parents, that would be doled out by a sibling ten times stronger than you.

The hum of Typarnk's golden training blade becomes louder and louder as he makes to swing at her. Due to her continued losses against her stronger brothers, her fighting style has become uniquely defensive against them. Parry here, a block there, a barely resisted force push there. Tri'ama is notorious among the Amarillis family to be a slippery one to catch (that admittedly was rather easy to disable if someone gained on her strategy and took her out that way), and she prizes herself on that. Typarnk clearly isn't looking to actually inflict any of thedamage as Raegia requests, so she tries to regain her breath as she bolts around the training arena. No fancy saber throws, no unsolicited force choking, nothing that could seriously wound her. It was part of an agreement between brother and sister, and so far it had yet to be broken. The tooth was only the fifth transgression of hundreds of battles. She can trust him.

He's one of the few people on this blasted planet that she can even begin to trust. This was all she'd ever known, yes, but that didn't mean she had to like it. It meant she had to roll over and take it, but it didn't mean she had be completely complacent about it.

It isn't until she's on her knees again, this time with a nasty headache pounding behind her eyes that is making her see double does she begin to consider she's not cut out to be Sith. Korriban is used to weed out the weak among the prospects, and she's half afraid that she won't last a week on the red dustball when Raegia eventually sent her there for her trials. Typarnk is very clearly apologetic for the brute force he'd used after clocking her good on the back of her skull with the butt of his saber hilt, and deactivates the training sabers electricity to bend down and tip her head up to inspect for lasting and immediate injuries, "Nasty bruise you've got there, right on your nose. Your nose may be broken, but I'm sure mother would like to put 'Dasha's meager skills to use here." Tri'ama winces at the thought as he presses the pad of his thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear that is surely biting through the dirt, blood and grime on her face, "You can do this, I know you can. Don't let her get to you, a couple years from now you'll be the only one of us to disown yourself from the family and not be scorned for it."

She wants to hug him, hell she wants to run away with him as far as she can. Kadasha was too young to understand the pain she went through, having an affinity for lightning like their father and working with him at the Sanctum most of the time, and Scorvs was much too apathetic to truly even care about what Tri'ama is going through. She wasn't sure there was anything her other older brother knew about, other than his own research into the Sith military forces. Kadasha had yet to endure what she had, but she has her own concerns about the little girl and her training. The six year old would suffer one day as she was, and Tri'ama didn't want to see her cry.

Why her guardians couldn't they find two seconds out of their day to maybe consider that their adopted daughter would respond better to less violent measures of training, years later the answer still alluded her. Praise from Baras was what propelled her to do better and better on her given assignments, Sith thrived on passion. This was simply stifling.

They simply didn't care, often was one she pondered on for ages at a time. Sith did as they pleased, no matter how others reacted.

"Mother stop!" Kadasha is screaming in a tiny voice, and turning her head painfully from Typarnk's face to the doors on the other side of the arena, she can see the two of the little girl racing after her mother's long stride as her vision only blurs further. Raegia isn't happy, and Tri'ama is nearly shrinking into herself as she realizes why she's down here. Raegia rarely came down onto the training field herself unless she had an ulterior motive and, or, had something intended for the fighters on the field, "Mother!"

Typarnk stands protectively in front of her, wanting to say something to his mother, maybe even to fight back against her punishment, but is quickly shoved away by a force blast before he can do anything. He skids to the ground with a groan, a mop of black hair covering his eyes as she quickly swivels her head back to face Raegia. Her callused hand slaps her cheek hard, Tri'ama not even expecting it initially, and on accident, maybe even on purpose her long, sharp nails dig into her skin. She can already feel the blood dribbling down and out of the large cut, and bites down on her bottom lip to keep from crying, the metallic liquid seeping into her mouth, "I don't think I have to even try to explain why you deserved that, whelp."

The high accent is disturbingly annoying to hear now, reminding Tri'ama that Raegia is high and mighty, and will always be that way, "Yes, Raegia." She whispers, sweat still dripping down her forehead in rivers.

"You are Sith, and you carry the Amarillis name. You may not be my child by birth, but you are by my choosing. Becoming Sith is not an attainable status for those that refuse to work for it, and you will not continue to disappoint me or you will die in your near future from your own mistakes, Tri'ama. Is that understood?" Raegia questions, tipping her head up to look at her directly. She groans inaudibly, and nods. These may very well be the kindest words she's said to her to date, actually recognizing her as an Amarillis, and the woman releases her less than gentle hold on her chin before turning over her shoulder to look at the balcony, "Scorvs, you good for nothing akk pup, get down here and get your sister some kolto. Kadasha, you're to return with me for your meditation this afternoon. Typarnk, make yourself useful and see whether your father needs you for anything. And you, whelp, when you've gotten yourself stable, see to beginning your records for the day. Hopefully you'll learn something this time and not successfully lay yourself out like a welcome mat tomorrow."

And with that, the imposing woman (mother somehow) is gone, her cape fluttering behind her in the wind. Out of her sight now, Tri'ama slumps against her brother's form, heading pounding and sweat dribbling down her forehead. Kadasha's gaze lingers over her, and she looks at her hands longingly. Raegia is right, the girl has been learning the necessary components to begin to force heal, but it would be nowhere near powerful enough to render the need for kolto obsolete, "Go on ahead, Dasha. Wouldn't want Raegia mad at you too." Tri'ama rasps to her younger sister, vision swimming.

Kadasha is clearly conflicted for the moment, but hugs her older sister tightly anyways before running off after their guardian and following her out of the building. True to her words, Scorvs lazily makes his way down to the training area with an assorted medical box as Typarnk helps her up. Yusaits will have words for her later, before healing whatever is making her see double of both brothers. That would be a conversation that she did not want to be having now.

The kolto numbs away the pain for the time being, but the scars never go away. The bruises are ugly, blue and purple on her cheeks for days, and the dazed feeling doesn't vacate her head until the third day afterwards. Yusaits' healing numbs her alright, but it's because of the pain of Sith healing is why she doesn't feel it. She's successfully out for three days because of it, swimming through a pool of tears and pain. It's as if she's in a coma, without the loss of complete consciousness. She can feel it in her very bones -- her very soul every time that she moves, cries erupting from her throat that's on fire every moment of the day. She can barely speak those days.

That day alone is one of the final nails in the coffin. Raegia's abuse disguised as constructive criticism for years on end is the reason she goes through with becoming Sith, if only to prove that she was wrong about her.

And prove she does.

When she returns to the Amarillis estate as the Emperor's Wrath shortly before being recruited by Arkous to deal with the Revanites, it's Typarnk on the ground before her, bleeding from multiple cuts and a bruise blooming on his arm. It is Scorvs who lays unmoving yards away from her, after being pushed away into a wall. It is Kadasha who has to always be on the defensive, parrying ever too slowly and ending up hurt. Amber eyes begging her to stop, but she continues on without mercy. It is her who stands at the end, looking down upon her siblings with a gaze akin to that of a bloodthirsty predator.

And it is Raegia who begs her to stop, when it is all too much as she watches her children continue to be steamrolled underneath her power.

The scar underneath her eye that the Amarillis matriarch dealt her all those years ago remains as an ugly reminder to why she stands for what she does within the Empire. She stands for strength, and won't fall in the face of an adversary, no matter who they are to her.

She is Darth Amarillis-Quinn. She is the Emperor's Wrath. She is no one's whelp any longer.

-

TRI’AMA._YAVIN_IV.

The day starts off rather normally, a little too normally if she's being honest. Not with everything looming, should it be so peaceful. The wildlife is, for once, quiet though. There is no chittering of the birds today, as she cracks open one eye and then the other. No nightmares or odd omens the night prior, and she sits up without any pain in her lower back.

Tri'ama wakes up alone.

The constant thumping of small drops on the tent's roof signals to her that it's raining, as it seems to always be on Yavin. After so long of being off Dromound Kaas, Tri'ama is beginning to readjust to the weather patterns of the Emperor's planets. It never let up before, but as they grow closer and closer to the battle against Revan, the air is charged with an electricity she can only pinpoint as that of the Emperor's influence. It only reminds her of their goal, and why the mission is so important. He'd been weakened considerably by the Hero of Tython, she can't help but be annoyed that he couldn't finish the job outright. She wouldn't be here if he had. She wouldn't have bandages wrapped around her once, twice, three times, soaked through with dry blood or a nearly broken wrist if he did.

Tri'ama changes them out skillfully, still managing to nearly crush her bad wrist before rolling it around a few times. She inhales shakily, trying to remember how Quinn had applied bandages before and attempting to copy the motions herself with unsteady hands. The application is uneven at best, but it would have to do for now. Infections didn't matter if she were dead.

Vette had retrieved her armor from the Fury the night prior, and looking upon the red, white and black armor, she runs a pale hand over the durasteel. It's nothing like the Sith guards would wear, not nearly as heavy nor as much coverage. But, it would do better than the primarily fabric armor she'd worn during the entire excursion through Rishi and their missions through the jungle planet. It isn't extremely light either, she finds as she slips it on over the undersuit she wears. Whether it will protect her from a lightsaber or well-placed bolt of lightning would have to be seen, but she places her fate and trust in it for now. Agility mattered most, for someone that could not be caught could not be realistically killed. Tightening the straps around the breast plate, she finds a sense of security in the Imperial insignia emblazoned in a small corner of the metal, and fingers over it before hooking her sabers on her belt and equipping the other pieces of her armor.

As much as she wishes she had someone beside her, maybe Vette to make sarcastic comments on her choice of armor (Vette had something against her being in full Imperial suits, so Tri'ama didn't make it a habit to wear anything that screamed Sith), or Pierce's apathy over her decision (Pierce didn't have the same eye for fashion that she and their Twi'lek companion did, but was good company), or even Jaesa to inquire over more Sith teachings while she got dressed(Jaesa didn't care for fashion in the slightest, though she and Vette were getting closer to changing her taste in clothes), she knows it was dangerous already. All three of them, four if you counted Broonmark, were ready to haul jets at the first sign of trouble, though they'd all argued against her very sound and very well-thought out contigency plan. Somehow, some way, she'd made such an impact on them over the years that none of them were willing to leave her behind if the Emperor had his way and destroyed Yavin, and that alone was terrifying. What had made them stick around so long if not only for the benefits of her being Sith? It wasn't as they weren't well off with her, no one wanted for much because of the allowance they received from her. So much so that Vette had been visibly frustrated at the idea of her leaving them to their own devices -- permanently that she made her promise to come back to them, or so help her she would be coming down guns blazing and kicking the Emperor's arse into the next millenia.

Oh how Tri'ama loved her adopted sister. Only she would threaten using her two holdout blasters to kill an ancient evil, and make light of the situation at the exact same time. Jaesa and Pierce had readily agreed at the proposition, and not even a considerable sum of money would turn them from her service. Given, they weren't in a joking mood about Revan either, and it reminded her that she did have essentially a death squad riding around with her.

I don't want them crying at my grave when I die, I want them to continue on with their lives. Get revenge if they're so inclined, really. It'd be a fun show to watch down in hell.

I'm no God.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to get much of anything done this morning, she realizes, and she's still sleepy as she steps out of her tent. Usually, she's an early riser and didn't typically struggle to get going like this. Her first thought is the conversation she'd had with Malavai the evening prior messing with her emotional state, and then the cool night she'd spent out on the surely now busy taxi pad. But instead, it's as if the Force itself doesn't want her awake, as much as she lets the cool rain splash her directly in the face. There's a softness, numbing over the sharp edges of her mind, and it makes her want to lay down on the grass and close her eyes, though physically nothing other than her sore, dry eyes scream out to her that she's tired. Last night's sleeping period had been so quick, but that couldn't have been it.

Tri'ama remains exhausted as she continues to train vigorously in her own small place near her tent. It wasn't a horrible type of exhausted, so she's able to get up and get going, but her sluggish movements are only making her grow more frustrated with the situation entirely. It isn't until she grows so angry with being unable to hit the imaginary Revan in her mind, that she gives up with a growl in her throat and a broken pair of gauntlets on the ground next to her, her force strength also effectively tearing and twisting the durasteel pieces in two, and a piece of her tent coming crashing down as the pole snapped clean in half. Another piece of armor that saw the rage she could fly into at any given moment, and she'd have to acquire a new pair if she ever returned to Vaiken spacedock. The destructive usage of the Force seems to be what sets off the numbing action of the Force and allows her to see clearly, hatred flowing back into her like a roiling river and subsequently filling her with power. Tri'ama is in control once more, and a tight-lipped grin crosses her face as she hooks both blade hilts back onto her belt. She'd question it later, but she's wound up enough as it is. It's as if a ball of string has taken hold of her, and won't let her go. The anxiety continues to build as she packs up her small camp, and there's so much to get done before it's all over. A sense of finality washes over her as she throws the pack over her back, and turns her back on the small patch and heading back towards the main base, where the coalition forces' preparations are in full swing. People are running about here and there, speeders and transports are taking off all around her. People are saying their goodbyes, people are dueling with one another.

Mission reports that would be finalized and then inserted into their Intelligence archives, she reminds herself as she sees people running around with assorted datapads. Perhaps in preparation for most of the factions departure later in the day, some things she was sure Nox and Marr would keep their delicate hands on and stash away from the Republic 's watchful eyes under the pretenses they were only keeping the Empire intact after everything the Emperor had caused since the Revanites had risen. Because she wasn't technically part of the Council (as the Wrath, she was above the Council anyways, but assisted with the military Sphere considerably, but still didn't legally hold a seat) she didn't often have an opinion on how information should be handled or shared. Not one that would be listened to as it was. It wasn't as if the Republic wasn't going to do the same with their share of the information anyway. She was sure there would always be secrets she'd never learn from the Republic's excursion here on Yavin, though Intelligence would try their hardest to do so and acquire it from their former allies.

She's uneasy about it all. There's too much to be done in-between then and now, and it seems as if it all is impossible. As if it's all one big fever dream, and that they're all going to wake up to an apoctalyptic galaxy tomorrow. Tri'ama always had her reservations fighting impossible odds like this, and with how many deaths had been reported in the past few days fighting Revanites, people she was sure that assorted soldiers knew, she now knows why.

She would go as far as to believe it's the Emperor himself trying to cloud her mind, but it's too specific for him to be doing so, and not nearly strong enough to keep her from getting anything done. It's a curious matter she'd investigate soon enough, as it still leaves her mind sharp but a certain anxiety lifted off her shoulders for that very moment. To say the least, it's at least somewhat welcome.

Tri'ama isn't the last one to arrive at the war terminal, as both Nox, Grace and Lana remain missing from current company. Master Iresso lifts her head from where she'd been focusing on the terminal, maybe sensing her arrival, blue-grey eyes peering out of her hood curiously. She's changed into some sort of Jedi robe, dark brown and armored with grey plates. It's out of place for her, as she'd been running around in simply grey pants, boots and a sleeveless top for the last few days. It's nearly a 180 from her previous days with her, she realizes as she takes her place next to Marr. Just as quickly, Naji looks back down again, and whispers quietly back to Satele. No amiable smile, just the face of a worn battlemaster hoping to get through the day.

Tri'ama wasn't the only one who had realized just how much was on the line for this mission alone. She isn't the only one realizing that this was not a normal mission, that this was the end all be all.

As the others begin to trickle in, Theron seems momentarily surprised by her choice of armor once he takes notice after a break in the conversation. Though, he throws her a friendly half-smile that's barely covered by Master Grace's less than cheery arrival, which she reciprocates quickly before picking up the plan of attack again with Lana. Among all the X's and O's and possibilities and things that could go wrong and surely would, she's not hugely sure what had spurred her on so late at night to respond to the odd quote, but she couldn't keep herself from doing so. It was as if she was moving on autopilot as she was unsticking the wet clothes from herself, laying awake until she couldn't anymore. His name kept slipping into her thoughts as she tried to sleep. The way he looked at her on the Fury. It was such a distraction, but sadly, not an unwelcome one. The yearning was nearly painful at this point, feeling phantom fingers running through her hair, a ghost of hand on the small of her back.

Subconsciously, she wonders what he thought of it all. What he actually thought of her. What he saw her as, more than just the Wrath she figures.

She hopes.

She hadn't received a response from the Republic agent when she'd woken up this morning if there had been one, and she's curious if she's said something wrong to put him off.

You're probably breaking about six different cultural rules and another fifteen of your own personal moral code. What you said is the least of your concern.

"Finally, there can be trust between us -- and not a moment too soon." Marr begins, and Tri'ama pulls her attention from that concern, "As we speak, our forces are working with the Republic to end the Revanite threat and take the temple." As if to punctuate his words, another Imperial ship takes off and flies into the distance, a slight breeze blowing everyone's loose clothing and hair this way and that. And then another, and another. There must've been thousands of soldiers flying above them now, and she's in awe so many would work so closely with those of the opposite faction.

"In spite of our differences -- and the fact we're at war -- the four of you were able to inspire a sort of cooperation I never imagined possible." Satele says, a hint of an impressed tone underneath her calm attitude, "Credit where it's due: you succeeded where Darth Marr and I failed."

"But we aren't finished yet. There is one element even our combined militaries will be unable to stop." Darth Marr undercuts this with an ominious response, and Tri'ama's heart begins beating faster before the words can reach her lips, filling in the obvious blank.

"Revan." Whyatt says in a quiet voice, barely loud enough to carry across the meeting area. For at least the third or fourth time on this trip, she wonders if he's really qualified to be here, head down at the holoterminal and hands in a tight fist, dark knuckles nearly white. He's terrified, and even Tri'ama can't deny that she feels bad for him.

He's a Jedi, missing Master or not, it's not your job to feel bad. He's a Master, so of course he'd be able to protect himself.

"Given his failure, he'll try to escape, to regroup. That cannot be allowed to happen." Darth Marr says, and if this wasn't already set in hard stone, it is now. There isn't a single friendly face in the area that isn't ready for war, and Tri'ama readjusts her respirator. Naji gently bumps against the young Jedi appearing to be entirely on accident,  and moving to give Theron a datapad. It isn't very well hidden that all she wanted to do was comfort him, and by his meek presence change, it's well-received.

"Consider it taken care of." Nox answers proudly. There's a gold glow to her eyes, and her presence radiates confidence, as if they aren't walking into a predetermined death. A strange smirk falls over her face, eyes narrowing. She's battle-ready, ready to leave everything behind. Knowing the woman, she would be happy to deal the final blow to the living myth, "Revan will fall by nightfall."

That's it.

That would be all.

That was all.

That would be the last time she'd see any of these people in the same space again, and she takes in the scene. Three Jedi, an SIS agent, three Sith and herself. There's a sense of something powerful here, and what they've created over the last few weeks...Tri'ama would admit she was proud of. As much as she had her differences with the Jedi and her fellow Sith along the way, she had found that she, Nox and inadvertently, Naji had learned to rely on each other. If not without their own reservations, but it is fascinating.

As if they had not all been at each other's throats only weeks ago.

How would the war effort ever continue, with the Emperor temporarily disposed of and secrets easily being leaked between the two factions during their time here on Yavin? Surely it would be easy to gain access to the the other faction's safehouses and plans after all that had occurred. Warfare would be brutal in the coming months, and many civillians would end up losing their lives in a war they didn't sign up for. Would it be a stalemate for years, or would the Republic finally come out on top due to the loss of the Emperor? Would the Empire rise again, seeking vengeance for the loss of their God?

How would her own life continue, after meeting someone that respected her and was willing to challenge her and then losing him all over again? Knowing Quinn would always only be a holocom call away, that Pierce was only a few doors down? Knowing she would fall back on old habits anyways, sets a cold feeling within her that she can't shake. Everything is going to go back the way that she didn't want it to, the way she wanted to leave behind.

She's getting worse and worse and worse at trying to let go. Let go of this fantasy she's crafted in her head.

Tri'ama tries to catch Theron's eyes again before they leave, but he's already gone another direction than she has with the Barsen'thor, Master Grace and the Grand Master. Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she's halfway to screaming at her own indecisiveness and inability to even begin to admit her feelings. Nox yanks her along by a sleeve roughly though, and any thought of getting in contact with him before they fight Revan is replaced by annoyance for the older Sith Lord. The woman had the audacity to tow her along as if she were little more than a child, and the worse to be in little more than her typical light robes, and she wonders if she should tell her the prognosis wasn't good with her current fashion sense in mind. There may be armor underneath the black and gold fabric, but Tri'ama wasn't holding her breath that there was any. Nox was known for her beautiful outfits and even more over the top fights against Sith and Republic alike, but Revan would target her first if he knew this information.

They take a transport ship over to the Temple, a skilled Republic pilot at the helm. Tri'ama doesn't know their name, and intentionally doesn't ever mean to learn it. Leaning against the durasteel of the wall, she tries to distract herself from what was coming next. Naji sits quietly nearby, glowing dimly as she meditates, her force presence completely shut off. Not a single emotion is able to be felt from the Jedi, and considering everything going on around them, she is the eye of the storm within the whirlwind of other reactions she can dimly sense of everyone else aboard the ship. Nox rolls her eyes when she glances over to the Barsen'thor, picking dirt out from underneath her nails and fixing her pristine braid bun. Nox is never worried about any major battle ever anyways, and her subconscious scoffs at the idea of talking to her about the issue. Master Grace is with Satele and Theron in the cockpit, surely to calm him down or at least curb the worst of his anxiety. Marr is pacing nearby, seething his own hatred beneath the armor in preparation to expel it all in less than half an hour. Lana is on the ground between the seats, kneeling with a red aura about her. The Sith have been preparing for war, and here it is.

It's time to show Revan what galaxy he's threatened. Which people he will fall to.

She can't stop her racing thoughts, her racing heart. The ship creaks every once and a while, shaking in the airspace as the wind throws them about, rain thrashing in sheets against the hull. Tri'ama is trembling herself, though not enough to garner the attention of anyone else. She flexes and unflexes her hands, and the calming Force has dwindled away considerably. All of her senses are sharper, too sharp. Her anxieties are coming back in full force, and without the helping presence within her, there's not much she can do to keep it from bubbling up and out. She tries to focus on an arbitrary screw somewhere in the room, with her vision swimming as her lungs feel as if they're only getting smaller. As if at any given time, someone could shove a lightsaber right through her sternum and end it all there.

That thought only makes it worse, until she sits down on the opposite side of the bench from Nox. She can't stand now, it only feels as if the ship is getting smaller around her. The edges of her sight are darkening, her pulse loud in her ears.

"Don't think about everything that can go wrong. Think about everything that can go right." Yusaits had once told her a late evening in the spring rotation of Dromound Kaas, "That is the foundation of a strong attack, making an opponent believe you have the upper hand on them. You will just as easily crumble if you allow them to do it to you."

There's nothing that can go right here, even with the most optimistic outlook on it all. Something will have to give, and Tri'ama prays it won't be one of her people's lives that she loses in the midst of battle. Not that she was the most friendly person anyone would ever meet, but it would be a loss to the Empire should any of them lose to Revan.

The Jedi weren't exactly expendable, and if they died the Republic would have the four Sith's heads on sticks, but it would be hard for life to go on if Marr died, if Lana died, if Nox died. Two seats would be rendered empty and up for grabs from anyone who was put into the chair, opening up opportunity for a coup. Defense of the Empire and Ancient Knowledge, while small, had powers that Marr and Nox had yet to exploit. She could only imagine what would occur if someone else took the seats. Lana was only just now living on the promise that she'd get some sort of normal life back after all of this. Three children would be eternally waiting for their mother to come home to them, and have to live on knowing she died for a cause.

Tri'ama wasn't sure if she'd feel guilty for their deaths. She's conflicted, as the Empire is often about power first, not always alliances. Sometimes they fell into place by circumstance, like with Lana and Theron, sometimes they were after you had to admit your power wasn't that of another's, she bitterly remembers that's why Nox had even joined the coalition, because of a request made on her behalf. Sometimes it was sheer coincedence, like with Whyatt, or by fate, with the Barsen'thor. She would miss Nox, as frustrating as she was at the best of times, she would miss Lana. She didn't have a real opinion on Satele or Marr (and likely wouldn't ever), and it would be highly regrettable if Masters Grace and Iresso weren't around any longer to continue to defend the galaxy.

She'd be more than disraught if Revan killed Theron. He would never be safe from her wrath, no matter how far he ran. If she let him run, that was.

In the end, it was their decision to do this. To fight a power not many knew much about. To go up against fate itself, knowing (or denying) this may be their last fight. Ever. No going back, not backspace. This was it.

The ship hits something just as she finishes that thought.

Hard.

Tri'ama slides out of her seat and hits the end of the ship violently, rubbing the back of her head as Naji just nearly meets a similar fate. Lana has been surprised, evidently, and gets a Force hold on something first, Marr doing the same. The ship slows, righting itself as everyone gains their bearings again. A moment later, the door separating them from the cockpit slides open, and the Twi'lek who was at the helm is visibly displeased, lifting their goggles up onto their forehead, "Sorry for the rough landin' m'lords. Nearly would've gotten us all fried if we hadn't swerved like that."

"Nice to know the Emperor is trying to kill us before we even land to fight his precious champion." Nox groans, pulling herself up and dusting off her shoulders. Her hair has come out in strands around her bun, making her look more like the savage woman that Tri'ama knew her as, "Any opposing forces, Twi'lek?" She asks, a grimace on her face.

"Not any that I saw, m'lord. Given it's a kriffin' hell of a storm out there, but I have half a mind to to think we would've been shot down by now if there was someone out there with any rockets." They scratch the back of their head before sighing defeatedly, green eyes full of fear against their blue skin, "Two minute hike up there to the main part of the temple. Close as I could get you before I'd end up just landing on the temple itself and gettin' blasted to bits. Good luck, ground team."

"Thank you." Naji says, nodding to them as the blast door opens. The Twi'lek wasn't kidding about the storm, rain pounding down and lightning crackling in the not-so-far distance. Another lightning strike hits, closer this time, and she can see everyone awash with bright white light for just a moment. Naji moves closer to them, wrapping her arms around them hugging tightly, "Get back to base safely, Reese."

"You don't gotta tell me twice, Barsen'thor. Hope I can get back in before they shut things up, with the storm on the way and all. You and your crew always got a place at Carrick with me when you make it outta here." The Twi'lek bids the woman a hurried goodbye as the others leave the ship in various states of surprise, and Reese takes off again.

"Check your equipment, for I am sure this is the last time we will have the chance to do so before Revan wreaks havoc on us all." Marr says, his own lightsaber hilt in his hand. Tri'ama had dutifully done so enough times the night prior, almost to the point of staying up all night unassembling and then reassembling the parts of her lightsaber, but after the rough landing she was sure something was damaged. The armor had defused most of the damage she would've taken had she been in light armor, and she struggles not to hiss in sympathetic pain when she can see a deep purple bruise beginning to bloom on Nox's ghastly right arm as she checks her double saber.

Well, Nox thrived off pain. Hopefully it would serve her well now.

"If we fail on this mission, I wish for you all to know that you have been honorable allies." Satele says, reclipping her own lightsaber to her belt, "The Empire and the Republic have struggled to ally themselves for years, but today we have proven it is not impossible. This truce will not last forever, but I thank you all for your assistance while you were her."

"You needn't worry, Grand Master. We will not balk in the face of danger." Lana responds calmly in a parade rest, as if this was a normal occurrence for her, "Revan will fall."

"Glad we're all so optimistic." Theron says almost sarcastically, and if she weren't oddly observant right now, she wouldn't have caught Satele's near-perfect eye raise at her son's response. His eyes land on her, with a sad sort of determination behind them, "Barsen'thor, Wrath. Whenever you're ready."

She nods, hoping that he can figure she means more than well. The Barsen'thor is apprehensive to begin. Her hood can't hide her fear, and her presence is deafening to Tri'ama, setting in another second sense of anxiety within her. Is it this loud to everyone else? Overpowering and nearly throwing her off balance. Her nearly identical, troubled grey eyes won't meet her's, and Tri'ama decides it is no longer time for arbitrary truces.

It is time for action. She is ready to remind Revan who the Sith are and why they are among the most powerful in the galaxy.

It's harder to stalk her way through the rain and wind as if everything isn't bothering her and her heart is about to beat out her chest. At some point, the Barsen'thor catches up to her. Her hood has blown back, blonde hair blowing a whirlwind behind her. Her eyes are steeled ahead, a woman on a mission. The others would follow them in soon enough, but because Revan had already encountered them both before on Rishi, they'd lead the charge for the time being, in case they could get the drop on him or talk him out of whatever he was doing. The Jedi's idea, not hers.

Tri'ama would stab him through with a lightsaber before she even let him get close enough to talk. She did not reason with cult leaders. She did not reason with insanity.

The storm lets up rather suddenly when they arrive to the main part of the temple, and it's like walking through a curtain. It's only drizzling as the pair walk up the steps, and Tri'ama's heart nearly stops as they both pause at the top. The man is in all black, with a mask that covers his whole face. He wields a singular purple lightsaber, aiming for them both.

"It's over, Revan." She starts, struggling not to grab her own lightsaber at this point, and not throw at him as she would anyone else. This was not only the man who'd taken Theron from them, but also the one who had been tormenting her for months on end. Eating away at not only the Republic, but also her home, the Empire. Watching him fall would be her triumph, and it would be sweet to put an end to him, "You can't win."

"You've been at my heels for too long, Wrath." He answers, a gravelly voice from beyond the mask as he addresses her, "I knew the Rishi plan was a longshot, but I had to try. Had to make it legitimate. I needed to lure you both here." He pauses again, lowering his lightsaber for moment, "You were supposed to stay busy on Rishi long enough for me to finish here. But no, you couldn't do that, could you?"

"This has all been one big deception, hasn't it? You aren't even the man you claim to be." Naji finds her voice, and responds, stepping forward herself, "Don't try to deny it, you and I both know that."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He trails off, and Tri'ama reaches for her lightsaber as he turns from them, disigniting his own saber. Naji holds up a hand to pause her, and begrudgingly she drops her hand back down to her side. The Wrath isn't sure what Revan is about to pull, but the Force is at her disposal should she need it. When he does eventually face them again, he's removed his mask.

Who does he claim to be, if not Revan? If not the living body of the ghost they met in the cave, then who were they really fighting? The same scars run along his face, the same build, the same nearly soulless eyes. He's a carbon copy of the ghost, all without being see-through, and much less agreeable than the version they'd met before.

It's terrifying.

"I spent three hundred years in lock step with the Emperor's mind. I know what he's become, and what he wants." He declares, and she can only imagine the torture he went through years and years before she was born. It doesn't change that she still wants him dead, but she wonders if he's an omen to what she would become if she stayed loyal to the Emperor.

If that was the case, it only solidified her decision further. She was no Wrath of his any longer.

"The Emperor must be destroyed completely or he will return and consume every last thing! There is no cost too great. If I have to snuff out every life on this world by hand to draw the Emperor out, then so be it!"

"If you're Revan, then who did I speak to outside the temple?" Tri'ama asks, successfully ending his tirade. She's determined to get the answers before she kills him, even though Naji throws her an odd look. This will not go on as a mystery after she's gone.

"Of course, it's so obvious now. You have no idea what I am, what I've become." He responds, effectively skirting the question without even an answer, "I was a Dark Lord of the Sith. I was the Prodigal Knight. I was powerful -- but I was also weak. Not anymore."

"Now I'm pure. Unburdened. I can finally have revenge on my jailer and save the galaxy doing it!" That resonates a little too close to home, lightning crackling somewhere beyond them all and thunder clapping. At the very least, she, the coalition and Revan all have the same goal. But instead of dealing with it as they were, he started a whole cult to finish him off that backfired on him, "I have the power -- and you have nothing!"

She can hear the sounds of assorted boots behind her, and she allows herself a small smirk beneath her respirator at the noise. This was where they began their last stand, and their small fighting force has arrived.

"You are wrong, Revan." Marr declared. She can't see them just yet, but she knows that the others have arrived. Each presence is unique, but all scream in resistance, "They have powerful allies."

"Both Sith, and Jedi." Satele's softer but just as commanding voice adds.

"Allies from all corners of the galaxy." Lana audibly draws her saber and ignites it, the comforting hum of an ignited kyber crystal filling her ears. A few more are ignited behind her, and she can see the blue of Satele's, the green of Naji's and the red of Marr's beside her.

"They won't ever be alone." Confident as ever, Nox's lavender double blade is lit and pointed directly at him, "We've got you now, Revan."

What she first mistakes for thunder is the sound of a jetpack, and she lifts her head for just a moment to find a Mandalorian landing only a few feet from her. It takes her a moment to recognize the armor, and C2-D4 asks the question before she can, "Shae Vizla?"

"Heard the fight to end all fights was going down. What sorry kind of Mando would I be if I missed out?" She asks, a certain amount of humor in her voice. Though, Tri'ama isn't stupid enough to mistake it for idiocy. Unexpected, but her arrival was appreciated. It wasn't the Force, but Mandalorians packed a lot of firepower, and that was all they really needed against him.

"You were saying?" Tri'ama asks, finally pulling both sabers off her belt, the buzz of an ignited lightsaber welcome in her hands. Adrenaline is beginning to run through her veins, "This is your end, Revan."

"I don't care how many of you there are. I won't be denied my destiny! I am Revan!" He starts to cast something, and Tri'ama takes a defensive stance to try and block it. A blast knocks them all backwards, and she can just barely steel herself against the brunt of the attack, being thrown against a stone pillar. The wind is easily knocked out of her, but she gets to her feet easily enough. A quick scan of her allies finds them all in various reactions to the force blast, but they aren't too shaken from what she can see, picking themselves up and redrawing their weapons.

Surprisingly enough, she isn't the first to attack the man. An arc of lightning shoots across her path, Nox's hands outstretched with a maddening grin on her face. Revan shoves her back, an audible slam against another ruin as she crumples. She's able to get back to her feet with the help of the Barsen'thor, who'd been near her before previously. Both stand, Nox scowling with her red lipstick smeared across her face, ready whenever someone else attacks. With the break in his focus, Tri'ama leaps with a battle cry and Revan is forced to turn his attention to parry both of her blades with his own. With that, the battle is unleashed upon the ruins as she dodges lightning, blaster bolts and chunks of rock, trying to get a hit in here and there. He's good, she'll admit that. After three hundred years, he had plenty of time to cultivate an insane amount of skill. But she was wrath personified, rage in a human form.

Marr and Master Grace follow her attack, the Sith Lord and Jedi Knight leaping in after her in a haze of red and blue lightsabers in the fight. Revan dodges here and there, and they aren't exactly in sync. There are a few time she's sure she'd end up falling not to Revan, but to Master Grace's attack style instead. Not that it wasn't effective, but it was a far cry from her and Marr's Juyo form, one she recognized later as Makashi instead.

The battle wanes on for a long while, attack patterns ever-changing as cover fire rains down upon the former Sith Lord, the Barsen'thor and Satele making short work of any serious injuries anyone endured, Nox striking a few times herself after she gets bored of attempting to shock the man, the lavender blade not as easily parried as the other three force user's melee attacks. Maybe out of concern, maybe out of pure stupidity she keeps a tab on Theron, blocking the worst attacks from his position. It distracts her a few times, Revan's red blade keeping her on her feet.

They're winning, she can see as they press their attack. They will win. He's one man, they are ten highly-trained and powerful people people who are here to make sure he doesn't return again.

It isn't until he's clearly losing to the assaulting fighting force that he force chokes her nearly out of nowhere and lifts her off her feet for the time being. A strong grip on her throat and windpipe being crushed, she sputters to get a gasp of air in or out her lungs. Tri'ama struggles, vision blurring as her hands go up instinctively to claw at her throat. He focuses on her for a moment, maybe curious after throwing Grace and Nox back only moments prior. A few blaster shots ricochet harmlessly off his armor at that moment, but then it is over as soon as Marr attempts to get a hit in and she's thrown back with a powerful force throw against the outer wall nearby that nearly knocks her out entirely. Cotton and static fill her ears as she attempts to re-register her surroundings. A voice screams out her title, maybe? A shrill "Wrath!" by most likely the Barsen'thor by the tone of voice. Blasters continue to fire further away from her, lightning crackles and strikes in the distance.

And here she is, laid out by an ancient evil and curling in on her side where she'd hit the rock the hardest. Her head is pounding behind her eyes, surely from after hitting it so hard on her fall. Everything is too bright, and even through the impaired hearing, it's also too loud. Concussed, most likely, but she'd die before she let a mere concussion keep her down.She'd like to say that her life flashes before her eyes, but it doesn't. Instead, stabbing pain shoots up her side as she crawls to her feet, struggling to get her perception of the world back, and she finds that her balance is heavily distorted. Rubbing beneath her nose, she finds it comes away with blood.

The warm feeling envelops her again as she resummons the blade hilts to her hands, stalking back towards the fighting, but like before it leaves her senses sharp. The imbalance of her perception is rendered obsolete for the most part, and she's able to make the leap back to Revan with red lightsabers in hand. Tri'ama can only imagine she looks horribly mad, hair wet and all over her head, blood dripping from her nose and surely her head as well. Revan's strength was already faltering by the assault, as Lana had also given up her long-distance attack after she'd fallen. He very clearly doesn't expect her to come back, eyes widening as she slashes at his side in his moment of weakness. Lana slams him away with a well placed force shove as he falls, and he skids to a stop a few feet away. Tri'ama doesn't bother trusting that he's met death yet, and keeps her right saber ignited before marching over to him.

"In defeating me, you've let the real enemy linger on. You... you doom the galaxy!" Revan says breathlessly, pushing himself up onto his side as she aims her own lightsaber to his crumpled form.

"Had you been successful, had you brought the Emperor back, you would have made the galaxy's destruction all but a certainty." Tri'ama can barely form her words properly, breathing hard as pain shoots through her lung. Lifting her saber, she's ready to end it here and now.

"She's right, you know." A disembodied voice sends a shock of mild panic through her, but she can almost tell it isn't the Emperor. A moment later, the ghost of Revan appears before them all.

"No. Not you." His eyes widen in surprise at the new arruvals, and Tri'ama steps aside for the ghost to approach him.

"You've been blinded by your unchecked rage, your thirst for vengeance, that you could not see the truth." The ghost says, "Now that your power has subsided, I may finally confront you. I only hope you will listen."

"You're both Revan..." Naji notes curiously, approaching with the rest of the team. Easily, she's voicing one of about thirteen million questions that Tri'ama has in that very moment.

"Yes, though neither of us is truly Revan." The ghost of Revan admits, "When I died, I had come to terms. I was ready to become one with the Force. But I soon realized that was only what part of me wanted.

"I cast you out! It was the only way to go on -- to remain and finish what we started! You were holding me back!" The physical version shouts. Two versions? Two Revans? Tri'ama can't imagine how this might have come about, though disignites her lightsaber and hooking it on her belt.

"You think you're stronger this way, but you're not. Neither of us is. We're broken, we can't go on like this."

"I won't stop. Not until I conjure the Emperor. I have to face him." As if intended, or an ominous laugh sounds. Not a chuckle, but a menacing cackle. It's all around them, and yet sourcing from no where.

The Emperor.

"You wanted my return. You did not need to destroy whole fleets or turn a living world barren for that..." The Emperor says, a roar in his voice that Tri'ama would never begin to forget for as long as she lived, "You only had to point the Empire and Republic to a shared adversary, and let them do what they do naturally: make war. The scores of dead have nourished me. I am awakened. And I bring with me -- death!" Punctuating his words is a torrent of rain, lightning striking the temple in front of them. A purple light shoots into the sky, enveloping the building. Shaking erupts around them, and she falls to one knee, trying to ride out the earthquake. The wind picks up just afterwards, as she and her allies struggle to their feet.

"The Emperor was not as strong as he might have been had Revan succeeded, but he is strong enough." Satele says, as Revan turns away from them once more. An omen then, for what was coming.

They'd failed.

"No... he was supposed to face me...to..." He's struggling to even live at this point, Tri'ama can tell. As frustrated as he is, he knows that he's lost.

"You're too weak. You won't last." His ghost says, a sense of finality in his voice. Maybe she would read up on the history of Revan once she returns to the Fury, and she's rather curious how they were separated in the first place.

"I...if we unite, what I am -- won't it fade? Become diminished?"

"Wrath. Even I look in awe at your accelerated rise to power." Revan's ghost acknowledges her again, turning to face her as he ignores his physical form's questions, "You did not get where you are today through kindness or moderation. It had served you well. You make a fine example."

"I don't know if I'm ready." Revan's meek voice is too quiet to have been the same person they'd just fought off only moments ago, and the numbing power of the Force increases, numbing away the pain for just a bit longer.

"You have to be. We have to."

The next few moments are a blur that she attempts to process later. In a flash of light, the physical Revan is gone, armor falling to the floor in a heap. Only the ghost remains, "You've found your center." Naji says, voice straining to be heard.

"I have. For the first time in a long time." He nods in gratitude to the Barsen'thor, "Thank you -- for all you've done, and all you've shown me. Dark days lie ahead. The darkest days. If my error can't be undone, everyone will pay the price." Revan fades away in little more than just a flash of light blue light, "Brace for the worst..."

It's done.

It's over.

Rain pouring down, her adrenaline is sloping off. The pain is coming back in a wave. Though she has a reputation to uphold in front of everyone else, she attempts her best to follow after the rest of the team to meet Reese and leave for the staging area again. But her body betrays her in the worst kind of way, and her knees buckle beneath her, collapsing into a heap on the ground. The power of the Force can't save her from this, and even it can't numb away it all. Her vision swims before her, the Barsen'thor's robes the first thing she sees as she rolls onto her side. There's a flash of red and black, both Lana and Theron behind her. Tri'ama struggles to keep her eyes open long enough to respond to anyone, trying to push herself up with her now bad arm.

"Stars, Wrath." Naji groans softly, her own bloodied and bruised face looking down on her with her blonde hair plastered to the sides of her face. She's gently glowing, trying to do damage control on her assorted injuries. Warmth is pushed into her as Naji grimaces at the action, "You are going to have one hell of a headache in the morning."

"Given I wake in the morning." Tri'ama answers bluntly, slumping back down onto the floor in a heap. Naji nearly rolls her eyes before she's really beginning to lose her vision and perception of the world. Her eyes lift to Theron's form, blinking for a moment as his face becomes sharper. He's suffered, more scars added to the ones she had run her fingers over weeks earlier, some still bleeding. Everyone has.

They were supposed to end Revan. They were supposed to end the Emperor before he could wake again. She's flashing in and out of consciousness, as someone has picked her up bridal style to escort her back to the transport.

And then, the world goes black.

-

"So, I guess this is goodbye." A gruffer voice says as she wakes again. How long it's been that Tri'ama has been out, she's not sure. But as she comes to her senses, she has been taken out of the bigger pieces of her armor and left in her undersuit under a light blanket. Ships are taking off outside, and the lights are too bright for her to do much but crack open her eyes slowly. They've made it back to the staging area, and the tent flap closes back behind Lana. She can't do anything to acknowledge the other woman to let her know she's awake, so she just listens for the time being.

"I suppose so. It's been...an experience, Theron. Be well to yourself." Lana responds, standing to where he was sitting. She can feel Naji's presence somewhere, but nowhere in her immediate vincinity, which she finds odd. The woman must've left shortly before she woke up.

"Yeah. Yeah, you too Lana. Try not to get into too much trouble, all right?" The gruff voice grows a bit softer as her ears begin to unclog themselves, and she finds that it was Theron that she'd assumed Lana had been talking to. Why he'd been sitting with her, she's unsure. A warmth completely unattached to the Force fills her at the thought of Theron waiting on her, though she attempts to dismiss it.

"I'll try not to." Lana says, a smile in her voice. The Sith woman looks over to her surely broken form, a slight smile on her lips, "It's good to see you've recovered, Wrath."

"Recover may be too strong of a word." She groans, trying to push herself up against the pillows on the bed, and Theron pivots just out of sight to help her up. Not too quick to garner any suspicion, but his touch lingers just long enough to let her know it was more than just friendly, "We haven't won. But Revan is done for."

"As far as we know, yes." Lana says, coming to stand where she could see her. The woman had sustained some obvious injuries on her face, a cut that was sure to scar just above the collar of her armor, "The Empire is leaving very soon, and your crew will be landing in a few hours to collect you."

"According to the Barsen'thor, you suffered a concussion and a couple broken bones. Nothing she couldn't really handle, but we figured you'd be better off healing on your ship than passed out for a few days here." Theron fills in the blanks for her. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hazel eyes pinned on her, "You've been out for a couple hours, and she did the best to numb the worst of the pain until you could be moved."

"Oh wonderful. Surely not too much has happened since then?" Tri'ama questions her two companions. A couple hours here, anything could've happened before she woke.

"Nothing of note, no. Darth Marr would like to speak to you and Darth Nox when you return to the Fury for a minor debriefing though. Then, we all can go our separate ways." Lana answers. Her glance flickers to Theron for a moment, before the corners of her red lips curve upwards, "You've done well for yourself, Wrath. I have a few things to get done before I leave as well. If you ever need me, I'm only a holocom away."

Tri'ama nods, and Lana leaves. She'd been an honorable ally, and she dearly hopes she has the opportunity to fight alongside her again before either of them die.

Now, it is only her and Theron left. Frowning, she leans back into the pillows, trying to figure the best way to explain her feelings, explain anything before he leaves. He's got a bandage plastered to his face, and one of his implants is out, and she wants to reach out to touch him. Tri'ama doesn't want to leave him, she doesn't want him to leave.

She wants him to be hers.

But they haven't exchanged words since...nearly weeks ago.

"I-"

"I-"

They both try to start at the same time, and Tri'ama bites her lip before thinking to herself again.

"I'm sorry for my behavior, Theron. It wasn't fair to you." Is the first thing out of her mouth, and there's surprise behind his eyes and in his face, "I apologize if I lead you on for so long."

"No, I...I shouldn't have tried to get involved in something that didn't involve me. I should've been more careful with you." Theron says softly, and she lifts her head to meet his gaze, "This is my fault as much as yours."

"Theron. It isn't. I should've told you beforehand I was still married. There's no excuse for me not doing so other than petty fear. I'm sorry I ruined this." There's a pause between them, and he pushes a curl of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her jaw. Tri'ama leans into the touch, and he leans into her to kiss her gently. They stay like that for a moment, as she tries to savor the taste of him, knowing she'd have to let go soon. Stars, if she could just steal him back to the Empire, she would.

"What a ride, huh? If you'd told me when we met all the ups and downs we'd go through together, I'd have called you crazy." He says, after he pulls away from her longing gaze. His hand is only a few inches from her's as he sits on the cot, facing her, "Maybe I called you crazy anyways. I don't remember anymore. Between all my family fun with Revan and the Grand Master, and then, well, you..."

"How is it between you and Satele? Any better?" Tri'ama asks, trying to lighten the conversation. She is genuinely curious after offering him advice back on Rishi, and wonders if either party had succeeded in growing closer to the other.

"It's...look let's talk about that some other time, yeah?" Theron asks, expression dimming. Tri'ama wonders if she should tell him there won't be another time, but holds her tongue. This, she wants it to last as long as she can force it to, "Well, look, there isn't any easy way to say this, but...I mean, we both know this would have to end eventually. The Republic exonerated me, so I'm back in the fold. And they gave me a new job, a big one."

"That's quite a vote of confidence. You deserve it." She says softly, before placing her scarred hand over his. When it's not immediately denied, she intertwines his fingers with hers. A sad smile replaces his frown.

"Okay, that's...unexpected." He says, looking down at their hands before looking back up at her, sorrow written all over his face. This is hard for him, and she's making harder, just as she'd promised she wouldn't, "You know what this means right? Soon as we rejoin the fleet and make the jump to lightspeed, that's it. No more truce. You and I, we probably won't exchange another word ever again. No more unauthorized rides on the Fury, no more sneaking away from everyone else to have a few moments to ourselves. That's it."

She pauses, unsure how to respond as she tightens her grip on his hand. As if that'll make him stay any longer. Unlike Pierce, he really is unattainable. She can't have him long-term, and she'll never see him again. All she'll have are the memories of him on the Fury, with his fingers tangled in her hair, with his body pressed up against her's. There was no more star-crossed lovers written in the cards for her, and she hates that she has to accept it.

"I don't need words, Theron." She whispers, before painfully pushing herself forward to kiss him hard. As much passion that is running through her veins, she is sure Theron Shan has as well, "I only need you."

I don't love him, she reminds herself, taking a breath before pressing her lips against his again.

But you respect him. And you admire him.

Tri'ama isn't sure how long they spend together. Every moment she lays with him is another moment that someone could walk in, looking for one or the other. That only spurs her on though, kissing every inch of exposed skin that she can get her lips on. This was all they had left, and she doesn't want to let go. As much pain that courses through her body with every action, it's all worth it to have him to herself.

You don't love him, she reminds herself as he helps her off the cot, a strong arm around her waist.

You respect him for who he is, she reminds herself while he helps her replace all the of the durasteel armor that had been taken off her. It's slow going, kisses here and there. A bruise blooms on Theron's collarbone, another matching one on her neck.

And you admire him, she almost says aloud, once he's left after yet another bruising kiss. Their last. The son of a Jedi and a Republic Commander would never be hers, and she hopes that whoever does eventually lay claim on his heart fufills the hole she leaves.

She dials her holocall to find Vette and her crew once she's gathered all that she requires to leave.

But you don't love him.

You can't love him.

But blazes if it didn't mean that she didn't want to.

[daresplaining]

Who are your favourite DD villains? Fisk, Bullseye and Mr Fear all sound brilliant from what I know of them, but are there any others with similarly iconic influence on Matt?

    There are! Daredevil comics aren’t known for their well-crafted villains to the extent that, say, Spider-Man or Batman comics are, but I really enjoy a lot of Matt’s rogues gallery. Fisk and Bullseye are probably the two biggest names, but there are many others who have had major impacts on his life, and the Marvel Universe in general, over the years. Here are some of the most notable DD villains, in my opinion:

Gladiator (Melvin Potter) is a major antagonist who, over the years has become arguably one of the most nuanced and interesting Daredevil characters. I wrote a longer post about him, way back when we thought we might actually get a Gladiator origin story in the Netflix show, but in general, a lot of his lasting appeal comes from the complexity of his character. When he was first introduced in Daredevil vol. 1 #18 he was a pretty standard Silver Age villain: a guy with semi-logical origin story, a funky costume, and a penchant for monologuing. Specifically, Melvin Potter was the owner of a costume store who was sick of being disrespected by his customers, and so decided to make a name for himself by attacking people with spinning blades. 

[ID: A panel from Lee’s Daredevil run. Daredevil is battling the Gladiator. Daredevil hoists himself up on a big crate to dodge one of the Gladiator’s spinning wrist blades.]

Matt: “He’s not fooling with those wrist blades… he’s fighting for real! But, why? I’m certain I’ve never met him before!”

Melvin: “You can’t keep dodging me forever! And the moment you slip, you shall have the honor of being my first victim!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #18 by Stan Lee, John Romita, and Sam Rosen

    Over the years, various writers have worked hard to add nuance to his character. Despite his fearsome appearance and goal of gaining respect, most early Gladiator stories involve Melvin being manipulated by stronger, smarter supervillains. Later, he becomes even more sympathetic: a dangerous killer who, at heart, is gentle and naive and hates when he loses control and hurts people. This creates an inherent discord in his character that adds an emotional hook to all of his stories. Matt tries to help him, and Melvin is grateful for Matt’s friendship and returns that favor when he can, but sometimes they end up having to fight each other. Essentially, Melvin’s story is the relentless tragedy of a man who wants to live a peaceful life but keeps falling victim to his own demons and the cruelty of the world around him. 

[ID: A page from Miller’s Daredevil run. Matt Murdock, in civvies (a tan suit and blue tie) confronts Melvin Potter, who is in a prison uniform and holding his Gladiator helmet.]

Matt: “Melvin, we’ve come so far. I know how much you want to be well… to go straight. We can help you, Betsy and I.”

Melvin: “I been trying, Matt. I been sitting in that courtroom, listening to them say those things about me, feeling my guts churn up, wanting to rip them all to pieces… They hate me. They all hate me… so I’m gonna hate them back!”

Matt: “I’m not letting you off that easy. If you want to become the Gladiator again, you’ll have to get past me.”

Melvin: “Past you?! Look at you– you’re just a skinny little blind guy! I’d break you in half! It’d be easy…”

Matt: “Is that what you want?”

Melvin: “Why not? I’m the Gladiator! The Gladiator! When I’m wearing my armor, I’m unbeatable, I’m…” 

[ID: Melvin throws the helmet and falls to his knees.]

Melvin: “I’m all alone. Help me… please…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #173 by Frank Miller, Klaus Janson, and Glynis Wein

    This complicated and heartwrenching characterization has helped Melvin to remain a fresh and popular antagonist (anti-hero, even) and a regular guest in Daredevil. He is one of several characters who complicates the hero/villain dichotomy, and thereby both emphasizes and challenges Matt’s own heroism. 

Typhoid Mary/Mary Walker is another one of the more famous Daredevil villains, and someone who has had a significant impact on Matt’s story over the years. I wrote a longer post on her as well. Female antagonists in particular seem to suffer from a variety of weaknesses in their depictions, and Typhoid– as a sexual character by nature, as well as someone who plays upon “crazy” villain tropes– has had her share of not great depictions over the years. However, at her core, she is a wonderfully compelling character and a dangerous villain who is literally multifaceted by design. Even moreso than Melvin Potter, Mary plays upon the concept of a good person who is powerless to prevent themself from doing violent things– in Mary’s case, through genuinely having multiple psyches inhabiting one body. She is in constant conflict with herself, as gentle Mary and bloodthirsty Typhoid battle for dominance. As much as she is an antagonist to Matt and the other heroes whose paths she crosses, she is her own arch-enemy. 

[ID: An excerpt from Nocenti’s Daredevil run. Typhoid Mary and Daredevil are both underwater, in the East River. Mary looked panicked partway through strangling Daredevil, and flees out of the water.]

Mary/Typhoid: “Don’t kill him! You! Shut up! I love him! Stop! Get out of my head! You can’t kill him! Get out of my head! Oh, god! Where am I? Why am I dressed like this? What have I done?!”

Matt: “Curious. That’s a completely different woman running away! What came over her?”

Daredevil vol. 1 #256 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

    Matt’s dealings with Mary have brought about some of the more unheroic moments in his career. In Joe Kelly’s attempt to integrate the Man Without Fear-verse origin story into the 616 universe, he proposed that Matt nearly killed Mary on his first superhero outing. When Typhoid, in her introductory arc, is hired to seduce Matt, it works– he cheats on Karen with her. Later, when attempting to bring down the Kingpin’s empire, Matt removes Mary from the equation by sleeping with her to get her guard down and then forging documents to have her locked away in a psychiatric hospital. She hits all of his weak points: as Mary, she is a victim who needs rescuing… and an attractive one at that. As Typhoid, she is a dangerous enemy who must be stopped. In addition to her skill with weapons, she has all kinds of awesome psychic powers– including, most notably, pyrokinesis– and something about her physiology messes with Matt’s senses and makes her difficult to fight. She is a challenge on every level, and in many ways, Matt serves the same purpose for her– Mary (and, arguably, Typhoid as well) accidentally falls in love with him, representing a loss of power and control that she can’t stand. 

[ID: Excerpt from Nocenti’s Daredevil run. A series of panels alternating between Daredevil falling off a bridge and a tear sliding down Typhoid Mary’s cheek.]

Daredevil vol. 1 #260 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

The Hand I love the Hand– which is to say, I love the Chaste, and part of why I love the Chaste is because I love their rivalry with the Hand. On some levels, the Hand are your standard Big Bad Secret Organization, but I also find them to be a lot of fun, and they have been a significant force in Daredevil comics since they were introduced. The Hand are key players in Miller’s updated version of Matt’s origin, which introduced Stick and gave him a purpose for training Matt. They also had a huge role in Elektra’s origin, since her attempt to singlehandedly bring them down from the inside led to her becoming an assassin. And of course, Matt’s role as leader of the Hand and temporary vessel for their patron demon, the Beast, was a defining moment in recent DD comics and a low point of Matt’s career. The Hand are dangerous because they are vast, and their high-ranking members have all kinds of cool powers, which I love. And there’s also a certain amount of weakness and dysfunction to the Hand that makes them appealing. They are a once-great organization relegated to being mercenaries-for-hire. Their low-ranking members are fairly weak– as Matt quips in Volume 1 #380, “a little harsh language and [they’re] up in smoke!” They were led by a Skrull (disguised as Elektra) for a while, and didn’t even notice. Arguably their most dangerous enemy, Master Izo, mostly just bothers them with Hand puns. 

[ID: A panel from Diggle’s Daredevil run. Daredevil, seen from the back, is standing in an empty room. The light from the sunset streams in through the windows. Izo is sitting behind him on the floor, drinking tea.]

Matt: “Look, you wanted me leading the Hand, you got it… but I never agreed to be your puppet.”    

Izo: “‘Hand puppet.’ Heh.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #503 by Andy Diggle, Roberto De La Torre, Marco Checchetto, and Matt Hollingsworth

    I also enjoy the way the Hand and the Chaste operate and Matt’s relationship with them. Matt isn’t an official member of the Chaste (like Elektra, he was rejected for being too emotional– which, in his case at least, is a fair assessment) but he still teams up with them on occasion, and the experience almost always puts him out of his depth in really entertaining ways. Matt is one of the Hand’s biggest enemies and one of the Chaste’s most useful allies, so he gets dragged into their business even when he doesn’t want to be involved. 

[ID: Excerpt from Daredevil: Ninja. A conversation between Daredevil and Stone in a series of face close-ups.]

Stone: “We need your help.”

Matt: “You should have asked me to come.”

Stone: “Would you have?”

Matt: “I hate this ninja crap. I hate it. Every single time it’s nothing but lies, half-truths, and misguided loyalties. Stay away from me and my life.”

Daredevil: Ninja #2 by Brian Michael Bendis, Rob Haynes, and David Self

    There are also two excellent (and, I’d say, influential) alternate universes in which Matt joins the Hand and thrives in their presence: What If? Daredevil vs. Elektra and Earth-65 (Spider-Gwen-verse). 

Lady Bullseye (Maki Matsumoto) And if we’re discussing the Hand and the Chaste, I have to mention Maki– undisputed head of the Bullseye Fan Club and another of my favorite Daredevil villains. She’s relatively new (she was introduced during Brubaker’s run) and so hasn’t had a particularly big long-term influence on Matt, but she is a great character with extensive connections to Daredevil history. One thing I love about her is the fact that while she modeled her look and identity on Bullseye, she isn’t treated as just female version of him, as her name might suggest. They actually have very little in common; she just chose to honor Bullseye because he played a role in her origin story by indirectly rescuing her from a human trafficking ring.

[ID: Panels from Brubaker’s Daredevil run. Bullseye is single-handedly beating up a bunch of gun-toting mobsters in a warehouse building. Maki Matsumoto watches him between the bars of a large cage.]   

Caption: “She remembers that so vividly. Remembers the joy she beheld that day from her cage. She had never seen anything so beautiful, she thought. Of course, she was nearly insane already by then. But then, like a miracle… freedom.”

[ID: Maki reaches between the bars of the cage and grabs a key from a dead mobster’s pocket. As she tries to escape, another mobster runs toward her.]

Man: “You– back in your cage, girl!”

Maki: “I think not.”

[ID: Without looking at him, she slices his throat with the key.]

Daredevil vol. 2 #111 by Ed Brubaker, Clay Mann, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Since then, Maki has teamed up with Bullseye– mostly notably, resurrecting and caring for him after his death in “Shadowland”– but more often, she operates on her own as an assassin. Like both Elektra and Matt, she was trained by the Hand and the Chaste without forming an official allegiance with either, and it seems her primary teacher was Master Izo– thus making her Matt and Elektra’s ninja aunt and/or sister in the Chaste Family Tree that definitely exists in my head and nowhere else. 

[ID: Excerpt from Brubaker’s Daredevil run. Lady Bullseye and Izo are standing on a Manhattan rooftop as the sky brightens behind them. Pigeons are flocking around them; Izo has one perched on his hand.]

Maki: “You said I would lead the Hand.”

Izo: “I said a lot of things when I was training you, girl… Said whatever I needed to say.”

Maki: “You’re as bad as them.”

Izo: “No. I didn’t put you in a cage and sell you to the Yakuza.”

Maki: “You still used me.”

Izo: “Yes, I did… but I’m not going to apologize.”

Maki: “Someday I’ll kill you for this. You know that, right?”

[ID: Izo leaps off the roof.]

Izo: “Yeah, well… get in line.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #500 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, Matt Hollingsworth, et al.

    Maki masterminds the destruction of Matt’s life that leads him to join the Hand. She is extremely smart (she passes herself off as a lawyer during Brubaker’s run and fools both Matt and Foggy; as far as anyone knows, she might actually have a law degree…?), an excellent fighter (arguably better than Matt, not quite as good as Elektra), an absolute badass, and an all-around great antagonist who deserves her own solo series (hint, hint, Marvel). 

Death-Stalker I’m not sure Death-Stalker counts as a major Daredevil villain, but he was used about once a week in late 70s Daredevil so he’s certainly been a recurring presence. I also just find him really cool, conceptually. One of the interesting things about Death-Stalker is that he started his existence as a completely different supervillain: the Exterminator, who is best known for “killing” Mike Murdock! The Exterminator had a weapon that could shift its victims out of sync with the time-stream. When Matt blows it up to fake Mike’s death, the Exterminator is caught in the blast, with shocking consequences: 

[ID: Excerpt from McKenzie’s Daredevil run. A series of flashback panels: the Exterminator (a kind of goofy-looking villain with a purple and white costume and blue antennae on the side of his mask) watching Daredevil pull a lever, then the Exterminator getting caught in an explosion and falling into a void.] 

Death-Stalker: “How many long and empty years has it been, Murdock? How many… since you so callously destroyed my awesome Time-Displacement Ray… catching me fully in the time-shattering explosion?! How long has it been since I was hurled through the fabric of time? But what you believed to be my death proved instead a macabre rebirth! I found myself in a timeless limbo! Unobserved, I could go anywhere! Do anything!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #158 by Roger McKenzie, Frank Miller, and George Roussos

    Thus, the Exterminator returns years later as Death-Stalker– a villain who can move freely through time and space, become intangible at will, and whose mere touch is lethal. This, combined with his new appearance (glowing eyes, bony hands, huge billowy cape…) makes for an excellent creepy character concept, and some of the Death Stalker issues feel more like horror stories than the typical Daredevil comic. 

[ID: Excerpt from Gerber’s Daredevil run. A tired Daredevil is making his way through a swamp. Death-Stalker appears behind him out of the fog and puts a skeletal white hand on his shoulder. Daredevil collapses.]

Matt: “H-he’s gone! Nothing but an empty cape! It’s not possible! It– where did he go?!”

Death-Stalker: “Here, Daredevil. I am here. Death is at your back.”

Matt: “Huh? Wha– No!! My… shoulder… your fingers… like ice–!”

Death-Stalker: “Like death, Daredevil. Like the grim, glacial embrace of the North Wind. No use to flee… you can’t outrun the wind.”

Caption: “For Daredevil, for this sightless adventurer, all the world is blackness, all the time. But now, a different kind of darkness envelopes him, a sort of oblivion he has never known before. He hears his heartbeat slow… feels his mind empty of all thought… feel his every nerve tingle, then go numb… and he knows that he is… dying. And that is all he knows when the darkness claims him and the Death-Stalker relaxes his grip.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #114 by Steve Gerber, Bob Brown, and Stan G.

    Sadly, though, I don’t feel he was ever used to his full skin-crawling potential, particularly considering how dangerous his power-set was. He was mostly just a nuisance who rarely got the upper hand, and he was killed in Daredevil #158 when he accidentally materialized through a tombstone during a fight with Matt. One of my favorite details about Death-Stalker isn’t Death-Stalker himself– it’s that his mother lived in a booby-trapped mansion and owned an army of exploding robotic children that she sicced on Matt to avenge her son’s death. But that’s a story for another post… 

Jester (Jonathan Powers) The Jester gets no respect, and it’s a shame because he’s both genuinely a great villain when he’s used well and highly entertaining when his 1960s goofiness is played up, and he manages to embody both of those characterizations with absolute panache. He has played a role in some fairly major Daredevil stories over the years and I’d consider him a staple DD villain. His origin story is pure Silver Age silliness: he was an actor who received bad reviews for his first major starring role, found his career heading downhill, and so decided to become a supervillain instead. This is pretty typical of motivations for villains of this time period (see the Gladiator’s origin story above, and Stilt-Man below), but even this aspect of his character has been put to good use. Daredevil #218 features a surprisingly touching story of the Jester stealing the chance to reprise that first starring role– and of Matt keeping the cops distracted (by pretending to be the Jester!) so that his enemy can finally live his dream. 

[ID: Excerpt from O’Neil’s Daredevil run. The Jester is dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac. He pulls off his false nose and bows dramatically to Daredevil and the cops who have come to take him in.]

Jester: “A moment ago you unmasked. Now I shall perform a similar gesture… I am your humble and obedient servant… the Jester! At your service!”

Matt: “You deserve the bow. You were magnificent.”

Jester: “Indeed! I trust the critics will change their tune.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #218 by Denny O’Neil, Sal Buscema, and Christie Scheele

    Throughout the issue, Matt draws comparisons between himself and the Jester: their shared mask-wearing and the experiences of disillusionment that shaped their lives– and while it certainly doesn’t give the Jester the emotional depth of certain other Daredevil villains, it’s a memorable connection. 

    But where the Jester is at his most dangerous is not as an actor looking for attention– it’s as a creator of chaos. The Jester is a master of illusions and media manipulation. In his introductory arc, he frames Daredevil for his murder and turns Matt into a wanted criminal. Later, he uses a campaign of false news reports and misinformation to sabotage Foggy’s run for District Attorney, turn the superhero community into targets, and throw the whole country into an uproar. Most recently, in Waid’s run, he manipulated TV footage to cause rioting in NYC in the wake of an unpopular and highly publicized court ruling. His plans don’t always succeed, but even then, the scope and effectiveness of the damage he causes makes him a truly formidable villain.

[ID: Excerpt from Waid’s Daredevil run. The Jester is sitting in front of computer monitors in a dark room, yelling into a microphone. In the next panel, we see random civilians in a cafe, watching “Mayor Jameson” (played by the Jester) on TV.]

Jester: “Listen to him. God, he’s so smug. No matter. This is a minor setback. Daredevil’s not the ultimate target, after all. The city’s the target, and it’ll burn. Voice synthesizer on… People of New York… this is Mayor Jameson! Effective immediately, I am rescinding all handgun regulations in Manhattan! Take up arms– for your own protection– and await further instructions!”

Daredevil vol. 3 #32 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

The Owl (Leland Owlsley) The Owl has, unfortunately, been overshadowed by the Kingpin for most of his existence, and as such, hasn’t been given anywhere near the same amount of character development or nuance. They were created based on the same character concept: a high-powered mobster with a shadowy network of pawns who controls the city’s criminal underworld. 

[ID: A series of panels from Lee’s Daredevil run, showing a man in a long green coat and brimmed hat walking into an office building. His face is not shown; the people he passes looked at him with fear.]

Caption: “This is Wall Street, heart of New York’s Financial District, where fortunes are made and lost by the world’s greatest financial wizards! And, within the canyons of this street, we are about to find one certain man… a merciless man… a man with no friends… no loved ones… nothing to connect him with the human race, save the fact of his birth! Let us follow this man… let us study him as he walks into a towering office building, his heavy footsteps reverberating through the huge marble lobby! For we shall see much of this man on the pages that follow… He walks slowly, but with a sure, steady tread… looking neither to the right nor the left… ignoring those he passes and those who pass him! But he himself cannot readily be ignored by others! His very presence seems so fraught with evil, with menace, that his fellow humans shrink back from the mere sight of him! There are some who recognize him… who speak his name in whispers… for his wealth is said to be legendary, and his power almost beyond measure!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #3 by Stan Lee, Joe Orlando, and Sam Rosen

    Unfortunately, the Kingpin just ended up doing it better, and while there are a few Owl story arcs that I really like, I’ve never found him that interesting. However, he is hugely significant because he was the very first Daredevil supervillain, introduced all the way back in Daredevil #3! (In #1 Matt fights the mobsters who killed his father, and in #2 he fights Electro, who is a Spider-Man rogue.) Thus, he has had an impact on Matt’s life simply from having been around for so long. This also means there’s a huge range in his stories, verging from extremely ridiculous (he sometimes eats rats, and used to own an owl-shaped airplane. How cool is that?) to slightly more grounded. There is a great Owl story arc in which his bird-like body modifications start killing him, which gives his law-breaking more nuance, because he is doing it to look for a cure. Matt, upon discovering this, tries to help him. 

[ID: Excerpt from Chichester’s Daredevil run. Daredevil and the Owl are on a fire escape together. The Owl has metal cybernetic legs and has collapsed. Daredevil is comforting him.]

Matt: “You’re going to make it, hear me? You’re gonna–”

Owlsley: “You should’ve let me…”

Matt: “Unh-uh. You take my hand– you’re willing to take my hand– I don’t let go. You’ve got some long ways to go, mister… but you can count on me…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #303 by D.G. Chichester, M.C. Wyman, and Christie Scheele

    There’s also great point in Bendis’s run when the Owl, in a surprising demonstration of cleverness, hires a lawyer to sue Daredevil for breaking and entering. It doesn’t work, but it throws Matt off and is absolutely priceless. 

    The Owl has also had several children– two unnamed young kids who were introduced in Alias, and Jubula Pride, who was introduced in Daredevil Volume 4 and worked alongside Matt to rescue her father. Jubula’s brief-but-memorable appearance added a bit more depth to the Owl– allowing us to see him in the role of a parent as well as a villain. But mostly, over the years the Owl has remained one of the more insidious of New York’s mob bosses, always scheming to stay in power and fight his way out of the Kingpin’s shadow. And he’s been doing it for so long that he feels like an integral part of Daredevil comics. 

Turk Barrett He’s not a costumed supervillain or even much of a threat, but Turk has become an iconic Daredevil antagonist for both his sheer ineptitude and his plucky ability to stay alive. Of all of the recurring low-level mobster characters, he has the most engaging personality, and his dynamic with Matt is one of long-held friendly animosity. Daredevil isn’t the most dangerous person in Turk’s life, Turk isn’t the most dangerous person in Matt’s life, so they mostly just annoy each other. They’ve even been known to team up, when Turk thinks the odds of survival are in his favor. 

[ID: Excerpt from Daredevil: Love and War. Turk Barrett (dressed in a white shirt and blue pants) is mopping the inside of an elevator. The doors open, and Daredevil walks in. They ride the elevator together.] 

Matt: “Turk! You got the job!”

Turk: “No, man… this… I mean, I’m working undercover, man… I’m your backup!”

Matt: “I believe you, Turk.”

Turk: “Even know what level the doc’s on, man… So how’d you get in, Devil?”

Matt: “I flew in, Turk.”

Turk: “…Course. I knew that. ‘Spose the window locks weren’t much trouble…”

Matt: “Melted them with my heat vision.”

Daredevil: Love and War by Frank Miller and Bill Sienkiewicz

    Turk is an underdog. He’s kind of a goof and he’s certainly a criminal, but he’s also a small fish in a big and dangerous pond, working in a career where most people eventually end up at the bottom of the East River in concrete shoes (or a taxi, as the case may be). He’s slippery and resourceful, he stays just harmless enough to keep himself out of danger, and you can’t help but root for him, even when he does dumb things like stealing Stilt-Man’s stilts or trying to kill Daredevil for the hundredth unsuccessful time. 

Stilt-Man (Wilbur Day), of course, requires no introduction. He is another personal favorite of mine, and a rare case of a goofy Silver Age villain surviving into the modern era while remaining exactly as goofy as he was when first introduced. The great appeal of Stilt-Man is, in fact, that he’s a bit of a joke, while at the same time being quite dangerous, in a comic book physics-kind of way.  

[ID: Excerpt from Lee’s run. Daredevil is battling Stilt-Man on a daytime city street.]

Wilbur: “Hah! You missed!! Have you forgotten so soon how easily I can change my height, thanks to my magnificent hydraulically-operated stilts?!!”

Matt: “Mebbe so! But I haven’t forgotten that I’m the gent who whumped you good last time fought! (Man! It sure is lucky I was here! If Stilt-Man ever managed to get the Leap-Frog safely away, what a team those two would make! But, I hear the boys in blue hauling that human jumping jack right now! Which means Stilty and I can go it alone!) Heads up, dad! It’s time for fun ‘n games again!”

Wilbur: “Hah! Didn’t expect me to seize your cable, did you? I should have warned you, little man– I’ve modified my protective armor in such a way as to double my strength! Which means I’m more than a match for your limited talents!!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #26 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, and Artie Simek

    Part of the charm of this characterization is the fact that he’s a joke in-universe as well; most of his appearances in modern comics consist of Stilt-Man being made fun of and/or of the audience being reminded that he’s actually a threat. This creates a great balance in his depictions; the jokes are fun, the sight of various superheroes being beaten up (at least a little) by Stilt-Man is fun, and he remains an enjoyable, mostly lighthearted presence in a landscape that has become dominated by Dark, Serious, and Disturbing villains. 

[ID: Excerpt from Bendis’s Daredevil run. Matt is sitting at his desk in his darkened office, talking to Wilbur Day– a short, bald guy in a black jacket, with his arm in a sling.]

Wilbur: “Wilbur Day– I’m Stilt-Man. We’ve met four hundred times.”

Matt: “Stilt-Man– Huh. Oh, you mean that burglar guy Stilt-Man? Who wears the stilts and robs things?”

Wilbur: “Can we please just–”

Matt: “We’ve met when?”

Wilbur: “I–”

Matt: “Are you in some kind of legal trouble? Is that why you’re here?”

Wilbur: “Okay, fine.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #41 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Stilt-Man is just a short guy in a ridiculous outfit who wants to commit some crimes and get a little respect– and really, who can’t relate to that?  

Ikari (???) I’m mentioning Ikari not because he’s a long-established Daredevil villain– he’s not– but because I am fascinated by his potential. He’s a favorite of mine as much for what we don’t know as for what we do. In his introductory arc, we learn this: He was engineered/commissioned by Bullseye to kill Matt, his fighting abilities equal Matt’s, he has hypersenses, and (as a horrified Matt discovers later) he can also see.

Ikari: “Someone has, in fact, managed to re-create the toxic chemicals that blinded you, gave you enhanced senses. Someone whose hate for you keeps him alive. But he didn’t waste the process on weak, malnourished vagrants. He used it to baptize a warrior. A fighter trained to be every bit your equal in skill– and now, in power.” 

Daredevil vol. 3 #25 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

    And that’s it. We don’t know who he is or where he came from, or what the consequences are of having that degree of sensory perception (presumably his vision is heightened too?). We don’t know what his personal goals or motivations are, since we’ve only ever seen him as a pawn– first of Bullseye and then, later, of the Kingpin. But the concept of his character as someone who shares Matt’s powers plus some– who is essentially, skills-wise, a criminal version of Matt– and all the mystery that surrounds him, is hugely compelling to me. 

[ID: Excerpt from Waid’s Daredevil run. Both Ikari and Daredevil are out on the street, being shot at by cops. As Daredevil hides behind a parked car, Ikari attacks the cops and cuts their guns in half with his blades.]

Matt: “The cops are hunting me under an open-fire command. Presuming they’ve been advised of Ikari’s prison break, I’m sure the same order applies to him. I wish it scared him. I wish anything did.”

Daredevil vol. 4 #17 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Matt Wilson

    In his last appearance he was killed by the Shroud, but his body was stolen, leaving the door open for him to maybe return sometime in the future and receive more development. I hope he does. 

[2k18leo]

“Could you be happy, here, with me?”

((You guys are super sweet with the nice comments I received from uploading my last piece of writing! This one is a lot longer than the previous.  Hope you enjoy! :) ))

“And you’re sure?” Leo asked, raising an eyebrow. He led you to the manhole cover in the alleyway on 6th.

“Hell yes, Leo!” You said excitedly. “I’m tired of only seeing you on rooftops and Central Park. You’ve been to my apartment. I think it’s only fair that I see where you live and thrive.”

He smiled at you, making his mask wrinkle a little near his eyes.

“Okay, but,” he began, “it’s not nearly as nice as your apartment, okay?” He put his hand out and grabbed yours, running his thumb back and forth along your fingers. “It’s… full of guys, for one thing. So—”

“Leo,” you began, cupping his cheek with your other hand, “you’re stalling. C’mon, I’ve already met your family -- I mean, except for your dad, but--”

“Yeah, well, he’s hardly off his lazy ass.”

“Leo!” you laughed, scolding him for that disrespectful comment.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, “C’mon, I can’t pull up this sewer cover myself.”

“Alright, y/n, but just know … you asked for it.” Leo crouched down and pulled up the cover to reveal a dark opening.  You caught yourself staring at his flexing biceps for a moment. A soft warmth grew across your cheeks.  A smile formed on your face as you checked out the turtle you had a crush on.

Once the manhole cover was completely off, the smell of the sewers hit you pretty instantaneously.  He put out a hand for you to help you down into the almost-pitch blackness that was the sewer. Hesitantly, you made your way down, gripping the rusted ladder bars that would soon take you into an underground world in which you’d be practically blind to. After you were far enough for Leo to climb in and pull the manhole cover back into place, you wished you had brought a flashlight. With no solid ground seemingly coming any closer under you, you tried your best to see through the jet black space, but nothing. The only reassurance that you weren’t alone was hearing Leo’s own steps on the bars right above you.

“I’m surprised you haven’t made a comment about the stench, yet,” said Leo, giving a laugh.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.” You smiled up at him even though you doubted he could see it.

You finally hit a flat surface under your foot. It was nice to be off the ladder, but you still had no idea about your surroundings, so you tried to stay as close as possible. When Leo dropped down next to you, you could feel his fingers lace with yours.

“Okay,” he whispered, “Since you thought it was a good idea to wear that cute-ass outfit today—”

Your mouth dropped in a half-smile, “I wanted to look presentable when I met your father!” It was so dark, you could hardly tell if your eyes were open or shut. But, you could hear his soft laughter next to you.

“Whatever,” he scoffed. It was almost as if you could hear him smiling. Without any warning, his arm hooked under the back of your knees, making you let out a small gasp, and he picked you up bridal style. Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as he began to walk. While you were astonished that he was so calmly walking through this pitch black maze, you also figured that he had made this trip thousands of times. It took you far too long to realize that you had a flashlight on your phone. Pulling it out of your back pocket, you instantly illuminated the scene.

“Hm, so that’s what it looks like down here,” said Leo, thanking you for the light that he still had no need for.

He walked on and on for about ten minutes or so, having made multiple turns both right and left. The darkness beyond the shine of your flashlight was eerie and gave you goosebumps.

By the time you had lost count on how many turns he had made, you started to see a faint light in the distance.  Now, there were old subway tracks beneath his feet instead of the murky water that Leo stood in when he began the walk.  You let him put you down and the two of you walked the rest of the way side by side, each step making the light glow brighter.  It was an abandoned subway station, hardly recognizable, where they lived.  The only part that made you believe it used to be a station was the line of turnstiles at the entrance.  He led you up to the turnstiles and you saw his home for the first time.  It was actually beautiful, considering it was underground in a literal abandoned subway.  Walking in, you saw multi-colored lights strung up and around walls, bean bags scattered about what appeared to be the living room, and the entirety of the lair was even bigger than you had imagined.  

“Okay,” said Leo, “It’s not usually this nice.  The boys must’ve cleaned for once while I was out.”  He called out his brothers names to let him know he was back.

Donnie was the first in sight, walking by while fiddling with his gadgets on his arm.  His expression proved he was lost in thought, but the sight of you made his eyebrows fly up in surprise.  “Ah, y/n, yes, good to see you.  Always a pleasure--”

“Y/n’s here?” You heard a voice call from the other room.  Almost immediately, Mikey leapt in with a wide grin across his face.  “Hey, girl! How you been?” He greeted you with a hug around your middle.  You laughed and answered, saying that you had just recently landed a job at a local smoothie joint near your apartment.  

“I mean, it’s not pizza, but oooh, girl, I could get down with some smoothies!”

While Mikey started going off about a story recalling this one time Leo had made him laugh so hard some smoothie squirted out of his nose, you heard Donnie say that if anyone needed him, he would be in his lab.

Suddenly, a booming sound started, making you look around to find Raph running towards you.

“Y/n!” he shouted, slamming into you and wrapping you up in his huge arms.  You could feel the ground depart from your feet.  Picking you up was like lifting a feather for him.  

“It’s great to see you too, Raph!” You said through a strain.  

“Whoa, whoa,” you could hear Leo say somewhere beneath you, “That’s my girlfriend, don’t break her, Red.” His voice wasn’t full of concern, but more of laughter.  

Raph plopped you back down on your feet, “It’s been too long, Shorty.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s been about two weeks since I’ve seen you guys,” you replied, smiling up at him.

“Well, you here now!” Mikey leaned his elbow on your shoulder, “An’ we got a full day of crazy-fun things to show you!”

“We do?” Leo cocked an eyebrow.

“Hell yeah!” Raph fist-bumped Mikey, “C’mon, y/n, we got a video game set up so get ready to lose.”

You began following Raph and Mikey, laughing, “Nah, I’mma kick you right in the shell!”

Leo watched you walking off with his brothers.  A smile grew across his face; he was pleased to see how well you got along with his family.  

After about an hour of playing video games, the only one who you couldn’t beat was Mikey.  Donnie joined in when you all started playing foosball.  The boys were surprised how good you were at that game.

“Dude,” Mikey addressed Leo, “She’s kicking our asses!”

Leo laughed, “Yeah, why else do you think I’m on her team?” He sent a smirk in your direction as he nudged you with his elbow.

“Well, statistically speaking, someone else should have won by now.” Donnie said, frustrated that it had been over eight turns since he had made a shot.  

It wasn’t long before the turtles gave up trying to beat you at foosball, and moved to the living room for a movie. On the walk there, you saw a figure moving by.  It was short, grey, and had a long tail that trailed behind it.  You could only assume that this was--

“Oh, Pop!” Leo called to the figure, “This is y/n.” He put a hand around your waist and used the other to gesture to you.  “Y/n, this is my dad.”

The short creature looked up at you. It was a rat.  You don’t know why, but you had always pictured an old turtle when Leo spoke of his father.  But a rat?  I mean, you weren’t judging.  Everything about this family was different already.  That’s what you loved about it.  You put out a hand to greet the rodent.  It’s whiskers twitched momentarily, just as its snout did, sniffing you out.  His hands were full with a steaming cup of tea, yet he balanced the cup in one hand as he let go with the other to extend it to you.  The handshake was gentle, and he gave you a small smile, which you returned.  Though no words were said between the two of you, you felt that he accepted you at least as an acquaintance.  

After the rat hobbled away into what you figured was his room, you turned to Leo.

“Don’t worry,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, “He just doesn’t know you, yet.  Give it time.  C’mon, Mikey’s making popcorn.”

He led you over to the living room where a projector portrayed a screen on a wall.  Donnie was setting up the movie while Raph was lugging in a pile of blankets.  

“Okay, boys,” said Donnie, tinkering on the projector, “what genre are we thinking tonight?”

“Rom-com!” Raph shouted, dropping down into a bean bag chair.

Leo put a hand to his forehead as he said, “Raph, we did a rom-com last week and you were the only one that wanted to watch it then, and you’re the only one that wants to watch it now.” Leo smiled at you as you stifled a laugh. The two of you sat down on a single, large bean bag, his arm wrapping around you.

“Ooh, horror!” Mikey cried, walking in, balancing a few bowls of popcorn.

“What did you call me?” you shot him a look.  Mikey stopped in his tracks, his eyes staring wide and his face flushing of color.  

“I—wait—no, I didn’t mean—” Mikey stammered.  

You cracked up in laughter.  Leonardo grinned at you, letting out a small laugh of his own.  Your laugh was one of the many things that made Leo fall so damn hard for you.  When Mikey realized that you were making a joke, he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, D,” you said after your fit of laughter, “Horror sounds great.”

Mikey walked by, handing you a bowl of popcorn to share with Leo, “You two are perfect for each other.”

You looked up at Leo, smiling, and he did the same down to you, giving you a squeeze on your waist.  As Donnie began the movie, you nuzzled up next to the blue-clad, pulling a blanket over the two of you.  About half-way through the movie, you looked around at the others.  Donnie was asleep, his head leaning on a propped up arm.  Raph and Mikey were snuggled so close together with wide eyes, staring at the screen.  They both had blankets nearly covering their eyes for a jump scare that could spring out at any moment.  You figured Leo was asleep due to how still he had been for the past twenty minutes.  His chest rising and falling at a slow, steady rate, which moved you ever so slightly as you were leaning on him.  So, it definitely caught you off-guard when he whispered into your ear,

“Thank you.”

“For what?” You asked, drawing your eyes away from the screen to look up at his deep blue eyes.  You adored the faint glow of his red stripes due to the random flashes from the movie.

“For coming down here… for wanting to.”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I want to?” you whispered, furrowing your eyebrows.

“It’s just… here with us.  Do you think you could actually -- could you be happy, here, with me?  Like, really?”  His eyes were staring so deep into you, begging for a positive answer.  You don’t believe he has ever felt like this towards anyone else before you.  It probably wasn’t that often he brought a girl home.

A small smile flashed across your face as you answered sweetly, “Absolutely.”

A smile of his own, larger than yours, grew so wide it wrinkled his mask.  He closed his eyes, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours.  He let out a small laugh of relief before kissing you sweetly.  You could feel the arm he had already-wrapped around you flex as he wrapped the other arm around you in a hug.  He then began to cover you in kisses around the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and your jawline.  You giggled quietly until Raph and Mikey shushed the two of you.

“Ay!” Raph whispered loudly, “If you two are done bein’ all cute and--” he was cut off by a scream on the movie, making him gasp so loud he nearly screamed.

You and Leo chuckled at Raph, then silently decided it was best to continue respectfully watching the movie.  You nuzzled again into Leo, resting your head on his plastron.  You could feel him rest his cheek on the top of your head.  His thumb grazed back and forth across your arm.  Once again, your eyes looked between the sleeping Donnie, the terrified expressions of Raph and Mikey, and the turtle you rested on.  This was a life you could see yourself living.  It really was.  Right at Leo’s side.  Could life get any better than this?