#wanting to do for the greater good. walking the path and blood starts gathering on your hands and at your feet. the end goal isnt there now

[mishy-mashy]

Kudo and Lady Nagant are actually parallels and foils to each other.

Kudo led a Resistance to fight for what he believed would be the greater good (taking down AFO), knowing his path was hard and killing many for that purpose.

Lady Nagant follows that same path, Pro Hero version: being a Hero to help others, but killing many in the process and realizing how this bright light she believed in casts a darker shadow.

Lady Nagant's tired, which is why she killed the chairman and was arrested. Exactly because she grew tired of everything and shouldering the duty on her own, she's set apart from other Heroes and inmates

But even though she's sick of platitudes (righteous/flowery words for a greater moral purpose), Kudo doesn't dislike them

Kudo isn't tired of those. He wasn't tired of fighting against AFO. He's still fighting, and in ch. 413, he's still willing to die for this purpose.

Even if All For One is technically dead, the Quirk and will lives in Tomura, and Japan is still collapsing. It's all about to come down, and Kudo's seen this before.

Kudo could've easily been just like Lady Nagant. Fighting against society itself, scrounging things and people to fight, and watching so many die on your path, for and against you, so you can keep doing what you should...

Kudo's not optimistic like Midoriya and Hawks. He's aware of what he's done for his purpose, like Nagant. But he still looks toward the future, and is optimistic to believe in that. That what he's doing will help the future.

Lady Nagant saw Hawks and Midoriya, and wondered how they could keep fighting. Why were their eyes still alight?

Lady Nagant asks Hawks how that can be. AND HAWKS' RESPONSE?

HE WASN'T ALONE. HE'S STUPIDLY OPTIMISTIC. WHO DOES THAT SOUND LIKE?

Hi Kudo.

Can you imagine how bullheaded he has to be to do this? How could you grow up in crumbling Japan, and still think about stopping the great evil looming on the horizon? How could that thought have ever occurred to him, to go against current reality? That the person bringing peace really isn't? That he should stand up and fight?

Even Kudo thought Midoriya was delusional, and Nagant can't understand them for being so hopeful. But Kudo himself is crazy for standing up to fight the greatest evil at his peak, with even less strength than anyone else. First Generations were weak, not only because AFO took everything good, but because they were the base of the age of Quirks. The first Quirks were all weak. They'd only grow as they mixed and evolved through time.

Kudo falls into the group of people Nagant can't understand. The group that Nagant grew out of.

If Kudo had been alone like Nagant, he'd have been just like her in the end. But he wasn't. Even though their paths are so similar. They're both fighting a dark, bloody path for the "greater good" they can't see, and with all the death they're responsible for, the purpose behind this all is becoming muddled. But Kudo still managed to keep his eyes set ahead, and didn't lose sight of it.

Kudo knew he couldn't do it alone, and gathered allies. He had Bruce, and the Resistance, who followed him to their graves.

How could he have the will and charisma to gather people and be able to pull it off? Even All For One has to acknowledge that stupid, stupid light in their eyes that persists.

Kudo's eyes have a similar, if not the same light as Hawks and Midoriya.

The two panels even parallel each other. A shot of their left eye, with that light, and text in the exact same place, questioning the existence of that glimmer.

Kudo may not be a Hero or even a vigilante, but Star still reached out and caught his attention directly.

Bakugo has the same will as Kudo. Like Nezu with that "first step", and All Might paving the way for the next generation, will spreads.

Kudo had allies. Nagant was all alone. Only when Midoriya reached out to Nagant and told her to fight with them, recognizing her will, did Nagant smile and call him a real hero. She even gave them the information needed, and did join their side, to keep fighting.

Nagant had allies late. Kudo had them from the start, and so could continue.

[negative-speedforce]

Ngl, I still think of Siv everytime I listen to The Prophecy. It’s just so her

It's so them tho???? And yes, I am about to use this as an excuse to do a full lyrical analysis of why it's her.

Hand on the throttle/Thought I caught lightning in a bottle/Oh, but it's gone again

After Gina's murder, Siv thought she'd never find love again. Then, Hailey crashlanded into her life and Siv fell hard and fast. However, when Hailey found out the truth, that they were actually the supervillain that she'd been hunting for months, their shaky rapport fell apart.

And it was written/I got cursed like Eve got bitten/Oh, was it punishment?

Siv sees her powers as a curse. She didn't ask to be the way that they are, and the more "eldritch" side of their powers are absolutely terrifying and near-impossible for them to control. She definitely sees that lack of control as a punishment for their failure to save Gina.

Pad around when I get home/I guess a lesser woman would've lost hope/A greater woman wouldn't beg/But I looked to the sky and said

Siv isn't one to dip into hopelessness. But they are well known for their desperation and loneliness. The fragile line between good and evil that Siv walks is a lonely one, and all she wants is to be known and loved.

Please/I've been on my knees/Change the prophecy

Siv's actually the subject of a prophecy! If you've been sticking around for long enough, you'll know that Morgan Stevens, the previous leader of the Akintola-Stevens coven and Cassandra's uncle, died overdosing on his own magic trying to rewrite the future that he saw- one where the future rests on Siv, who he saw as mentally unstable. When Siv finds out about this prophecy, it's absolutely terrifying- they didn't want this responsibility.

Don't want money/Just someone who wants my company

They're legally dead, and therefore broke af. But instead of the money that they could've inherited from Eobard, they'd rather just have someone who wants her for who she is.

Let it once be me/Who do I have to speak to/About if they can redo/The prophecy?

She's never going to admit it, but she wants nothing more than to be normal. If they could go back and keep their powers from ever manifesting, they would. Watching all their friends move on with their lives, falling in love, starting careers, graduating college, etc, while they were denied all those things feels like torment, and she's desperate for just a piece of that for herself.

Cards on the table/Mine play out like fools in a fable, oh/It was sinking in

The "fools in a fable" are Siv and Gina. Gina made her choice to not tell her girlfriend about Eobard's plans, but Siv blames herself for not figuring it out themself. There's almost a mythological metaphor there, some kind of Romeo/Juliet or Orpheus/Eurydice.

Slow is the quicksand/Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand/Oh, still I dream of him

Switch that "him" to a "her" and we get another Siv/Hailey metaphor. Siv's secrets spoiled all the work that her and Hailey had put into their relationship, which died before it could fully begin.

And I sound like an infant/Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen

She knows she's pathetic. But they've been surviving for so long without truly living, and it's exhausting.

A greater woman stays cool/But I howl like a wolf at the moon/And I look unstable/Gathered with a coven round a sorceress' table

Siv is... not the most mentally stable person on the planet. For someone who's been through what they've been through, she's actually fairly stable, but at the same time, they're willing to try just about anything to get back the life they had before, no matter how dark that path leads.

A greater woman has faith/But even statues crumble if they're made to wait/I'm so afraid I sealed my fate/No sign of soulmates

Siv doesn't see much of a future ahead for her. As much as she's fighting for a world where she can actually feel happy, safe, and loved, they know that if they keep on the path they're on, either their thirst for revenge is going to overtake them and her and Eobard are going to continue chasing each other until they're both dead, or she'll lose herself completely to her rage and grief. Either way, the path ends with the death of the self.

I'm just a paperweight/In shades of greige/Spending my last coin so someone will tell me/It'll be ok

Borderline Personality Disorder, baby!!! Siv's a textbook case of it, and as such, she struggles with self-image and emotional regulation, going through episodes of dissociation and deep self-loathing, and they often need help from others to get through that. In those moments, their desperation for external validation (and human companionship in general) really shines through.

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 2: The Prime Path Florist

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

- - -

There were many florists in the Dream SMP. With how much destruction there was, people were constantly having to rebuild their yards, and the gardens, and the planter pots that would rest outside of businesses, and so being a florist could result in a very successful business.

The Prime Path Florist had been there the longest.

Before even TommyInnit had arrived, the Prime Path Florist had settled down in the Dream SMP, creating a simple garden for themself and enjoying life with their cat, bees, and every flower known to man.

As the server's population grew, and the Prime Path truly came into being as the main way to get around, the Florist claimed a piece of land, built up a humble shop, and started their business.

While there was no competition at first, as the chaos and wars began to rage through the server, more and more businesses popped up offering services to help with rebuilding. One of these such businesses was the Greater SMP Flower Shop, who opened just after the end of the L'Manburg Revolution.

Then, when another, smaller war broke out across the server and the Greater SMP Flower Shop was destroyed, they didn't build it back.

That was where the Prime Path Florist beat out all of their competition. They would always rebuild, if they even had to. The one time damage had been caused to their shop, though, what they had done to the person who caused the damage made it so that everyone knew from then on to not mess with their flower shop.

(Then, eventually, the land that their shop was on accidentally became part of the Holy Land, and it didn't even matter anymore anyway, because nothing on the server could harm the Holy Land.)

Out of all the leaders of the SMP, the first that the Prime Path Florist met was Nihachu, a resident of L'Manburg who was known to be close friends with the president.

"Good morning," Nihachu said when the Florist first met her. "How are you doing?"

"Well, and you?"

"Great! I'm just looking for some flowers to brighten up my bakery!"

"Of course. What kind of flowers are you looking for?"

Nihachu (Niki, she had insisted quickly) had left that day with arms full of white mullein. The next morning, the Florist had opened the door to find a package sitting inside, filled to the brim with baked goods.

The Florist had no idea how Niki Nihachu had gotten the things inside.

The door had been locked all night.

As the L'Manburg election loomed ever closer, it felt as though tensions were rising throughout the server. The Prime Path Florist was fine, though. Their shop was safe, and business was good as the pavilion and stage were set up for the day when the results would be released.

They turned off the public announcements on their communicator as the day of the results arrived. They didn't care to hear about politics. They just wanted to sell some flowers.

The day after the election, the Prime Path Florist was on their way to their shop when they saw VP Tommy running down the back roads that they took to work every day, what looked to be a piglin-hybrid in tow.

All three of them stopped. The stranger's hand floated to their side, hovering over the hilt of an iron sword, which looked like it had been hastily wrapped.

Then, the Prime Path Florist gave the teenager a nod. "Vice President," they said, greeting him the politest way they knew how to.

VP Tommy smiled a little too wide, and glanced at his companion before shooting off down the path again, not even acknowledging the Florist as he passed.

(Later that day, when a customer off-handedly mentioned that Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit had been banished by Schlatt, the new president, the Florist realized that the teen had thought that they had been telling him that they supported him.)

(The Florist shrugged.)

(They didn't care much for politics, anyway.)

Still, customers began coming into the shop more and more frequently (more than usual, at least, especially during a time without too much destruction), and they would lean across the counter and whisper about news from a place called 'Pogtopia.'

When the Prime Path Florist found out that it was the name of a rebellion, fighting against Manburg and led by Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit, who were bent on getting their country back, they were a bit surprised. They said nothing, though.

The Florist didn't care much for politics.

Less than a week after the election, the Florist met their third SMP leader face-to-face, as ex-President Soot's son Fundy walked into their shop.

"Could I, er..." The fox tugged at the edge of his cuff. "Do you have anything for first dates?"

"How long have you known them?" The Florist asked, already thinking through possibilities.

"Well, a while," Fundy said. "It's Dream."

The Prime Path Florist stalled. Then, they said, "I think I have the perfect one." They gathered up a bunch of prairie roses, passing them over to the other. Fundy paid for the flowers, gave a bit of a wobbly smile, and then set off, running down the path as soon as he set foot outside.

The next morning, when two customers gossiped to one another as they browsed, the Prime Path Florist found out that the Admin of the SMP and the son of the banished president of L'Manburg were engaged.

The customers wondered what would happen as a result of this. They wondered how the alliances would work, what with Fundy's father being the leader of the rebellion, Fundy himself working for the new leader of L'Manburg, and Dream being the Admin in charge of everything.

The Florist did not offer their thoughts, because the Florist did not care much for politics.

A few weeks later, the day after the announcement of the Manburg festival, Secretary Underscore arrived, looking a bit too small in his suit, but a smile on his face as he entered the store, the smile widening when his eyes landed on the Florist's bees zipping between the flowers.

"Bees!" He exclaimed, taking another step inside. "I love bees!"

The Prime Path Florist smiled gently. "I do too. What can I do for you today, Secretary?"

"Tubbo, please," the teenager replied. "And I don't know if you heard, but I'm in charge of decorating for the festival! I was wondering if I would be able to order some flowers to be put in the morning of?"

The Florist nodded. "Of course. Would you like to come pick them up at, say, 7:30? I normally open at 8, but I'll delay opening by an hour so I could help you put them in."

Tubbo grinned. "That would be great, thank you!"

"Of course, Secretary Tubbo." The teen looked a bit uncomfortable at the title, but he nodded as they asked, "I assume the Government of Manburg will be paying?"

"Yep. The color scheme is going to be based around the flag, if that helps!" Then, without another word, the kid waved to the bees and was gone.

Just under a week later, Tubbo helped them cart dozens of red Imperial Montagues and Dark Geranium.

"What do these flowers mean?" Tubbo asked them as they moved together down the Prime Path, the air crisp and the sun just beginning to shine over the landscape.

The Florist cleared their throat, tapping the side of the cart handle with their finger. "The lighter ones mean Power," they said as they turned the corner of the path, moving down toward the festival grounds.

"And the darker ones?"

The Prime Path Florist thought of the customers who murmured to them about Secretary Underscore, a secret spy for the rebellion. "...Melancholy. They mean melancholy."

Tubbo's smile dimmed, his eyes darkening just a bit, but he plucked a geranium from the cart he was pushing and pinned it to his suit before continuing on.

(After he gave his speech later that day, the flower ended up being darkened, stained with the blood of a teenager who went out with a bang.)

When Secretary Tubbo disappeared, soon followed by Vice President Quackity, both of them supposedly cementing their places in the Pogtopia rebellion (if the whispers were to be believed), the Florist continued on with their job.

After all, the Florist had never cared much for politics.

One day, when the businesses across the SMP were warned to lock their doors as a battle between Manburg and Pogtopia was expected, the Prime Path Florist was looking after their bees when abruptly the ground shook with a force that nearly knocked over some of the plants. The Florist, perturbed for the first time since they watched a teenager get shot full of fireworks, ran to Manburg, where smoke was rising into the sky.

They arrived just in time to watch the hybrid they had seen with VP Tommy months ago (Technoblade, they had heard, the Technoblade) spawn two Withers and laugh as the people of two countries, one decimated and one not, banded together to fight off the creatures.

(The Florist, glad they had brought their weapon, quickly joined in. Withers, when killed, dropped wither roses, and there was no way that they were letting those flowers end up anywhere but in their gloved grasp.)

A few weeks later, once the reconstruction of L'Manburg, now under the direction of President Tubbo, had just about been completed, the bell above the Florist's door chimed, echoing through their shop.

"And this is the Prime Path Flower Shop!" President Tubbo said, spreading his arms out wide. "And here's the Prime Path Florist themself!"

The president seemed to be giving a tour to the person who stood beside him, a lanky hybrid of what looked to be part-enderman and part-something else. The hybrid had to duck to enter the shop, and they expressly did not make eye-contact with the Florist as they stood beside Tubbo, looking just as stressed as he did during Schlatt's presidency, but somehow in a different way. The Prime Path Florist wondered why the President of L'Manburg was giving a tour to a new resident. There were sometimes hundreds of new people who moved to the server every day. What made this hybrid so special?

"Florist, this is Ranboo! He's new to the SMP. Niki already showed him around the Greater SMP, but she's got her bakery to watch, so I'm here to show him the rest!"

The Florist nodded. So, that was it. The hybrid, Ranboo, had been friends with Nihachu. "Nice to meet you, Ranboo," they addressed the hybrid, who nodded, his eyes still not meeting their own. The Florist turned back to Tubbo. "Would you two each like a flower? Free of charge. To welcome a new member of the server."

Tubbo took a dark geranium (he seemed to have developed a liking for them after the festival), and Ranboo asked for an allium.

The Florist handed him two. The tall teen sputtered and attempted to pass one back.

"I only need one," he said, stumbling over his words.

The Prime Path Florist shook their head and pressed the flowers further into Ranboo's hands. "Alliums always come in pairs. Every good florist knows that."

Ranboo visibly swallowed, but he took the flowers nonetheless.

About an hour later, VP Tommy ran past the shop down the Prime Path, and the Florist could just barely make out an allium clenched in the teen's hand.

Time passed, and tensions rose between the factions of the server. The Florist, nestles comfortably in the Holy Land, knowing that they were protected by the Higher Gods and by the Prime itself, rested easy. People from any side still bought their flowers, and business was still good.

When the destruction of L'Manburg came, the Florist did nothing but offer a discount to those whose homes had been blown down to bedrock, for the Florist had never cared much for politics.

(And then, months after that, after Dream's imprisonment in Pandora's Vault, when peace was on the server once more, the door opened on a particularly slow day with a surprisingly sad chime.

The Florist looked up to see Ranboo standing in front of them, tear tracks burning into his skin.

"What can I do for you?" They asked.

"I... I need flowers. For a grave."

"...Would you rather them be somber or bright?"

"Bright. As bright as possible, please," Ranboo said. "I want to remember him for how he was in life."

The Florist soon passed over a bundle of marigolds and helenium, a few harebells interspersed between them. "Symbolizing grief and tears," they said as they handed the teen the flowers.

"Thank you," Ranboo said, preparing to pass over payment. He froze and looked back up at them, eyes wide. "Actually... could I also get an allium?"

The Florist felt a sinking in their stomach and nodded, plucking the flower from a nearby vase and tucking it into the bouquet. The teen paid and left, and the Prime Path Florist went on with their day.

That evening, the official news broke that Dream had murdered TommyInnit in prison. The server cried. The server mourned.

The Florist did not do much of either, because, beyond their cat, their bees, and their flowers, the Florist never cared much for anything.

At least, that was what they tried to tell themselves.

It was easier that way.

It always was.)

[systlinsideblog]

Part 3

The Great Crimes are as follows;

There are three Great Crimes, for which the punishment is death.

The first of the Great Crimes when, in cold blood, a person murders another who has offered no offence. The punishment for murder shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the loved ones of the murdered or by one they give the right to in their stead.

The second of the Great Crimes is rape. The punishment for rape of another shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the victim or by one the victim gives the right to in their stead.

The third of the Great Crimes is to enslave another, and hold them in bondage. The punishment for holding another in slavery shall be death…

-The New Laws, or The Change in the Laws of Gor, The Great Ubara Systlin Stellas, on the new laws of the land, speech given in the Throne Room of Turia, 0 AGU. Chiseled on a pillar before the Law Rooms of Ar in its entirety

 Kutaituchik, the Ubar of the Tuchuks, was dead. 

It had been a very brutal and confusing few hours. The strange woman had refused to show courtesy or deference. She had made no apology for killing Tuchuk warriors. She had not relinquished the slave girl clinging tight to her side, the one whose master she had killed when he moved to chastise his slave.

She had stood before the Ubar of the Tuchuks like a queen before her court, and had demanded. 

I pulled at the slave collar around my throat, and found it quite secure. 

I have seen many things in my day. Many horrors, and many wonders. But I have never before in all my days seen a horror like the one that the woman Systlin had brought to the wagons of the Tuchuk. 

I looked to the wagons of the Ubar. There was light within them, bosk-dung fires in braziers. The woman Systlin had claimed it for her own, and gathered all the haruspexes and soothsayers to confer with them. 

My leg throbbed. It had been set and bound skillfully, but the bone would take some weeks to knit. Until then, I could scarce walk, hobbling with the aid of a cane. 

The woman had not even touched me to break it.

Sorceress, I thought. I had not believed in such things, and would have attributed such powers only to the Priest-Kings. But I had seen it now, with my own eyes, the terrible power that woman held, the power to shatter bone and steel with will alone. 

The corpses of some of the Tuchuks who had risen in rage against her after she had slain their Ubar were still lying where they had fallen. I tried not to look at them, but found my eyes drawn. 

Shapeless things they were, only scarce resembling men. The bones, I gathered, were nothing more any longer but needle-like splinters. Those splinters had driven through flesh and vital organs, and once-proud warriors lay where they had fallen, shapeless piles of bloody meat. 

I had been fortunate that it was only my leg that had been broken. 

I shivered. My leg throbbed. And I wondered, what terrible force had set a terror like this woman loose upon Gor.

 The water was cold. 

Systlin hated cold baths. Cold in general, really. But it was, in this situation, useful. 

Her Power screamed and fought inside her, eager to be used again, and she wanted to. Oh, but she wanted to, and that was the danger of it. The cold water was a good distraction. 

She didn't know how many men she'd killed. Some with sword. More, many more, with her power for Breaking. And it had been good, it had been so good, to stand there untouchable and terrible, hearing their screams and seeing their terror, to walk among them like a terrible, unstoppable, untouchable goddess, tearing down everything in her path...

She shivered, and ducked under the surface of the stream. 

It was always...hard, after, and she'd let herself go further than usual this time, in her rage. She always felt brittle after, hollow, the desire to kill and kill until nothing remained clawing to be let out again. She'd be short now with people, she knew, and snappish. Easily irritated, even over trivial matters. Once you started to kill with the Breaking gift, it was so very easy to continue.

Breaking was a terrible gift. The seduction of the sheer power it gave, the delight in using it, were as dangerously addictive as poppy milk. 

To look upon a Breaker is to look upon a madman. She remembered hearing that as a child, reading it in books. 

Under the water, sounds were muffled. But she still heard the sound of footsteps on the stream bank, muted and distorted. She came out of the water in a rush, her hand landing on Ice's hilt, and the sword was half drawn before she realized that the intruder was the girl she'd rescued from being beaten. 

The girl cringed back, falling to her knees and prostrating herself in what was clearly ingrained habit. "Mast...mistress! I am sorry! I did not mean..."

A little of the brittle anger ebbed out of her. Systlin sheathed her sword. "It's all right. I've spent too much of my life with people trying to kill me, is all. You did nothing wrong." She stepped out of the stream, wringing out her hair and shivering in the chilly air. 

The girl looked up at her, eyes wide. It was...unnerving. Systlin was used to people bowing, but bowing and the groveling the girl was doing were two different things entirely. "I have not displeased you, mistress?"

Oh, tits. 

"No. And you needn't call me that." Systlin pulled her trousers back on, and the quilted silk gambeson that went under her scale armor. "My Lady' will work quite well. I'm not your mistress. You're a free woman. I've no interest in owning anyone." 

"My lady?"

"Please stand up." Irritation flared, but Systlin tamped it down hard; it was a bleed-over from the cold joy of destroying, nothing more. It was not her, and she would not acknowledge it. She reached a hand out. After a moment, the girl took it hesitantly, and Systlin pulled her to her feet. "There. That's much better." 

The girl blinked at her, eyes still wide, and Systlin saw a hint of awe there. 

The girl had, she noticed, fashioned herself rough trousers of hide, patterned much like Systlin's own. 

"What's your name?" She asked. 

"I am Sabra." The girl was still staring, eyes moving up and down as she took everything in. "You...you are very strong. I have never seen...I did not know a woman could swing a sword like a man." 

Systlin tugged her armor over her head and hopped a bit until it settled into place. "Swords don't weigh that much. Anyone can swing a sword with practice. The strength to do it well will come with time and training." 

Sabra's head came up a little at that. "Anyone?" There was a thin thread of timid hope in her voice.

Systlin smiled. "Yes. Anyone. You included. Would you like to learn?"

There was a long pause, and then a long, slow, genuine smile from the former slave.

“I….think so, Mi…my lady.”

“Well. Then you shall. You’re a free woman, and free women do as they like.”

“Free.” The woman echoed, as if the word wasn’t real. “Free.”

“Unless of course you wish to go elsewhere.” Systlin shrugged as they walked. “Have you a family anywhere? A home you were taken from?”

“I…a long time ago, I did. If I wished…”

“I would give you gold, supplies, anything you needed, and take you there, and wish you well.”

The look the other woman gave her was naked astonishment, and something like awe. For a moment she looked wistful, but then… “No. If I returned home, I could quickly be made a slave again.” She touched her upper thigh; Systlin had noted that many of the freed slaves bore brands of various types there. “I am branded as a slave; any man could take me and sell me or keep me and be within the law.”

Systlin saw red for an instant. “Then you will stay.” She ground out. “Until we pay a visit to your former home, and teach them the error of such ways.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Sabra breathed. “You would…you would do this? Free other places as you’ve freed us in this camp?”

“If the men of this world insist on being awful,” Systlin growled. “I will do as I must. Slavery is among the greatest crimes, and rape another. I will not abide either.”

“You were sent.” Sabra breathed. “I begged the Mother for aid, though I was beaten for worshiping false gods. Other women also begged the old gods for aid, I know it. We begged for mercy and help and here you are.”

For mercy.

Systlin tilted her head back and stared at the sky. There were three moons here, which seemed to fly across the sky quite rapidly. She picked out the largest nearly by instinct, and glared.

Mercy. Lady’s mercy. Fucking pits. Now it made sense.

Gods. Gods and their machinations. She scowled.

Well. At least she knew how she’d ended up in this shithole.

  Morning brought no greater comfort. 

The slave collar around my neck had been forged for a woman, and though it was the Turian style on me it was too tight, and bit into my flesh. I could breathe, but it was uncomfortable

Between the throbbing of my leg, the pinch of the collar, and the chill of the night, I got but little sleep. Inside the wagon, under warm furs, slept slave girls. Their collars had been removed, and many of the surviving Tuchuk men wore them as did I, bound wrist and ankle and neck. 

I wondered what had become of Kamchak. I had not seen him since the furor had begun outside the Ubar's wagon. 

My wrists were securely chained behind me. Bells jangled with my every move. The ground was hard, and cold. I wondered, for the first time, how slave girls could sleep this way. 

The night passed in interminable slowness and misery. There was movement, among the wagons, and the sound of men's angry voices and chiming bells from other poor souls so humiliatingly bound as myself. There were the voices of women, hushed, and often with a tone of disbelief. 

I heard women laughing. There was rather more of it than I was accustomed to. 

Twice slave girls had come to see me. They seemed to find the sight of a warrior in slave chains novel. 

"You must let me free," I had said, my voice stern and commanding. "You are slaves; you must obey." 

They had giggled, ignoring my words, and left. They were, I noted, no longer attired properly; their hair was bound back in plaits, and they wore leather blouses and had fashioned trousers, hastily made but quite obviously patterned after those of the vicious she-sleen that had brought this ruin and humiliation down upon us. 

At dawn food was brought, dried bosk-meat. I was fed, given water, and then left alone again. 

The chain that connected the rings on my wrists and ankles and neck was quite securely linked to the axle of the wagon. I had tried to loosen it with some vigor the day before, without luck. 

Some time passed. I pulled at my chains, for all the good it would do me; my leg was quite broken, and I could not flee even should I get loose. 

As dawn broke, the scent of charring meat reached me, and south of the camp I saw great plumes of smoke begin to rise. 

I had smelled enough corpses burn to know that the dead of the slaughter the night before were being burnt. 

As the sun rose towards mid-morning, I was approached. 

The she-sleen had chosen herself a fine black kaiila. She rode well; I could see that she was not quite used to the sleen, as she rode as one would an ordinary horse. But she sat well, and when she dismounted it was gracefully and with ease. 

She had shed her leather tunic. Instead, glittering in the sun, was armor formed from what looked like scales, each perhaps two inches long and half as wide. They were of many different colors, each iridescent and gleaming brilliantly in the sun. 

She looked me over. I met her eyes steadily; I was a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba, and I would not be cowed before a woman. 

"Hm." She made a noncommittal noise at last. "You are not of these people."

I said nothing.

"No matter." She shrugged, and turned. A group of slave-girls were following her. All were collarless and had plaited their hair, and wore clothing of various types; some skirts, some trousers. All wore blouses or vests of leather or cloth that sadly covered their charms. "Take him." 

"Am I to be a slave, then?" I glowered at her. 

She turned her head to look at me again. It occurred to me again that had she been less mannish and muscular, she could have been a beauty. 

"I've no interest in keeping anyone as property." She said. "You are to be judged." 

"By what authority?" A girl wearing the long skirt and leather vest of a Tuchuk woman moved to loose me from the wagon. Her hair was plaited. I remembered, not two days ago, seeing her dancing in pleasure silks and bells for her master around his fire. 

I thought of breaking loose and overpowering the girl. But the woman Systlin was still watching me, and I saw her, as the girl chose a key and unlocked my chain from the wagon, curl her hand around the hilt of the long dagger on her belt. 

I am ashamed to admit, but it stayed me. I had seen flashes of the woman fighting, and though it pain me I would be forced to compare her favorably with the greatest warriors of Ko-Ro-Ba. In my current state, I had no chance. My hope for flight lay in my recovering and stealing a fleet kaiila, I knew. So, as the chain was loosed, I gave no resistance. 

"Mine." The she-sleen's voice was crisp. "Can you walk?"

Pride demanded no less of me. I am a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba. By leaning on the cart, I managed to get to my feet. 

"Help him." She told the girl who held my chain. The girl nodded.

She did not say what would happen to me if I resisted. She did not need to. 

I was taken to the tent of the Ubar. Before it was piled many fine carpets, and cushions of silk and leather. On top of it all was spread a worn gray robe; it was this, I supposed, this simple garment that was the grey robe of the Ubar. 

There were other men, chained as I was, chained to the palatal wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks. I tried to estimate their number; a hundred and a half, perhaps two. 

This was all that remained of the proud warrior men of the Tuchuk. 

I am no stranger to death. But upon seeing this, and realizing the full scale of the disaster which had befallen the Tuchuk, I must admit that I felt a flicker of fear. 

What terrible creature was this woman, to slay three thousand strong men in a night? 

The she-sleen walked past the men chained to the wagon. Her back was straight, and her stride purposeful. 

I could not help but notice that, despite her too-strong build, she had what appeared to be marvelously shapely hindquarters. 

She did not hesitate for even a moment; she went directly to the gray robe, the throne of the Ubar, and seated herself upon it with all the air of one born to it. 

I heard a groan rise from the captive men, myself included. She sat cross-legged, a man’s stance, not a woman’s proper kneeling stance. Women who sit so are often ridiculed as wishing to be men, but everything about this woman was unnatural and wrong.

One man started up, and my heart leapt; it was Kamchak! 

His arm was splinted, as was a leg, much like mine, and his eye was black and swollen. He spit in the direction of the she-sleen on the throne of the Ubar, and cursed her. 

"You! Sleen! You say you wish to judge us? What right have you?"

Her head turned, very slowly, to regard him. Then she smiled, and turned back to look out at the gathered crowd. 

Around the throne of the Ubar of the Tuchuks, women thronged. Tuchuk women, some grim-faced and some smiling. Slave girls, by the hundreds. Many wore trousers. Most had braided their hair. 

Mothers were holding their children. Babies fussed, and were soothed. Some of the older boys looked angry. Some of the girl-children cried too. The elder of the girls, however, were smiling. 

There were many more smiling women than scowling women in the gathered crowd. 

"Tuchuk," said the she-sleen, voice unconcerned and even. "Who is Ubara here?"

The roar of voices was near-deafening. "SYS-TAL-IN!" The women, freewomen and slave girls alike, screamed it. Only a few of the dour Tuchuk free women refrained. "SYS-TAL-IN! SYS-TAL-IN!" 

Systlin looked back at Kamchak, and her smile was an unpleasant thing. 

"There you have it." Her voice, again, was mild, deceptively so.

"You cannot..."

"I did." Her voice rose above Kamchaks'. "By your own laws, it seems, might makes right. The strong triumph, am I wrong?" Her eyes glittered. "It appears, warrior, that I am stronger than you, for I sit here on comfortable rugs and you are defeated and chained to a wagon."

"You used sorcery!"

"Yes." She agreed easily. "Though your warriors were easy enough to defeat without it." A horrible grin. "But yes. I used sorcery, and however I did it one woman, alone, brought every one of your great warriors to their knees. The pyres for those I killed burn still. And now, you will be silent, until it is your turn to be judged." 

"WE HAVE COMMITTED NO CRIMES!" Kamchack's outraged roar drew cries of approval from the other shamefully chained warriors. 

Systlin's mouth...it was a full mouth, and could have been pretty, were it smiling...compressed into a thin line. She nodded to one of the girls standing near the throne of the Ubar, in a grotesque imitation of the honor guard of an Ubar. 

"Gag him," she said simply. 

To my astonishment and horror, the girl moved promptly to do so, with a cheerful and almost gleeful demeanor. 

Kamchak surged to his feet as best he could as the girl approached with a strip of leather; several of the bound warriors gave cries of encouragement. Systlin's head snapped around, fast as a striking sleen, and she was on her feet in a moment and at the girl's side in a moment more, that vicious sword of hers drawn. 

The tip of that blade was pressed close against Kamchak's groin, and the she-sleen kept smiling, even as he drew a breath, naturally alarmed by the sharp steel near his male parts. 

"Sleen." Kamchak hissed this, proud even in chains. "You cannot always be there, woman. Your unnatural sorcery cannot protect you forever."

Systlin laughed. A little huff of a chuckle, even as the slave girl bound the gag around Kamchak's mouth and head with every sign of enjoyment, which disturbed me. 

"I have had," Systlin said, "Far better men than you try to kill me." A wide grin, with all of her teeth bared. "Now be quiet, and wait your turn." 

She returned to the seat of the Ubar. 

"Bring forth the first prisoner," she commanded. 

It was done. A warrior was dragged, bound hands and feet so that he could not even stand, before the grotesque display, and forced up on his knees. He spit at the she-sleen on the Ubar's seat; she did not turn a hair at this. 

"Your name." She asked. 

"Sleen!"

"Your name." The same patient tone. 

Silence. 

She sighed, lifted her eyes. "Can anyone tell me the name of this man?"

"Braltak." A woman's voice. I did not see who spoke. 

"Braltak. Have you, Braltak, in your life, held women or men as property?"

Silence. Braltak looked down his nose at her, and spit again. 

"He has." The same voice. Female. There was a quaver to it now. 

Braltak spun, as best he could. "Kala!" His voice was furious. "Kala, be silent!"

"Come forward, if you would." The she-sleen's voice speaking to me and the warrior had been curt, cold, commanding. But to the girl Kala, it was softer, and gentler.

Timidly, looking always at Braltek, a girl stepped through to stand before the self-proclaimed Ubara. 

She was a lovely girl. Turian, I was certain, with golden hair and eyes as green as summer grass. Her figure was delicate and trim, though it was difficult to tell through the long leather skirt and baggy blouse she wore. 

"Your name is Kala?" Again, the softer, gentler voice, encouraging. 

"Yes, Ubara." The girl was still glancing nervously at Braltek. "And...before you freed us...I was his slave." 

The idea was hard to swallow, at first; every slave in the Tuchuk camp, free!

But she had, I had to admit, the right. She sleen she may be, but she had defeated the warriors, by sorcery or not. She had taken their slaves for her own, and had done with them as she liked. 

I did not like it, but it was fact. 

"He kept you as property." Systlin's voice was hard; her eyes were back on Braltek. "Did he, Kala, ever place hands on you against your will? Did he ever force you to pleasure him?"

"She is a slave! That is her purpose!" Braltek roared. 

"Ah. I have my answer." Systlin nodded her head, once. "By the law of my lands, such a crime carries the penalty of death. As the victim, you have the right to seek mercy. Do you desire mercy for this man?"

Kala's lovely green eyes fixed on Braltek. 

"You are mine, Kala." Braltek's voice went lower. "You are mine. I am your master, you know it."

The lovely girl turned back to the she-sleen on the robe of the Ubar. 

"I do not." Her voice was almost inaudible, but then she spoke again, more strongly. "I do not! I do not seek mercy for him!"

My mouth hung open. 

Kala was slave. A slave loves her master. It is what they are trained for. 

"I do not seek mercy for him!" Kala's voice rose, almost a scream. 

"Then I, Systlin Stellas, Queen of the Northern Lands and Ubara of the Tuchuk, proclaim this man Braltek guilty of the crimes of rape and slaving, and sentence him to die." The she-sleen stood, graceful, and picked up a quiva from among the rugs she had sat upon. She flipped the blade, catching it easily by the tip without looking, the motion smooth, automatic, and practiced. She offered the hilt over to the girl. "It is your right, as offended party, to carry out the sentence yourself, if you so wish." 

To my incredible shock, the girl Kala reached out a hand, almost tentatively, and took the hilt of the quiva. 

She could not do it, of course. She was a slave, and a slave belongs to her master, utterly. 

The slender fingers tightened on the hilt. She did not seem to know how to hold the quiva properly, holding it as if she were about to slice bosk meat for the spit. 

Her eyes turned to Braltek, and in them burned something like hate. 

No. She was slave! A slave serves her master!

"Kala." Braltek's voice sounded suddenly uncertain. "Kala, I have treated you well, better than most would..."

Kala screamed then, high and furious and long,  and flew at him. The quiva rose and fell. 

She was inexpert with the weapon. The blade hit Braltek's shoulder, and slid down, slicing a long cut into his arm. Blood flowed, and Braltek yelled in shock. 

The quiva rose and fell again. Again, again, again the girl struck, inexpert, but the wounds adding up one by one until Braltek lay in a pool of red-stained grass. 

Kala dropped the quiva, and fell to her knees. She was sobbing, great wracking sobs that shook her small frame. 

The she-sleen came down from her throne, went down to her knees beside the girl, and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

"It is all right." Her voice was soft, and Kala leaned into her blindly, as a child might seek comfort from its mother. "He cannot hurt you again." 

Some other girls came forward then; Kala was taken away with much patting of hair and comforting. 

The she-sleen returned to her throne of rugs, sitting down once more. She smiled then, as if nothing had happened. 

I, and the men chained as I, were silent. The shock had not yet sunk in. 

"Had he a wife, or any children?" Systlin asked. 

No one responded. 

"Then it is my order that all the worldly possessions of Braltek now go to Kala. They are hers, to do with as she will. Bring forward the next prisoner." The she-sleen commanded. 

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (January 26/2021) - Kids With Nukes and Talking Eggs

The Crimson’s influence continues to spread and corrupt the SMP, with the seeds planted earlier sprouting into new tendrils. 

In fact, the Crimson has spread so far that now chat can finally hear the Egg’s whispers for themselves, as Badboyhalo and Quackity have an important discussion, and Karl attempts to prevent the worst...

Also, Snowchester’s nuclear weapons test was a success! Everything went exactly according to plan and definitely nothing else. Yep.

---

- Ponk starts sneaking out of the Egg Room, but Bad comes on and he runs back to avoid suspicion.

- Bad calls him and asks how he’s doing. Ponk says he’s doing fine. Bad asks if he can get Ponk anything. He says Ponk will stay down there until he learns to love the Egg.

Ponk: “I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me.”

- Bad says he’ll stay down for an extra day because of that.

- Ponk asks Bad for an iced mocha with cream and a pain au chocolat. Bad refuses at first, but after Ponk threatens to pee all over the Egg, Bad rushes off to get Ponk his iced mocha with cream and pain au chocolat. Ponk asks if it’s vegan.

- Bad drops Ponk his iced mocha with cream and pain au chocolat.

- Bad locks Ponk back up and says he’ll be staying down there for a day now. Ponk says he’ll continue to vibe. 

- Ponk sneaks out once Bad is gone. He meets up with Awesam on the surface. Sam is still talking like he’s exhausted and drained, and says he wants to head home.

- Sam goes to be with Fran again, holding his rose with a wall blocking them off.

- Ponk shows Sam that he’s got Dream’s shield. Sam says that he probably shouldn’t carry it around, as people might get the wrong idea...Ponk says it’s cool because it makes his “head fuzzy.” 

- Ponk says goodbye and leaves Sam.

- Both keycards for the nukes have gotten lost. There is no way this can end badly. Jack comes online and they begin to prepare. The plan is to launch one and decommission the others.

- Jack wonders how to get Tommy to the test site. Perhaps if some of the materials for the hotel can be obtained easiest near the site? He speaks with Awesam about adding spruce wood to the materials list. Awesam says he’ll let Sam Nook know.

- Tommy comes online and speaks with Sam Nook, who tells him to get some spruce wood. Niki comes over to fetch him. Niki leads Tommy closer to the test site.

- Jack desperately attempts to stall the launch. 

- The nuke is launched! Jack and Tubbo rush over.

- Tommy manages to delay walking over to the test site purely by talking nonstop, and the nuke misses him. He instead goes to examine the crater with the others. Tubbo is concerned about Tommy’s lack of hazmat suit. 

- Jack and Niki are furious that it didn’t work. 

- They go back to Snowchester to celebrate. Tommy coughs up a bit of blood. Foolish comes over to deal some stress relievers.

- Sam Nook then tells Tommy to gather red dye.

- Tommy and Jack start fighting and Sam Nook comes to kill him.

- Ranboo speaks with Tubbo. Apparently the Crimson showed Tubbo images of dead families that made him cry. They wonder if they should do something about the Blood Vines.

- Ranboo writes in his book. His pickaxes have been mysteriously losing durability.

- Ranboo later speaks with Niki. He asks why she burned down L’mantree. Niki explains that she’d lost hope in L’manburg and didn’t believe it should exist anymore.

- Tommy mugs Foolish. Foolish says he’ll remember this.

- Tommy still doesn’t have enough red dye. Sam Nook is worried that Awesam won’t be pleased with him leaving the build site today. If Awesam found out, that wouldn’t be good...

- Foolish visits Ponk, who is still trapped in the obsidian Egg cage.

- Antfrost logs on and Foolish starts running up the stairs. He sneaks behind a corner and Antfrost walks by. He doesn’t seem to see Foolish.

- The Blood Vines have made their way to Foolish’s desert...

- Bad comes online with plans to introduce Callahan to the Egg. He meets up with Quackity and asks him if he’s noticed the Vines growing everywhere.

- Bad checks the Crater. Quackity sees the Crater Vines for the first time and is horrified. 

- Bad asks Quackity -- he’s a chaotic individual -- what if he could join something greater than himself? Callahan as well? He asks if Quackity would either wish to be brainwashed, or voluntarily join the Eggpire. Quackity could be in charge of everything.

- Quackity says to keep talking...Bad says he would make a great leader. The Egg could be the means to the end of becoming the leader over everything.

- Ever since the whole L’manburg, fight with Dream happened, Quackity’s been wandering, taking some time off. Thinking about things. But he doesn’t like the idea of the Vines covering the entire SMP.

- Bad explains that once the Vines have covered everything, Quackity can come in as the ultimate hero, conquering the Egg and becoming the ruler of the entire Dream SMP.

Quackity asks...what’s the catch? Why wouldn’t Bad do this himself?

Bad says all he wants is to see Quackity succeed. 

Bad: “You...could become the ruler of all of this.”

Quackity asks for Bad to show him a little more.

Bad: “The Egg can grant you your heart’s desires.”

Quackity: “So why do you still not have Skeppy?”

- Bad shows him around. Quackity wants to see exactly what Bad has up his sleeve, what’s really going on here. Karl follows them around in hiding.

- Bad, Quackity and Callahan jump down into the spider spawner to head to the Egg Room without Prime Suits on.

- Callahan dies on the Egg’s magma and disappears in the presence of the Egg.

- Quackity stands on the Egg and says it’s...wonderful. He feels great. A strange sensation.

The Crimson speaks.

- Karl types in chat, trying to get Quackity to leave the Egg.

- Quackity freaks out and says he needs to get out. He starts running, shouting in fear. He faces Bad in the hallway, telling him to stay back.

Bad: “Power! Power. Power...you want power, Quackity.”

...

Quackity: “Badboyhalo, there is something so very wrong with you...” 

- Karl jumps into the hallway and hits Bad away.

- Quackity tells Bad to never do this to him again. Bad says everyone has to make a choice. He tried the easy way already, but Quackity’s chosen the difficult path...

- Bad comes to the Egg, frustrated. He’s trying to be nice, trying to give everybody a chance...and they’re not taking it.

The Crimson whispers to him.

- Bad thinks that maybe, letting so many Vines grow has turned people against the Crimson instead of getting them to love it.

- Bad lets Ponk out. He’s vibing. Bad gives him a pain au chocolat.

- Bad asks the Egg. What are they to do?

The Crimson whispers.

Bad says he had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Nothing matters but the Egg...and Skeppy.

- Bad leaves the Egg. They have to check the status of Sam, deal with Tommy, and see if they can still get Quackity on their side. He can come around to them! Antfrost and Bad need to meet with Technoblade as well.

- Quackity whispers to Bad that he would like to talk.  As he comes up, he spots Ranboo wandering around.

The Crimson whispers, but Bad says he “can’t deal with this one at the moment.”

Bad picks up the grass block that Ranboo left and places it in his Ender Chest...

- Bad addresses chat: have they spent enough time with the Egg that they can hear the Egg too?

- Bad meets with Quackity at Eret’s castle. As Quackity jumps a fence, he places down some purple concrete. Bad picks it up and places it in his Ender Chest as well.

- They make it into the wilderness and Quackity tries to snap Bad out of it.

Quackity: “You’re one of the only people on the server who I have a little bit of hope in! ...What the hell is going on?”

“That’s not you! That’s not you, Bad!”

Bad: “The Egg offered me exactly what I wanted!”

Quackity: “What’d the Egg give you?”

Bad: “The Egg gave it to me -- or told me that it could get it for me.”

Bad says that Skeppy got infected by the Egg, and he realized that there was no way that he could get him back to normal, so he knew he had one job: if he got infected by the Egg too, then everything would be fine.

What else could Bad have done except done what the Egg told him? All of Bad’s attempted cures just ended up messing Skeppy up more and more. He couldn’t get Skeppy back to normal on his own. The Egg said if Skeppy was red, everything would be okay.

Bad: “Everybody has something that they want. Something -- when you lose something that you’re really close to, and you’re worried that you’ve lost it for good, sometimes you’re willing to make the tough sacrifices in order to get that thing back.”

Quackity: “And what are these ‘sacrifices?’ Your other friends?”

Quackity is offended that Bad would think the only thing he wants is power. Is that all Bad sees him as? Power-hungry?

Quackity: “Bad, I wanna help you.”

The Egg has an objective, one objective. It wants something, but can’t get it on its own. It needs people to get it. That’s why the Egg needs people, at least right now.

- Bad and Quackity argue. 

- Quackity says Bad is a liability. He shouts at Bad to just listen. Quackity suggests that if they find the source of power for this Egg...maybe they can use this to the ultimate well-being of everyone. Because if the Egg can control others, then...maybe they can control other people for good?

- The only person the Egg can’t control is Tommy, so he has to die.

- It’s not a specific person that the Egg can’t control, but a specific type of person.

- Bad wonders...what if he could control the Egg?

Maybe he could free Skeppy himself.

- But how could they control the Egg? Quackity says he’s thought of a different type of control. Their conversation has given him some thoughts. He says Bad can deal with his Egg stuff alone, but he’s too far gone.

- Quackity says it’s not just about gathering people. There’s power in other measures too.

Quackity: “Do you remember that room Dream had where he had everyone’s personal belongings and he essentially had full control of just about everyone, because he had control of their personal belongings?”

- Bad says Quackity’s getting in the way of what he’s trying to accomplish. Quackity says they may be trying to accomplish the same things...

Quackity: “We have the same objectives with different measures.”

- It’s time they part ways. Before they split, though, Quackity leads Bad up a hill and has him look out across the wilderness.

Quackity: “Look at all this. Remember this for a long time...all of this empty land, all of these things...that people think don’t matter, Bad? They do matter, they do matter. Picture this in your head...just never forget it, okay?”

- They leave.

Quackity: “Goodbye, Bad...good luck in whatever you’re gonna do...

And I’ll make sure to get in your way.”

- Bad returns to the SMP, thinking to himself. If the Egg can give him his friend back, then that’s good...right?

- Punz’s eyes have turned red. He’s become favorable to the Vines growing on his tower, saying he likes the feeling of chaos it brings to him.

---

The Crimson spoke with five distinct messages throughout the stream, reversed:

“I will give you your heart’s desire...I will give you what you want.”

“Kill the boy ...Tommy must die.”

“This world is mine...it belongs to me.”

“Feed me...I require nourishment.”

“I know all...I see all...I...AM...ALL...”

---

[certifiedskywalker]

Your Gentle Touch - Dyn Jarren (The Mandalorian)

books-with-tea-with-a-record-on said:

Sorry if request aren't open but if they are may I have one with The Mandalorian with a s/o whos not a fighter but a healer/nurse and she's very sweet and motherly and one day he sees her with baby yoda and is like "crap I love her". And one day they get ambushed and he tells her to go hide but she sees baby yoda in danger and risk her life for him and gets injured and after the fight, he runs over to her and helps her up and confess how he loves her and never been so scared before.

Dyn is forgetting his old ways but, with clear eyes, he finds something he didn’t know that he was missing out on.

Dyn Jarren was not a true-born Mandalorian despite living the earliest days of his young life within the Mandalore system. He had lived on the outskirts, on a planet tuck behind an atmosphere of Imperial pollution and asteroids. Once the Trade Federation brought the war to his home, Dyn fell into the Mandalorian’s arms. They took him in without hesitation. They raised him; they trained him; they even tried to teach him their native tongue, Mando’a. While most of the intricate sounds and words of the language were lost to him, Dyn was pleased to have been taught.

Above all, the Mandalorians gave Dyn a semblance of belonging to something greater when he had virtually nothing. 

As grateful as he was to the Mandalorians for giving him shelter, Dyn had found something better. He had found a family. Family was something he thought he had lost, something that he could never truly build for himself. The last time he had a family, they died. His mother and father had been cannon fodder towards the war. His parents, his innocence, had been an easy price to pay for cruelty; but, now, looking at the sight before him, Dyn Jarren was pleased he wasn’t a full-blooded Mandalorian.

If he had been born into their warrior culture, Dyn imagined that he would have never found this his new family. That thought alone was enough to make the bounty hunter shudder.

“Not all at once! Take little bites!”

Dyn cocked his head to the side as you instructed the Child. His small green hands were wrapped tightly around the hunk of ration bread you had given him. Part of the portion was already in his small mouth. Happily, the Child gurgled and bits of bread flew from its lips. Dyn heard your laugh, in all of its pure lightness, and smiled from beneath his helmet.

“You might choke,” you managed to get out through giggles. 

The Child, seemingly unaware at the possibility, proceeded to swallow the rest of the ration bread. The creature swallowed, a horribly loud sound, and let out a little belch. 

“Feel better?” Dyn felt his chest ache at the teasing in your voice and he wasn’t the one you were talking to. The Child gurgled and you, with more grace than Dyn had ever seen in his entire lifetime, scooped the creature up in your arms. “I bet you do!”

Dyn watched as you made your way towards him. There was a tender smile on your lips that made that ache in his chest return. The dull pain grew worse when you looked up from the Child and met Dyn’s gaze. In your eyes, the bounty hunter saw everything he ever wanted.

“I don’t think we need a trash compactor with this one around,” you joked. Your path had landed you standing right in front of Dyn. Even through the beskar, he could feel your warmth.

“Good to know,” Dyn said softly, almost as if the words were a passing thought. In reality, that was exactly what they were. He was so completely enraptured by you in that moment that everything, including his own body, ceased to exist. 

“We could save on some credits with him,” you continued, “but they might go into feeding costs.” The Child chirped and you smiled, turning your gaze back to the green being cradled in your arms. “He likes the sound of that.”

A stint of silence passed with Dyn watching you watch the Child. The tender slope of your cheeks pulled him in. He had to force his hand to be still; he kept his arm at his side despite wanting to reach out to you. It was then when you looked up at him. It was then when you both realized how close you were to each other. 

You cleared your throat and took a step back. “He seems healthy; no wounds or bruises. You did a good job getting him out of there.”

Dyn nodded silently, still too caught up in your presence to speak up. He watched you place the Child in the seat he had made while you were checking on the creature’s vitals. It was an ugly thing; the cradle was made of a few boxes and sheets of metal he had bent into shape. The structure would do for now and, for the most part, the Child was safe.

“There we go,” you pet the Child’s head soothingly. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

The Child, trying to speak in its own language of chitters and chirps, made a series of sounds. Dyn watched as you smiled down at the creature before turning away. The Child’s big, dark eyes followed you as you walked back over towards Dyn. 

“You too,” you said as you stood before the bounty hunter. Dyn shifted trying to not lean in close as he had before.

“What?”

“You’ve had a long day too.” Your hands lifted to Dyn’s shoulders and you pressed down on the plates of beskar fastened there. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m fine,” Dyn began to protest. It was a feeble, half-hearted attempt to stop you; and when you continued to push Dyn into the nearby chair, he didn’t fight back. You were right, after all. It had been a long day and there wasn’t enough strength left in him to combat his longing.

Once he was seated, you wandered back to the cot where you had checked on the Child’s life signatures. Dyn watched as you gathered your medical supplies. When you had all the bacta patches you could carry, you started to make your way back to him. Quietly, you set to work sorting your tools and preparing gauze. After you spread out a large section of heavy fabric, you turned back to Dyn.

A silent question, a question Dyn had heard you ask before, was balanced on your lips. Knowing well what it was, Dyn began to unfasten pieces of his armor. Even within the context of a medical check-up, removing the beskar was an intimate process. Carefully, you would take each portion of armor and set it on top of the heavy fabric you had laid out. The process continued as Dyn removed more and more hunks of metal from his body.

Dyn felt truly exposed. He was left in only his clothing and his helmet, the latter of which he never took off. At least, he never took his helmet off in front of you. No, that would be too much. That would be crossing a line carved in stone; a step that Dyn could not come back from.

To distract himself from the temptation, Dyn watched you as you pulled a seat up for yourself. You were now sitting at his side, careful hands already reaching for his arm. When you hands gripped loosely at his wrist and elbow, Dyn fought the urge to melt under your fingers.

“You fell on this side, right?”

“Y-Yeah.” Dyn had hoped his reply would come out steady. Instead, much like his heart, his voice faltered with you so close in proximity. 

“Your arm feels fine,” you gave Dyn’s arm a slight squeeze. “That hurt?”

“No.”

Dyn watched you carefully as you set his arm down to his lap. Each touch was tender, laced with a softness that he had never felt outside of your presence. Nothing had ever felt so comforting to him before. When he met you, when he offered you a spot on the Razor Crest, it was like a new world had been opened to him. A world outside of the Mandalorians training and cold shoulders of the bounty hunting realm.

“May I?” 

Your question broke Dyn from his thoughts. His eyes focused on your face than your hand which hovered above his abdomen. Heat emanated from your open palm, warming the flesh of his side even under the shirt. It was as if some unseen force was melding you both to each other; though that wasn’t rational and Dyn blamed his lack of sleep.

He nodded wordlessly and your fingers hooked under the hem of his shirt. Your gentle touch, the barely-there brushing of your fingertips stirred something up in Dyn’s chest. It wasn’t ache from before; no, this was something entirely different.

“It looks like,” you lifted Dyn’s shirt a little higher, “that when you fell...the beskar bruised your side.”

“So much for protection,” Dyn muttered. As he spoke, your hand splayed across his stomach and Dyn had to keep his breath from hitching. Your palm was warm against his skin, soothing in a way his brain failed to comprehend. 

“You’re not dead,” you said as you pulled away. “I would rather have you bruised than not have you at all.”

Dyn cocked his head as you lifted yours to meet his gaze. That feeling returned in his chest; that feeling he could not describe. There was not a word in the common language that could label the tickling in his chest and the twisting in his gut. Almost like an echo, a word in Mando’a resounded in his mind: chaab.

Chaab, fear.

“Here’s a cooling bacta for that.” You raised Dyn’s shirt once more and pressed the cold patch against his skin. He watched you work, watched every little movement of your fingers as they hovered above his skin. 

Yes, it was chaab. He was feeling fear and it’s tightening grip on his body. Dyn let out a shaking breath as the cold bacta soaked into his skin; at least that was what he blamed it on. He knew it was fear...but what was he afraid of?

“Just rest now,” you sighed. You stood up and wiped your hands on your pants. Dyn’s eyes never left your face. He was still trying to figure it out. Dyn wasn’t scared of you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the helmet altering his voice in such a way that hid his confusion. You smiled at him and reached to squeeze his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t want you to disappear, would we?” 

The feeling returned with a new vengeance. That was what he was afraid of and that was a world without you.

“Well, look who’s callin’ the shots now, Mando!” Toro’s threat fell on deaf ears. All Dyn was focused on was the Child caught in Toro’s arms and you, kneeling on the ground before him. Your cheek was red and swollen, the beginning of a bruise blooming on the side of your face. On pure instinct, Dyn curled his gloved hands into fists. 

“Let them go.” Dyn’s voice was steady, much to his own surprise.

“Do you know how much is on your head? I could fund my membership into the Guild and then some!” Toro pointed the blaster in his hand to the Child’s head. Dyn’s heart lurched in his chest and, as he found himself stepping towards them, he saw you. At first, it was a blur. Dyn saw your face then your hair, then a blast.

“Y/N!”

You crumpled to the ground, unmoving and all Dyn felt was that twisting in his gut, how it mingled with a dizzying lightness in his chest. Fear had planted itself firmly in Dyn’s heart when he watched you hit the ground. Everything after that was pure anger. 

Dyn didn’t feel himself throw the phaser. The blinding, blinking light did little to hinder his movement. He strode through the light, guided by his instinct and his yearning to find you, to save you; to protect you. But he saw Toro as the younger man regained his vision. Without hesitation, Dyn raised his blaster, aimed at his chest, and fired.

Then, Dyn found you. Smoke, in a small plume, rose up from your chest. Dyn fell to his knees, seemingly not seeing Peli, the engineer working on the Razor Crest, holding the Child in her arms. His sole focus was you; it had been since he met you.

“Y/N.” Carefully, Dyn reached out for your shoulder and turned you on your back. Your body was mostly limp but still warm as your arm fell into his lap. Toro’s blaster bolt had shot through your right shoulder, dangerously close to your neck. “Y/N?”

Your eyes were pressed closed and the rest of your face horribly relaxed, too peaceful for his liking. Fear told Dyn that it was too late for you but some primal part of him, a hopeless ache in his heart, drove him to try. He reached for a pouch attached to his belt and pulled out what medical supplies he had on him. It wasn’t a lot and he was not trained in the art of healing as you were but Dyn tried. He lifted you up, cradled you in his lap and pressed a bacta patch to your wound. 

“Y/N...” 

Peli had never met a Mandalorian before. She had only heard that they were fearsome warriors, Hell-bent on killing whatever stands in their way. Peli would have never guessed that Mandalorians were capable of such softness as the one before her now. The way he said your name made Peli hurt; the Child seemed to sense that too and let out a whimper.

“Y/N, I need you.” 

His voice was trembling as he spoke. Chaab, fear, it gripped Dyn so tightly it was squeezing the air from his lungs. His family was slipping through his fingertips. Dyn did not want to be alone again, he couldn’t. Not after he had a taste of what family could be.

Dyn lifted a hand, trying to be as gentle as you were with him, and traced the side of your face. He began to shift, preparing himself to a new harsh reality that entailed leaving you behind. As he moved, your arm lifted. Weakly, your fingers wrapped around Dyn’s wrist and held his hand to your cheek. 

“You need me? Never thought you would admit that.” Despite your teasing, your words came out hoarse. When you fell, the wind had been knocked out of you and your following breaths were incredibly shallow. Dyn tenderly brushed his thumb along your cheek, the on side of your face that wasn’t bruised and battered. Although the sight of your wounds renewed the sense of rage buried in his chest.

“Yeah,” his voice broke but he was too overwhelmed to care.

“Where is he?”

“Dead.” At Dyn’s reply, your eyes widened. “Toro, the Child is fine.”

“Thank the Maker,” you sighed. Wordlessly, Dyn tucked one of his arms under your legs and the other beneath your neck. He scooped you up in his embrace and turned to face Peli. The moment you saw the Child, it was like you had found a second wind. “There you are.”

The Child cooed at the sight of you, reaching out from Peli’s arms and toward your face. The fizzy haired engineer smiled and gingerly set the green creature on your lap. Dyn, whose blood was still pumping wildly, did not flinch at the added weight. If anything, he felt stronger with his new, little family in his arms.

“You take them inside,” Peli began, “pay me later.”

“Thank you,” Dyn said quietly before walking up the ramp and into the Razor Crest. 

With each step, the anger left him and he was suddenly tired. Shock and adrenaline were wearing off, leaving Dyn with you in his arms. He would have held you longer if it weren’t for the discomfort spread along your features. Carefully, he set you on top of a storage box. The Child gurgled excitedly with the motion and wiggled in your lap.

When you were sat and steady, Dyn kneeled down in front of you. Still giddy, the Child reached out and slapped his small hands against his helmet. Dyn watched as you pulled the Child back in a restraining manner. Yet, you never scolded the creature. 

“We should give Peli more than we owe,” you said seriously, looking into the eyes of Dyn’s helmet. He nodded in agreement, bringing up on of his hands to rest on your knee.

“I will, but you need to tell me what to do.”

“What to do?” Your brows furrowed in confusion and you shook your head. “I’ll be alright, Dyn. It just needs time to heal.”

“I….” 

Dyn trailed off, lost in his tangled thoughts. There was too much he wanted to say, too much he needed to tell you. He wanted to speak but the feeling of wetness, tears falling from his eyes, drove him into silence. It was only when you set your hand on top of his that he found a grip in reality for himself.

“What is it?”

Dyn let out a shaking breath, “I was scared….I thought I lost you.”

The words were as unfamiliar to him as the feeling of dread. In his time with the Mandalorians, Dyn had grown around a code that barred the intimacy his words implied. He had taken the title of bounty hunter, as gunslinger, and worn both with pride. Now, he was a mess. His composure, his mask, was failing him and it was all because of you.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, your hand moving to the side of his helmet. “I’m still here. I’m still with you. Bruised, but not dead.”

“Bruised, but not dead,” Dyn echoed. You gave him a half-smile and he felt his chaab melt-away. He would not be scared anymore.

Slowly, he lifted his hands from below his helmet. Your eyes widened and you lips parted, ready to protest. But there was no stopping Dyn when he set his mind to something. Even when that something was blasphemous to others. Before your words could find purchase on your tongue, Dyn’s helmet was on the ground.

There was no hiding, not anymore. He wanted you to see him. He didn’t want fear to control him any longer; Mandalorian customs be damned. You were his family and he needed you to know that he was there for you.

Dyn didn’t care that showing you meant you seeing his red-rimmed eyes or his tear-stained cheeks. You didn’t care either. Instead, you reached and let your trembling hand rest against his cheek. You took in the sight of his messy, dark hair; you met his sharp gaze and deep brown eyes. There was something in his eyes that you had known for years.

“I love you.”

Those were the first words you heard that were said in Dyn’s true voice. Each syllable rang in your ears like a small chime. Dyn did not feel chaab, all he felt was love looking into your eyes for the first time, unhindered by his helmet.

“I love you too,” you replied. Dyn felt his lips pull up in the smallest of smiles and, as if he could sense the joy in the air, the Child chittered. “So does he.”

Dyn looked into the Child’s wide, dark eyes and sighed. “Little womp rat.”

The hand you had rested on his cheek moved and brushed through his dark hair. At your gentle touch, Dyn lifted his gaze to yours once more. In that moment, there was just the three of you, safe and together. Dyn found, in that same moment, that this family was all he would ever need.

[pleasantwizardphilosopher]

Just you and me

So, I finally gathered the courage to write something and went for a SuperCorp fanfic, because clearly I am supercorp trash. I haven’t decided whether to post it in AO3 or not but if I do I’ll let you know. English is not my first language so if you get any mistakes or some parts lack cohesion please let me know and I’ll try to fix it. This fic goes by the idea that Kara is a very good scientist, she deserves that much, Lena’s background is canon-like. There are no dialogs, only feelings and senses, hope you like it.

*********

Finding yourself stuck in time is hard, at least that’s what most people would feel like under such circumstances, but not for Lena, not right now, where every single piece of “normalcy” her life had is just beginning to crumble, like a piece of sun-dried bread, or the way eggshells crack after someone steps on them, painfully, noisily, in a million pieces, most of all and beyond everything, they shatter unrecognizably and irreparably. Maybe the cold that such pain leaves behind is what led her to run, maybe it was the sudden fear and tiredness that was left in her, like cold steel in her bones, maybe it was the emptiness that started consuming every truth she thought she knew. It did not matter, she fled, running as fast as she could in those 7-inch Louboutins. She never looked back, not even after her flight landed in National City, not even after setting foot for the first time in her new penthouse in the middle of the city. She never regretted it, at first it was rough, sure, like every bumpy road is, yet, after the first glance she ever took at that blonde hair that day in the park, all doubts were erased off her mind.

*********

It was the end of August, the chilly air that announced a cold winter ahead blew her hair, ruffling it in her face; filling the streets, waking scattered orange and brown-ish leaves that had fallen from nearby trees, whistling on its way through the now almost-bare branches. The wind left behind the soft aroma of wet dirt, freshly baked bread and upcoming rain, heartwarmingly, filling her lungs easily with every breath, puffing visible clouds when exhaling. It was certainly nostalgic, the kind that makes you feel warm and cozy and at the same time makes your eyes prickle with unshed tears. Kara felt that pull, as usual, for everything good her life has had, and everything it had taken from her. She stood on the sidewalk, towards National’s City Central Park, glancing around her, taking in her surroundings when her gaze landed on a particular someone, dragged to her as if her eyes were mere pieces of steel and that woman were a huge neodymium magnet; She found herself staring at a sight she’ll always remember, because at that moment, when she first saw her, she felt a different kind of pull at her heart, the kind that screamed “caution!”, but in the good way, hopefully.

Long before she knew her name, what made her laugh, what made fer fidget with her fingers nervously, but above all, long before she had met that woman with dark long silky hair, forest-green eyes and pearly skin. Long before that gorgeous human being, with such power emanating from her, yet such caring, hopeful eyes, crossed her path, long before she made her feel like flying without actually leaving the ground, mostly, who she would grow to love, maybe, maybe she was fantasizing too much, who could blame her, it surely was a sight to remember.

*********

When the double doors slide open, she’s expecting a no-nonsense, powerful, cold-blooded, cocky-demeanor CEO, what she’s definitely not expecting is for such CEO to be almost precisely all that shaped and carefully placed in a stunning, raven-haired woman, whose green eyes could pierce through your soul and would probably make you spill your darkest and deepest secrets, those that also hide so much fear, making her want to walk over there and pour all her support into a hug. Kara swallows. Nevertheless, there is also something else to this woman’s aura, her posture is perfect, clearly carved into her from a very young age, and her smile is polite but stiff, almost practiced, and still, Kara can feel kindness emanating from her, true deep kindness and care. Something brings her to the present again, her breath hitches, those beautiful eyes are staring intently into hers with curiosity and a hint of amusement. The woman in front of her has managed to steal her breath twice now, which is not something she, the founder and co-owner of a start-up company. Harvard graduate and Kryptonian, finds happening often, she has faced great threats, from grumpy bankers to out-of-space threats as Supergirl, yet, Lena Luthor has managed to make her heartbeat go erratic with a simple gaze. 

The soft scent of an expensive perfume fills the office, something akin cinnamon, vanilla and a little scotch (?). It is dizzying and a little distracting. She somehow manages to go through her proposal for the CEO without stumbling too much and, fortunately, without rambling. Lena seems fascinated by the proposal and agrees to the terms without major modifications to the contract. After both signing, they shake hands, and maybe, just maybe, they linger a little more than needed, both enraptured by the softness of the other’s hand. Lena pulls away first, fingers tingling, feeling the tips of her fingers warm and a lingering scent of something floral, it is electrifying, like a low current cursing through her veins, making her get goosebumps all over her arms, but she doesn’t mind, as her attention is captured by those ocean blue eyes that seemingly hold the weight of the world. She certainly is nowhere close to getting tired of them.

*********

When they signed this partnership, they did not expect it to turn this way, at least Kara didn't, or so she muses while sitting on the ledge of her rooftop. She truly just meant to get funding and maybe get to work a little up-close with the brilliant, certified genius of a woman. Sure, she is gorgeous and incredibly sharp-minded, as proven by so many magazines’ articles having bothered to analyze both qualities deeply and thoroughly; but after that first sight of her, with such strength and determination to her pose, with each powerful step, with every sway of her hips, albeit hiding so much hurt, sadness, and a great burden, brought to her by her last name; a burden that Kara has somehow come know so well, such need to be understood, because, the truth was, that no one had ever lived through loss the way they did. One lost her world, her culture and way of life, but found love and compassion, whereas Lena was denied both from a very short age, living a life without love, compassion, and affection, in a household where the outside cold wouldn’t enter, as the inside was icier. 

The cold nighty wind startles her, it brings to her mind memories of bight smiles, so hard that certain dimples showed, laughs so hard that some wine would be spat on a very white leader couch, sunny days filled with an assortment of foods and a wonderful voice, filling every corner of the room with its melody and a slight accent, becoming more evident when emotion takes a rightful place in her voice, one that comes from a very pale yet very compassionate woman. She has to tell her, it's been just over a year since they first met, but she knows it is time, with them growing closer, she has to tell her she is Supergirl. And yeah, she definitely did NOT expect things to turn this way. (Maybe she kinda did).

**********

When she asked Kara if she understood the quantum mechanics behind the surface plasmon resonance their platinum nanoparticles showed, she wanted to be shaken, mad even, because why wouldn't she, the to-be youngest member of the Science Guild on Krypton? Of course, they didn't have the same metals as they did on Earth, but they understood the physics behind the phenomena. Okay, Lena did do not know her identity, yet, hopefully, but she did have a Bachelor in Mechatronic Engineering and a Master Degree in Advanced Materials, she definitely may have crossed paths with the concept. But hell, how can she be mad when those bright, summer-trees green eyes look at her with such glint of excitement, with a twinkling sparkle or curiosity? Those eyes that were looking at her with a look you give someone you know gets you, beyond understanding your words, those who truly get a grasp of your language, of who you are, what makes you shake with the excitement of a new discovery, a greater challenge. It was then that Kara knew that she could read Lena the way no one had ever done for her, she could grasp what she needed in every moment, what she was thinking, but she also got her sciency stuff, the theoretical jargon, upcoming theories, the physics behind phenomena and she shared her love for technology that could make humans' lives better, longer, healthier. They shared, compassion, vision, passion and... Kara was now almost certain, love.

At least she thinks so, what else could those stolen glances be? She looks up, just to find those forest-green eyes glinting with determination and concentration while those agile slender fingers handle tools and twinkle their way around the solar panel’s circuitry. She is so enraptured by her skills that she mistakenly adds way too much platinum sulfide to the solution, turning it suddenly black and bringing her out of her stupor as the contents boil, violently spilling all over the place, filling the air with a slight scent of iron, evaporated water and burnt plastic. Green eyes break contact with the panel to look towards where strong hands work frantically to turn off the hot plate she was working on, dropping her tools she reaches a hand to help Kara, concerned green eyes looking for any kind of burn injury or spill that may need to be taken care of. After making sure everything is (mostly) okay and that it was just a failed reaction, Kara is suddenly aware of a soft hand pulling her away from the table, vanilla and cinnamon fill the air around her, like a soft embrace, that turns real when Lena pulls her into her arms, a soft bubble surrounding Kara, making her a little giddy and peaceful at the same time. Flowers, fresh-cut flowers is what Lena smells, while she hugs Kara tightly, it is normal to get worried for your best friend after a lab incident, no matter how small, she tells herself, and while it maybe is, it is definitely not normal the way her heart felt like stopping the moment she saw the hot contents of the Erlenmeyer flask spill all over the place, fearing for Kara, feeling it creep up her spine and settle like cold ice on her stomach and lungs, making it hard to breathe.

When strong arms surround her and pull her in tighter, she realizes she has started shaking and hyperventilating, embarrassed she hides her face in the crook of Kara’s neck, and everything fades outside this moment. It is just them, vanilla, and flowers, Kara murmuring sweet nothings into Lena’s ear, hearing her heartbeat even out, and her breathing become normal; and Lena trusting that this person, whose arms seem to be able to lift a bus, whose laugh makes her heart warm and fuzzy, whose smile lights her world and makes her feel safe, cared for and understood; will never let her fall. And perhaps she is right.

**********

Yup, it is definitely love. What else could it be? That snowy January, between hot cocoa and soft muffins, she knew. She is hovering outside her lab, on the outskirts of town, where it was less likely that someone caught her both personas; peeking through the windows, she sees her, Lena is coding the interface that would allow them to take the most efficiency and durability out of the technology they had designed, the mechanical and chemical part was almost done already. She is typing, eyes narrowed in concentration behind thick rimmed glasses, the tip of her tongue poking from a corner of her mouth. And Kara knows, she wants to caress those hands when they were trembling from the winter cold, but also kiss them after a long day working with her computer, she wants to rub her feet after a day filled with meetings and kiss her every time her brilliant mind comes up with a solution for an impossible problem. But above all that, she wants to hold her and whisper into her ear comforting and loving words when she has a nightmare regarding Lex, she knows it’s a common occurrence. She wants to see her crumble knowing that Kara would always hold her and support her, kissing her lovingly every time her insecurities get the best of her. She wants her to feel safe, protected and loved in a way she always deserved but never got.

She sighs, this is it and she knows it, there is not moving forward without coming clean about Supergirl, because, staring at Lena, she knows there is no going back either, looking the way her agile fingers dance around the keyboard as if she were writing a letter to a friend instead of a state-of-the-art software to power and control their recently developed solar panels. She thinks of how beautiful of a soul Lena is, she has such a big heart, she has a huge weight on her shoulders for being a Luthor, a burden which Kara would love to lift from her since it is not hers to carry, it shouldn’t be. Furthermore, she cares so much for the world and the people in it, even for the ones that are not human, unlike her family she is truly kind and compassionate.

Here goes nothing. Kara flies through the lab floor-to-ceiling windows towards the desk where Lena is working, placing beside her the paper bag containing hot cocoa and muffins for her. Due to the cold, the soft warm homey smell soon starts filling the room. Lena looks up smiling, expecting to find Kara behind the treats, but instead, bright green eyes lock with glassy baby blue eyes, trembling lips and fingers fidgeting. Lena stands. She is instantly shaking, whatever it is that could possibly turn the unyielding hero into a crying mess must be of great concern. She steadies herself by grabbing the edge of the table to keep her knees from buckling, knuckles turn white. Green never leaves blue. And just when she is about to ask the hero what brings her here, a strong hand comes to the small of her back to steady her and keep her upright. She has never been this close to Supergirl and at that moment when every sound seems to shut and the air stills, she knows.

She knows why those sky-blue eyes always inspired her such calm and confidence, why she always felt safe in those arms that could bend steel as butter. Because in that moment, when the warmth emanating from that hand starts filtering through her clothes, warming her, her senses are also filled with a smell of flowers, mixed with chocolate and bread, and a hint of mint; when a single tear escapes those ocean blue eyes, she crumbles. She crumbles under that gaze filled with pain and sorrow, filled with such regret that she could feel it creeping through herself, nestling in every corner of her body, making her feel slump and heavy. She also sees intelligence, compassion and strength, qualities she has come to be very familiar with under a blue setting. And so, she grabs the hero’s suit in her fist and buries her face in her chest, a single heart-wreaking cry filling the air. Kara shatters then, knowing how much pain this is causing to a soul that has been betrayed over and over again, who has been abused and pushed to her limits. She knows she is picking an open wound with a stick, and she hates herself for it, for using the same trust Lena gave her against her. They slide to the floor, never letting go of each other, tears falling freely through both their cheeks. Lena breaks into heartbreaking sobs and Kara holds her tighter, as if trying to keep her from falling into pieces, from breaking apart, rocking them both back and forth softly. Lena just cries, screaming from time to time, gripping the fabric so tightly that if it were regular fabric, it would be tearing down by now, but it isn’t, just as the woman holding her, the woman she most certainly is NOT in love with, is not a regular human. They stay there, holding onto each other, never breaking eye contact, the hot cocoa and muffins long forgotten.

**********

She really isn’t mad. She isn’t. So maybe she has been slightly avoiding Kara, but she isn’t mad. Despite her first-instance outburst of emotions, she realized she really isn’t angry at Kara from keeping the Supergirl thing a secret from her, yes, she was deeply hurt and upset but she understands the reasoning behind it, albeit she wishes Kara had told her earlier in their relationship it also makes perfect sense for her to hide it until making sure their relationship was well-founded and strong.

She is quite lost though, there is a small hint of emptiness inside her chest from that day which smelled like chocolate and bread, at first Lena thought she might actually and finally be broken, her heart having taken so many hits already. But the pain eventually faded, and that emptiness never left, on the contrary, it became more present, so much that she was now almost used to it. Like a lingering rock in the bottom of her stomach, or a ball of cotton in her throat, constant, bearable but persistent. And now, as the snow starts melting outside her office she wonders why. She knows why though; she just likes to pretend like she can fool herself.

The morning sun is hitting her office’s windows, warmer than it has been for the past few months and as the first drops of melted snow start to fall from the rooftop to her balcony, the pretense falls to pieces, and she falls along with it. She fumbles with her balcony door and stumbles outside, not even bothering to grab her coat, as soon as she steps outside, she is hit with cold, humid air and slippery floors. Taking huge gasps of cold air to fill lungs that seemingly do not want to be filled.

Maybe this is all she needed, standing on her balcony and glancing at the city, the morning sun casting a bright yellow light over her face, warming her skin softly, while her side in the shadows gets colder every passing second. It is enough, hot and cold, day and night, light and darkness, she always wondered to which side of the scale she tipped the most, she used to believe she was all shadows, a Luthor, and Kara was light, all goodness, she smiles at the irony, a Super. However, while she is taking in the city, calm and almost quiet since it is so early, bright light hitting the buildings and cold, contrasting shadows hiding smaller streets, cars, and people, she gets it. Kara was never all light, and will never be, she has on her shoulders an unbearable pain that will never go away and with her powers come hard choices that no one should ever have to make. And she, she is not darkness, she is both, and she can choose which side to feed, and she wants to choose light, just not any light, one that is personified by blonde hair and ocean-deep blue eyes that she could, and does, get lost into. Maybe, she can bring a certain light to Kara as well, maybe they both deserve it, they deserve each other. Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding she turned on her heels towards her office and out of it, directly to a certain warehouse on the outskirts of town. The balcony door left open, melted snow glowing gold from the morning sun, dripping into Lena’s office.

**********

Disappointment is that what she feels, no, sadness, for sure, she knew things could go sideways with the whole reveal show and yet, the clench in her heart won’t go away easily, and she knows she absolutely has no right to feel that way, she made that choice, just as she has made every other choice before it. She is tempering with her suit, waiting for her cell culture to finish growing so she can properly test their absorption properties. Soft pop music plays in the background, filling the warehouse with soft notes with a cheesy vibe, the mid-morning sun streams from the windows, lighting the space with an orange-ish golden glow. She finishes her upgrades with a tired huff, never one to hate working on something she surprises herself with such reaction. Groaning with frustration that has nothing to do with her projects and a lot to do with a certain pale powerful, wonderful, CEO.

She walks towards the windows, letting herself bask in the mid-morning light, feeling her powers recharge and her body start buzzing with energy. She clenches her fists, as the warmth caress of the sun on her skin makes her heart ache, missing another entirely different kind of warmth. She leans against a wall and lets her body slide to the ground, bringing her knees to her chest, she closes her eyes, letting herself get lost in the feeling of the sun kissing her skin, softly, almost hesitantly, she can almost picture a certain brunette, softly stroking her cheek, a sweet lovingly caress. A single tear rolls down her cheek from her closed eyes, knowing that such caresses may never be from her, a faith written by her own hand, resulting from her choices, as hard as it is. Letting her straining superhearing and expanding its reach she hears the hustle and bustle from downtown a few kilometers away, she hears the honks of the cars and the heavy panting from people running late for their work, such mundane thing that she may never truly get to live and experience. As her hearing expands, she finds herself focusing in a very well-known heartbeat, one she can distinguish above the sea of heartbeats that flood the city; it is beating absurdly fast, and her first reaction is to focus on her surroundings to find out whether she is in danger or not.

She hears heavy puffs of air, heels clicking steadily and determinately on the pavement, closer with every step, and is she running? Her breath hitches when realization dawns on her, she IS running, towards her. While her mind screams for her to move, to do something, her body is frozen, unresponsive, breath caught in her throat, she absolutely does not understand what is happening and doesn’t know what to expect from the woman that is now reaching her. Before she can dwell on it further, a feminine soft hand with slender cold fingers is touching her knee softly. She is panting from the effort, her breath smells like back coffee and mint, hitting Kara’s face warmly, making her head spin; a slight scent of grounded coffee beams mixed with Lena’s favorite scotch emanates from her clothes, she smells strangely like home; her red lipstick matching her flushed cheeks from running, and Kara cannot help but let her jaw fall open in awe at the sight.

She grabs Lena’s wrists softly and stands up bringing her along. Kara finally gathers her courage and looks at her eyes. She feels like sinking under her gaze, not out of fear, it’s nothing but love and warmth what she sees in those jade-green eyes, feelings she doesn’t feel worthy of, specially not when coming from the Irish goddess. Just when she’s about to close her eyes again, uncapable of keeping her gaze, Lena hooks a finger under her chin and makes her raise her eyes up to hers again. Insecure, scared-like blue puppy eyes find soft-looking bright emerald eyes. It’s understanding what she sees now in those deep green eyes, the same ones that seem capable of reading her like an open book. She lets out a sob, and Lena lets go of her chin, going to grab her hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing her palm tenderly.

The breeze brings to Kara’s nose the scent of Lena’s shampoo, smells like rainy days and autumn leaves, and, as usual, no words are needed when Kara moves her hand from Lena’s lips to cup her cheeks, bringing her other hand up. And, what else can she do other than lean forward? So, she does, she leans forward and kisses her forehead, its soft, tender, like a butterflies’ kiss, just barely brushing her skin, trying to convey her love for her beautiful Genius™ mind, for her brilliance, stubbornness and compassionate selfless soul. She then brushes her lips softly on both her eyelids, trying to convey all the love and regret she feels regarding the way she did Supergirl secret-related things. She parts slowly and watches as Lena opens her eyes fluttering open slowly, bringing her hands up to grab the wrists of the Kara’s hands that are still cupping her face, thumbs softly stroking the inside of the kryptonian’s wrists, she lets out a shaky breath, blue eyes looking at her so lovingly tenderly, with such determination and strength, unyielding as sapphires, she feels no questioning in her heart, this is where she is meant to be, she turns into a mushy puddle and lets herself be drawn into the Girl of Steel.

Kara leans forward and kisses her nose, giggling quietly, Lena simply melts into it feeling a soft warm breath that smells like chocolate and honey, suddenly, the emptiness in her chest melts like ice cream on a hot summer day, leaving nothing but love and warmth, like the one from a fireplace on Christmas Eve. She lets out a shuddering breath, relieved. They lock eyes again, and finally all those unspoken questions find an answer. They lean forward at the same time, their lips meeting in the middle, fitting perfectly against each other. It is warm, tender, loving, and everything it should be, the way every cheesy romantic comedy says it’s like. They pour all their love into that moment, lips moving against each other, chocolate-honey and black coffee.

When they finally part, it’s like breathing for the first time, lungs grasping for oxygen, freshly cut grass, concrete and sun-provided warmth, and it is perfect. Like taking a breath after holding it underwater for a long time, except you never truly knew what breathing was like, until that life-altering breath. They breathe in sync, foreheads touching, Kara’s hands go down to wrap around Lena’s waist, pulling her closer, Lena rests her head softly on Kara’s chest, nuzzling into her neck and closing her eyes, letting herself fall into that fierce love, like an all-consuming fire, she’s been too afraid to open herself to, to be vulnerable. They stay there, enjoying each other’s embrace, the hustle and bustle of the city blind to a beautifully blooming love.

**********

Kara is very clumsy, it does help her keep up her façade, albeit it is also a personal trait of hers. And right now, as she trips on nothing, while standing nonetheless, she makes it extremely evident. Forest green eyes look at her amused from the other side of the door. How does Lena expect Kara not to fall face first to the ground when she is dressed looking like THAT. Wearing a deep red drees that falls softly just below her knees, strapless, leaving her back and cleavage on display, her hair up in a neat bun and her signature 7-inch black heels, Kara definitely stopped breathing, not that she needs to anyway. She stands up awkwardly, taking the dust off her khaki pants and dark blue blazer. Lena cannot hide a smirk after pulling such reaction from no other than Supergirl.

The CEO pulls Kara into her apartment, it smells like vanilla and apples, probably resulting from the many scented candles that Lena likes to light around her apartment. The only light comes from said candles and several Christmas-like light strings that are hanging from the ceiling, giving the place a warm cozy glow. Kara smiles lazily as she leans down to kiss Lena, catching a glimpse of bright emerald eyes melting glimmery before falling shut. She smiles into the kiss. She pulls apart slightly and kisses the tip of Lena’s nose, the raven-haired woman lets out a soft chuckle. Kara grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads her to the door. Today it’s dinner date day, they are celebrating the successful launch of their joint solar panels project, the best performance ever achieved thanks to a certain Kryptonian’s platinum oxide nanoparticles; and 10 months of full-on dating. As Kara closes the door of Lena’s apartment behind them, the warm smell of the candles fills the hallway and follows them into the elevator, a fluffy plush blanket, a protective mantle surrounding them.

**********

drip…drip… the constant crash of raindrops against the windows surrounding them, rain pouring heavily around them, drowning the usually loud noises of the city’s rush hour, washing away the strong smell of smog. They are tucked under a bus station stop, at least Lena is, Kara is already dripping, since she stubbornly stood outside the small protection the roof offers so Lena and other humas could take cover, she doesn’t get sick anyway. Lena is shivering, although it has been a remarkably hot summer, today was quite a cloudy day and it rained for the most part, resulting in a temperature drop of several degrees. The brunette leans into Kara seeking for her abnormally high body temperature to warm herself up, but the Girl of Steel has other plans, since she cannot fly Lena to their apartment, she might as well take the best out of the situation.

Just as Lena is dropping her full body weight into her, she slides away, pulling Lena’s hand with her, directly into the downpour. Lena gasps when the first heavy drops of the cold water hit her, feeling her clothes get soaked almost instantly, she feels the raindrops roll down her skin and further dampening her clothes, the smell of the rain fully hits her now and when she lifts her eyes from where they were looking at the floor not to trip, she sees Kara smiling her signature megawatt smile at her, completely soaked and intertwining their fingers playfully, so Lena smiles, smiles so hard her dimples show. She lets herself be dragged by Kara, running under the rain, feeling the cold sweeping into her bones, and feeling more whole and filled with happiness than she has in a very long time, if ever.

Kara jumps over a puddle with all the grace of a gazelle, letting go of the CEO’s hand, such displays of her true nature still wonder Lena, just when she is about to make the jump herself, Kara stops and abruptly turns towards her. The world stops. Or maybe she is the one that freezes, the only thing she can hear is the rain pouring heavily around them, and her heart beating erratically in her chest, ringing in her ears, the smell of rain mixes with Kara’s floral perfume, she is getting closer now. The brunette starts shaking, and it has nothing to do with the cold water still running down her body. Kara stands in front of her, soaking wet, dirt all over her jeans from playing in the rain, her hair falls in wet dirty blonde strands around her face, her eyes as baby blue as always are dim because of the raindrops that coat her glasses, and in her soaking hands she’s holding an astonishingly made silver ring, two intertwined silver strings hold one small bright emerald in the middle, the inside of one of the string, in almost unreadably tiny letters reads “You are my hero”. The simplicity of the stone in contrast with the intricate design of the ring.

Lena forgets how to breathe, but Kara understands, so she just waits there, with the most loving smile ever seen stamped on her face. When Lena’s out of body experience ends, she simply nods enthusiastically. And so, the world starts spinning again, the honks of the cars return, engines roaring and muffled conversations, all muted by the rain, washing over them as reality sinks in, they are choosing each other, even when the world has tried to pull them apart repeatedly, furthermore, against each other, for them, none of it matters, just them, here and now, kissing for the first time in hopefully many years to come. Lena lets her hands drape loosely around Kara’s neck, feeling the grounding weight of the ring on her left ring finger, hot against her cold skin, the same way Kara’s hands, which hold her together.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Gen

Trigger Warnings: Referenced child abuse, blood

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 4/16 (all chapters)

You were scared of a lot of things: bugs, dark places, ghosts, drowning and more. Your friends often joked that you were a wimp and you’d bever been inclined to disagree.

There was one thing, however, that scared you above all others. It sent shivers down your spine and left your legs wobbling from under you.

It was the door to your father’s home office.

Your father was a prosecutor and a pretty notorious one at that, famous for the number of guilty verdicts he had achieved over the years. He had an incredible advantage, of course- the same lie detection quirk that he had passed onto you. He spent most of his evenings alternating between his work and home offices, going over the details of cases and preparing for a never ending stream of plaintiffs.

His home office was a near perfect replica of the one in the city, complete with a golden name plaque on the door. You passed it every day, multiple times a day, and each time broke out in goosebumps as if the door watched you in turn.

It wasn’t only the plaintiffs your father needed to find guilty.

Your father was not in the least bit conservative with his quirk. You spent many an afternoon there, jaw clenched and skin crawling at his line of questioning.

Tell me… why were you late?

Tell me… how long did you study?

Tell me… who were you with?

You hated being left so exposed and, in retrospect, you weren’t in the least bit surprised that you ended up vanilla instead of habanero, desperately seeking a simple married life.

The anxiety of standing outside of your father’s home office stayed with you into adulthood, even now that you had your own home. You had started to believe it no longer had an effect on you; that you no longer remembered how it felt.

As you stood outside of the hospital door, though, you remembered clearly.

Hand trembling, you reached up to knock.

━

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER

“Maybe if I move it that way…”

You scrolled through your calendar and let out a sigh at the appointments already there.

“No good, no good.”

You sat back in your chair and stretched, popping your shoulders and wiggling your toes.

“Maybe…”

You had a moment of inspiration, only to groan and click out of the window.

With the sports festival around the corner, your schedule was on the verge of taking a beating. Between modifying your office hours to make appointments with students to discuss their offers, to making room for counselling for those suffering disappointment, to keeping your usual appointments and open office hours, you were starting to consider bringing a futon and moving into your office for the foreseeable future. You’d known it was going to be a tight squeeze, but hadn’t counted on it being this bad.

You logged out of your computer and climbed out of your chair, giving your back a quick rub before leaving your office. You needed an IV of coffee, but a cup would have to do.

You were still thinking about your itinerary as you passed the 1-A classroom. Normally, between Kirishima, Bakugo and Iida, you heard the classroom long before you passed it. Today, though, it was silent and you peered through the window.

You’d heard that they were going on a trip with Thirteen to the USJ for specialist training and, if their empty desks were anything to go by, had already left. You had taken a tour of the facility during your initial induction and it had taken everything you had to keep your jaw from hitting the ground. You knew that UA was well funded, but it didn’t really sink in until then.

You wondered how they were getting on. Had Bakugou destroyed anything yet? Had Midoriya broken any of his bones?

You were still considering it as you passed the faculty lounge, dragged out of your thoughts by the sound of voices within. It sounded like the principal, though you weren’t sure who he was speaking to. You wondered if it was a private conversation and you should come back another time.

You knocked a couple of times before peeping around the door.

“Sorry,” you said, “am I interrupting?”

You really had heard the principal and he appeared to be sharing tea with All Might.

You weren’t sure you would ever be prepared for the sight of All Might in his skinnier form. Like most youngsters of your generation, you had watched his heroic acts in awe. You hadn’t known he was going to join the faculty at the time of your own job application and still found your heart racing whenever you passed him in the corridors.

You had signed eighteen different nondisclosure agreements after successfully taking on the job at UA, of which well over half related to the Symbol of Peace. You knew that he had been injured very badly and was losing his strength at an alarming rate. Even so, it was difficult to adjust to the reality.

“Ah, (Name), come in, come in,” said Principal Nezu, “we were just sharing a cup of tea, would you like some?”

You wanted coffee, but Nezu had already started to pour.

“Of course,” you said, closing the door behind you and taking a seat.

“You got here just in time,” said Nezu, pushing your cup across the coffee table. “We were discussing the fundamentals of teaching.”

“That sounds interesting,” you said, taking a sip of tea. “You must have a lot of insight.”

All Might twitched beside you, visibly restless. You wondered how long Nezu had been talking.

“Apologies,” he said, setting down his cup, “I should get going. I’ve already rested for far too long.”

He got up and walked towards the door, taking a deep breath before transforming into the muscular form the world knew and loved.

You would never get used to that either.

“So, (Name),” said Principal Nezu, “how are you finding the school? I trust you’ve had support from our staff?”

“Everyone’s been really kind,” you said. “I know they’re busy with their own workloads this term, but they’ve had so much time for me.”

You wrapped your hands around your cup, warmth flooding your fingers. You wanted to explain how grateful you were for the opportunity -that not so long ago your life had been falling apart- but you never got the chance, for the door to the lounge flew open and a student stormed inside.

“Principal Nezu! Something terrible has happened!”

It was Iida from 1-A, dressed in his hero costume and visibly out of breath. Your blood ran cold and you glanced across at Nezu, who had gotten to his feet.

“USJ...there’s been an invasion at USJ! Please help!”

Nezu’s response to the matter was swift and efficient. He turned to you, visibly transformed from the mild mannered principal who had offered you a cup of tea.

“(Name),” he said. “I’m going to gather everyone available. I need you to liaise with the authorities.”

“Of course,” you said, setting aside your tea and whipping out your phone.

“Meet us there,” he said as you began to dial.

“S-sir?”

You weren’t a pro hero; what possible use could you be?

━

His intentions soon became clear.

While your colleagues rushed into the danger zone, you stayed behind with the police, hitching a ride with Tsukauchi to the station once the area was secure.

Time was of the essence. You had read enough crime statistics to know that villain attacks very often came in waves, making the next few hours crucial to the safety of UA. Having a human lie detector on hand during the interrogations was more than a little bit useful.

You only wished you could concentrate.

Everything you knew about the incident came straight from Tsukauchi, so even though you had never actually seen the full extent of the carnage, you knew enough for your imagination to run wild.

You knew that the students had escaped with minor injuries and, while Shouta was badly hurt, he wasn’t dead. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, especially since the only image of the incident you had seen was that of his goggles broken on the floor.

You sat beside Tsukauchi in the interrogation room, silent as they brought in prisoner after prisoner. You only spoke to activate your quirk; only dragged yourself out of your contemplations to ask the same set of questions.

Three hours later, you knew only fractionally more than you did to begin with. The villains you’d caught were blatant throwaways, with no knowledge at all of the man they’d followed into battle or a greater scheme. They’d all wanted to take a shot at the symbol of peace and had no idea how close they had come to succeeding.

“Are you going to be alright?” Tsukauchi asked as interrogations came to a close.

You knew you must have looked a mess, popping aspirin and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, “honestly.”

“I’ll organise a car to take you to UA,” he said, but you shook your head.

“No, no that’s okay. I need to go somewhere first.”

━

Technically, you had two places to go first.

You stopped by the police station washroom to freshen up, leaning over the sink as the migraine set in. You pinched the bridge of your nose and watched as it began to bleed.

You weren’t used to using your quirk for such a long period of time and had almost certainly overdone it. The bleeding began to slow and you switched on the tap, washing away the blood on your face before plugging your nostrils with tissue paper. Unfortunately, you had still managed to bleed on your collar.

Just your luck that you would use your quirk too much on the day you decided to wear your new white blouse. You cursed at your reflection, trying and failing to adjust your shirt in such a way that it wasn’t noticeable.

Even now, you couldn’t concentrate.

You had never crossed paths with so many villains in one day. You had watched your father cross examine witnesses and plaintiffs many, many times, but had never been in his shoes. You hated it.

You knew exactly how they felt when you activated your quirk, recognised the squirming as it crawled through their skin. Part of you had enjoyed it, knowing that their discomfort in that moment did not compare to the violence they had inflicted on others.

Shouta.

The violence they had inflicted on Shouta.

He was a hero, you told yourself. He had signed up to fight those very same villains.

Even so, you hated them for it in ways you’d never hated a villain before.

You thought back to your training and took a deep breath.

“This is normal,” you whispered. “This is normal. This is a negative emotional response to a distressing situation. This is normal, we’ll move on.”

You took another deep breath, but your heart still rattled.

What is it that’s bothering me?

You reached into your purse for your makeup, painting away the shock for now at least.

We can work through that later.

━

PRESENT

And so, there you were, standing outside of Shouta’s room in the hospital.

They’d put him under the care of one of the best doctors in Musutafu, who assured you that surgery had been a success and his life was not in danger. There was a high chance his quirk would be affected by the damage to his orbital floor but even that was lucky, all things considered.

You tapped at the door and let yourself inside, taking in the calm and quiet of the room. Shouta was tucked up in bed and connected to numerous monitors, their steady beeps breaking the silence. You closed the door behind you and crept over to the bed, taking in the bandages that covered almost every inch of his body.

You had always known that heroes risked death and worse on a daily basis but had never seen it in person. You didn’t know how to feel about seeing him bloodied and broken. You had seen this man naked; you’d held onto the arms that a villain had broken. Did it always feel this personal?

You took a seat next to his bed, taking note of exactly how much of him was covered in bandages. You wouldn’t have known it was him if you hadn’t been told otherwise.

You didn't know what you had expected to find at the hospital, only that it would give you closure.

Why, then, did you still feel so uneasy?

You recalled his words from only recently, after you had given him a faceful of pepper spray.

Why would you try and confront a villain without help? You could have gotten yourself killed.

You need to be more rational in these things. Running head on into danger gets people killed.

Why hadn’t he followed his own advice?

Truthfully, you knew exactly why.

He had been well aware of the danger, but made the call anyway. He had analysed the situation and prioritised the lives and safety of his students over his own. It was the right thing to do and the rational part of you knew that, but you didn’t feel very rational right then.

You had to report back to Nezu; had to adjust your schedule ready for trauma counselling. You weren’t the only one who had been exposed to an unprecedented amount of villains that day. 1-A had almost certainly seen too much too soon.

You knew you had to leave, yet felt guilty as you got to your feet.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, hoping that your words would reach him through the anesthesia. “I have to go...but I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

You promised yourself that you’d skip lunch if you had to.

“See you,” you said, leaning over to kiss his forehead as if on autopilot.

Your heart skipped a beat once you realised what you’d done.

Oh God, what were you thinking?

You reached into your purse for your chapstick as you left the room, so focused on painting away the kiss that you didn’t notice his fingers twitch.

[chierafied]

The Broken and the Lost

This is written for my dearest @drosselmeyerwrites​ who told me a long while ago that she wanted “Chie Angst” and for me to make her cry. Who am I to say no to such a request? So here you go, love, and have a happy (?) birthday! 💙

Content warnings: Character Death(s). Depression. Serious Angst ahead.

4.8 k words. Also on Dokuga and AO3.

Death was something Sesshoumaru had always been familiar with. As a daiyoukai, a predator, he had often dealt it with his own hand, starting at a young age. First hunting animals, then battling lesser youkai, growing firmer in his resolution as he aged to follow in his father's footsteps. Death was part of life, the other side of the coin; always there yet distant.

Sesshoumaru never paid it any mind. He was young. He was a youkai. And though on occasion Sesshoumaru might bring death to others, he remained untouched by it, stood high above its reach. 

Until the day his father died, forever altering Sesshoumaru's life.

Death had snuck up on him and at its heels came something new – loss. It rattled inside him, for days and months and years. It returned to him, in those quiet and dark moments, all anew; its sharp edges sinking in with ease. 

But it wasn't grief that filled him in the aftermath of his father's demise, it was anger. The circumstances of his father's death seared him, knowing he'd died by the hand of a mere mortal as unfathomable as it was humiliating. The great general giving his life to protect a human woman and their halfbreed son.

And so this first loss gave Sesshoumaru a purpose: he vowed to surpass his sire, to gain even greater power. Sesshoumaru would not die by human hands. This path of supreme conquest consumed him and for the next several decades he dedicated himself fully to gathering strength, his primary object being the legacy his father had left behind – his swords.

It was a lonely life, but Sesshoumaru neither noticed it then nor cared. The goal he was striving towards was all that mattered. Besting every opponent in his way. Gathering all the information he could find as to how to obtain his father's fang. Training himself, testing his limits and surpassing them, was the only thing that gave his life meaning. Until he suffered a bitter defeat.

He had found at last what should have been his crowning glory: Tessaiga. But he had been unable to free the sword; instead, his cursed halfbreed brother had gained the might of their father's fang. And to add insult to injury, Inuyasha had bested him in the ensuing battle, leaving him maimed.

Alone, broken, his left arm gone, Sesshoumaru had lain in ruin, cursing his father, when a human girl had appeared. He had not wanted her help. He had certainly not needed her help. But no amount of snarling had scared her away, so she had cared for him in the small ways that she could.

When he later came across her, her young body bloody and broken and already growing cold, he told himself he merely wanted to test out the useless sword his father in his cruel fit of irony had decided to gift him.

But the truth was, even back then, though it was but a faint speck on the surface of his frozen heart, he cared.

That was how Rin came into his life.

And over the days, months and years that followed, filled by her bright smiles, endless trust and unwavering affection, that faint speck got bigger. It grew roots that burrowed deep, and before Sesshoumaru fully understood what was happening, Rin had already taken residence in his heart.

The second loss he experienced was Kagura. He did not have a deep or personal bond with the wind sorceress, but because his once-cold heart had begun to thaw under Rin’s small and gentle fingers, he was touched by the death. And it had not been the feelings Sesshoumaru had suspected Kagura had harboured towards him that he was thinking of, when he stood there, watching her fade away. It was the poignancy of a personal victory. In death was also Kagura’s triumph, for finally, she gained what she had always wished for: her freedom. She did not merely cease to be, she became one with the wind. Her loss was the soft stroke of a feather, a gentle sensation that carried a silent beauty alongside the ache. 

Then, there came a time, much too soon, when once again Sesshoumaru had cradled Rin’s small, lifeless body to his chest, a howl – whether of rage or anguish, he still wasn't sure – rumbling deep in the pit of his stomach. His sword was useless in his hand, the bitter helplessness almost his undoing, until at last his mother showed him a way to cheat death.

That time, the loss only scraped the very surface, but the fear of its claws raked down deep, the cold dread that it left behind lingering in his veins for months to come.

The third loss of Sesshoumaru’s life had been Inuyasha’s miko.

As far as he knew, she had not perished – following their final battle against Naraku she had simply vanished and the halfbreed and his friends had all remained tight-lipped about her fate, had merely reassured Sesshoumaru that the miko was fine and back where she had come from.

Sesshoumaru had not expected the miko’s disappearance to affect him in any way; they had barely been allies and had not spent a significant amount of time in each other’s company. Yet, her spirit, strength and bravery had won his grudging respect. His mind turned often to those final moments he had spent with her, fighting Naraku together. 

The loss of the miko was a curious thing, an echoing hollowness inside him, sudden flashes of realisation of something that was missing until once again he would remember that the miko was gone.

Strangely enough, Sesshoumaru was also affected by Inuyasha’s reaction to the miko’s loss. Year after year, as the well remained stubbornly closed and the miko stayed gone, hope was carved out of Inuyasha, sliver by sliver, leaving behind a brittle, hollow husk. The hanyou became withdrawn, even more morose and apathetic. That shook Sesshoumaru more than anything.

Sesshoumaru’s fourth loss was that of Kohaku. Even after he’d parted ways with the boy, there remained more than a speck of fondness in his heart. He would keep an eye on the boy every now and then, make sure all was going well for him.

And then, as fate would have it, Kohaku ended up marrying Rin. The two were happy, building a life together, and Sesshoumaru was pleased for them both.

Kohaku reached his middle years before he met his final death, much too soon in the opinion of his entire extended family, who deeply mourned his passing. He had died a hero’s death, protecting his son and nephew on a training mission gone wrong. The youkai they’d been facing had been stronger than anticipated, and though Kohaku had managed to slay it in the end, the wounds had been too grave. 

Sesshoumaru himself had carried his body back to the village, following a chance meeting on the road with the distraught boys who’d survived the attack.  He’d seen a light die in Rin’s eyes, had held her against his chest until she’d had no tears left. 

Kohaku’s had been the first funeral Sesshoumaru had actually attended and a persistent ache burrowed deep within, dogging his steps for years to come. So, sometimes, did the smell, that coppery tang of Kogaku’s blood forever burned to his memory, coating it as it had once coated his hand.

Rin’s loss was the worst.

Not only because Rin was the one he had the most affection towards, but because losing her had been like watching sand slip through his fingers. Slow, gradual... inevitable.

Rin’s loss was a single surface wound that never closed and slowly continued to bleed him dry over the many long years.

It started with leaving her in Kaede’s care in Edo. It was the right decision, Sesshoumaru knew. Rin needed to be among her own kind and life on the road was no place to be for a young girl. And though he did visit her often, his steps were always heavy when he left, a dull ache inside seeping all the way to his bones.

Then, Rin had fallen in love with Kohaku. Sesshoumaru rejoiced at her happiness, even as he could feel her slipping further away, a strip of silk falling from his grasp. And following Rin and Kohaku’s union, along came the children, who quickly became the centre of Rin’s universe.

She was walking her own road, building her life, always growing and becoming more.

It was good, it was right, it was all that he had ever wanted for her. 

For a fleeting second, as she was sitting right next to him, her daughter in her lap, eagerly conversing with him, it almost felt like the old times. Sesshoumaru could see that little girl he’d known so well lurking in those ageing warm brown eyes.

In truth, she had already gone where he couldn’t follow.

She was an old woman, when at last that last sliver Sesshoumaru had been so stubbornly clinging to was finally torn from his grasp. It was age that took her, as she lay on her futon, her frail, warm, wrinkled hand in Sesshoumaru’s. She was smiling as she went, surrounded by her family, accompanied by the noise of Jaken’s bitter sobs. 

Sesshoumaru did not cry a single tear – not then. His heart kept beating in his chest, steady and solid as always, even as the sharp little shards it had collapsed into rattled against each other in that familiar rhythm, tearing up new wounds with each beat. 

Eventually, he let go of her hand, stood up and walked away.

Jaken left him soon after that. Grovelling, he begged for Sesshoumaru’s permission to stay in Edo, to look after Rin’s children. Sesshoumaru granted the request. After so many years of faithful service, it was the least he could do. And then, with Jaken gone, Sesshoumaru was once again all alone.

It wasn’t the comfort it once had been.

He never did set his foot in Edo again.  Sometimes, of course, he was tempted to go and visit. Watch Rin’s children grow. But he couldn’t take such a long and slippery loss anymore, could not bear to see his little girl in a smile here or a gesture there.  He kept wandering the land, his soul an echoing emptiness, his long strides aimless and without a purpose. He no longer had a goal to strive towards.

Pain was Sesshoumaru’s only constant companion now. It was the ebb and flow of the sea, unstoppable and in constant flux. Dull one moment, then prickling, in a flash turning into a deep stab that stole his breath.  Pain was the shadow at his heels, always there. 

And then, after a couple of years of wandering or thereabouts – time had no meaning to Sesshoumaru – Inuyasha found him. 

He hadn’t come to fight, as Sesshoumaru had first assumed. Instead, Inuyasha plopped down and talked. Sesshoumaru did not know why he was here. Did not particularly care for his presence. Did not respond to his brother’s monologues. But he listened.

Inuyasha talked about his life in the village. About the passing of the monk and the taijiya. About their children. About Rin’s and Kohaku’s children. About Jaken. He talked about Kikyo. He talked about his miko.

He talked about loneliness and that Sesshoumaru understood only too well. He knew then why Inuyasha had sought him out.

Once Inuyasha had talked his piece, he left. He promised to be back.

And back he came, several months later. This time, he had a bottle of sake in tow. They drank together. Inuyasha talked. Sesshoumaru listened.

The third time, haltingly, Sesshoumaru spoke. Of the pain, of all the death, of being alone. And Inuyasha listened.

The fourth time, Inuyasha brought the fox kit along. Though he was hardly a kit anymore, hovering on the cusp of adulthood. 

The visits continued over the course of many years. They followed no schedule, but Sesshoumaru always found them a pleasant surprise. A brief reprieve from his bleak and solitary existence. 

Most of the time, Inuyasha came alone. Often, he brought the sake. Sometimes, the young fox would accompany him.

Inuyasha’s visits became something Sesshoumaru could count on. Small glimmers of light over the decades of darkness.

And then, one day, the young fox came to find Sesshoumaru. Alone.

He knew what news the fox had come to depart before he ever spoke. The tears glimmering in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks were louder than the words.

Sesshoumaru sank to the ground.

His blood, his pack, his kin.

His brother.

Dead.

Gone, like everyone in his life.

That was the tipping point for him. From then on, Sesshoumaru stopped living. He merely existed, a creature of shadow and death. Carved hollow by the pain and grief and the never-ending loneliness. The last one left.

A century passed.

Then another.

The world around him changed. Youkai diminished, humans prospered.  The lands ebbed from war to peace to yet another war. 

And then came the greatest war of all. 

Sesshoumaru paid it no mind. The petty squabbles of humans were none of his concern. Or so he thought.

Because that war brought the final blow.

One last loss for him to shoulder, one more person for him to mourn. He had never imagined a day when he would wake to a world without her. To him, she had been a constant. She had been invincible.

And it proved true that even the most heinous weapon ever crafted by human scientists couldn’t kill her in one blow. But the poison within that bomb ate at her. Stubborn as she was, she held on a full month, wasting away day by day.

Until at last her heart faltered and stopped. 

Sesshoumaru cradled her cold hand. Waited for the pain to come. Waited for the grief to overwhelm him. Waited for the tears to pour down his face. Waited for the shards of his shattered heart to disintegrate with this last terrible loss. 

But he felt nothing. Only numbness was left to him. Maybe his heart, broken beyond repair, had already been ground to dust.

On the sixth of September 1945, sitting by his dead mother’s bedside, Sesshoumaru gave up. He felt the black oblivion press against his senses and let go, sinking into the darkness.

The victory against Naraku had been sweet and much too brief. In mere seconds, while the tendrils of time wrapped themselves around her waist and yanked her back to the modern-day Tokyo, it turned to ash in her mouth.

Sitting in the bottom of the well, the sand turning muddy from the torrent of her tears, her clenched fingers leaving deep grooves into the ground, a high, raw keening noise tearing her throat and pouring from her lips, Kagome felt her heart shattering to a million pieces. It hadn’t supposed to have ended this way. This was not the happily ever after she had imagined for herself and Inuyasha.

Eventually, her cries had been heard and her mother had come to the well-house and coaxed her out, helped her to the house and into her bed. Kagome had lain in that pink room, sand still caked under her fingernails, cocooned under her blanket and still feeling frozen.

She stayed that way for the next two weeks. Somewhere, in the back of her brain, Kagome knew she should go back to school, continue her life as usual. But nothing was usual anymore and school and everything didn’t really matter, not now that she had been cut off from Inuyasha and the life she had built for herself back in the Feudal era.

So many nights, Kagome would toss and turn from one nightmare to another, where she was chased by grotesque demons intent on devouring her. So many mornings, she would wake up exhausted into a world where demons no longer existed, and somehow that was worse.

The most frequent of all, however, where the nights on which Kagome barely slept at all. She would lie awake staring at her ceiling, each minute feeling like an hour. In the stifling quiet, her brain would be abuzz, reminding her of all the things she had lost, dredging up all those past regrets, conjuring possible future scenarios, each bleaker than the last. 

In those dark hours, she felt like the only person left in the whole world and the loneliness that was her constant companion swelled until it was threatening to crush her. The cold tentacles of hopelessness wrapped around her throat and left her gasping for air that her lungs couldn't seem to draw.

It took coaxing from her brother. Gentle and unwavering support from her mother. The unvoiced concern of her grandfather. And of course resolve and a grudging acceptance from Kagome herself. But it was the love of her family that finally helped her to get out of bed. Leave her room. Take small and cautious steps to regain what remained of her life.

It was a feat easier said than done.

She was back with her family, back in the era she’d been born in, back home. For a while, she tried to draw comfort in that. To pretend that nothing was wrong, that it was enough. But she was irrevocably changed.

She’d never before realised how much her travels in the past had changed her. How everything she’d experienced there had morphed her. How she had grown. And most of all, how for some time now, she’d only ever been a visitor in her own era. Her heart belonged to the past.

All these things, she only realised now, in the After, when she found herself a stranger in her own home, unable to recognise the girl she’d been before. Unable to settle into the life she’d had before. Unable to return to the half of her life that had slowly taken over everything else.

With the closing of the well, she had lost her other home. She had lost her friends. She had lost Inuyasha. But the worst of all was that she had lost herself.

She had been the Shikon Miko. She had gone on a quest of both danger and purpose. She had faced battles and adversaries and reigned victorious with her friends. She had helped find all the shards of the Shikon jewel and had pieced it together. Guarded it. Defeated Naraku. And finally, together with Inuyasha, put an end to Shikon no Tama’s cursed cycle of existence.

Now she was none of that. Just a failing high school student who’d fallen behind her peers. Her adventurous life had dwindled into one filled with textbooks, remedial classes and cram school as she struggled to catch up, fought to save her grades from a disaster so she might yet make something of her high school education. 

She was doing it more for her family than herself, though. She couldn’t think of the future beyond the next couple of days, couldn’t face the world yawning in front of her. The world without Inuyasha, her friends, adventure.

The world where she had lost her way.

The future held no appeal to someone who had made her home in the past; a home that her soul still longed for, her heart still clung to.

In the end, however, going to school turned out to be a good thing. It gave Kagome a reason to get out of bed and out of the house. It provided some structure and purpose to her aimless existence. It helped fill the endlessly yawning days and her studies became an escape from her thoughts and the bittersweet memories of better days. She could lose herself in her textbooks and school papers and let the world where she never quite fit in right anymore fade away.

That wasn’t to say Kagome didn’t make an effort, once she’d shaken off the initial gloom. She attended school. Started getting much better grades. Joined the archery club. Met up regularly with her friends at WacDonalds. Helped out at home and at the shrine. Spent time with her family. Played video games with Souta. Listened to grandpa’s wild stories. Curled up on the sofa next to her mother to watch her favourite dramas with her. 

She really tried. And though there were moments of laughter, hours of joy, days of sunshine and cheer, happiness eluded her.

Deep down within her, there was a yawning chasm of hurt and regret, of longing and nostalgia. Filled with all the could-have-beens. Here and there, something would remind her of Inuyasha and the chasm inside would gape all the larger, mocking her with her loss. Like a phantom limb, there was a constant throbbing ache that she carried, a painful reminder of the life she could have led.

Joining the archery club had been Kagome’s way to reclaim her identity. And some days were wonderful, the familiar soothing motions of firing her bow rooting her in the moment, making her forget the past, forcing her to focus on her breathing and her breathing alone. But other days, the bow in her hand, the arrow between her fingers, only served to remind her of what she used to be and she sighted at the target in despair because this all was just a pale imitation of true adventure, a bunch of high school students playacting.

Kagome wanted to fit in, to go back to the only life she knew before she'd travelled down the well, but it was no use. She’d seen so much more, done more, been more… This life she’d been left with no longer felt like it was enough. But it was all she had so she tried to make the most of it, while the chasm inside her loomed large, its jagged mouth gaping with darkness.

Like everyone else, Kagome sat through the university entrance exams. She attended her high school graduation, mustering a smile for her mother and grandfather, beaming proudly at her. She started her studies at university.

Life went on, as was its way, a forcible stream that ripped apart any effort to dam its course.

But Kagome didn’t move on. She couldn’t. Perhaps, deep down, in the pitch black of her chasm, she didn’t want to. 

In university, she chose to major in history, intent on specialising in the Sengoku period in particular. She threw herself once more into academics, drowning the present out with the past. Seeing it come to life in the pages of her textbooks, in the records that remained, in diaries, letters, poems of old. She pored over any document or legend or scroll she could find, hoping to get just one glimpse into the life she’d once lived, the world she’d once been a part of.   

But this protective bubble she’d built and burrowed in, lined with history books and studies of the past, burst just as she was about to start her third year in university.

Her grandfather got sick.

Her family, that integral pillar of support that had been keeping her upright all these years now teetered precariously. The chasm inside her widened, darkness slipping out once again, floating through her like smoke and dimming out all the light in her life.

It was serious and Kagome’s mother worried, spending half her days at the hospital at grandfather’s bedside. Kagome offered to help, though she herself was barely holding on now, hope slipping through her fingers as the freezing numbness in her soul pressed closer. 

It was a Saturday, a bright and sunny day, mocking Kagome with its cheeriness. She’d come to the hospital with her mother. Her grandfather had been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. She’d sat by his bedside, pasting a pale imitation of a smile on her lips as she chatted with him. But he wasn’t quite there anymore, too wearied to stay awake or alert for long, his mind muddled half the time, whether from the age or the medications or the illness. It made her stomach churn, to see her grandfather like this, an ailing old man who seemed like a stranger. 

When he fell to sleep, Kagome made her excuses, gave her mother a quick hug before leaving the room.

And finally, under the numbness and haze that had been plaguing her since her grandfather had fallen ill an emotion stirred. Sadness unfurled within her, vast like an ocean, a grey sea of misery she’d surely drown in if she let herself to fall in.

Kagome was blindly walking along the sterile corridor, more lost than she'd been in years, when suddenly she felt like a horde of ants was skittering and crawling on her skin. As a faint, sluggish pulse pressed against her temples, her strides steadied, lengthened, gained a purpose. All thoughts of her grandfather fled from her head as her stomach clenched, the ocean of sadness retreating once more as something old and achingly familiar rushed inside her once more, a wild and free torrent.

Distantly, Kagome was aware that her hands were trembling, that her hurried steps were now slipping into a half-run, that her heart was beating a rapid, frenzied rhythm while slowly crawling up her throat.

All she could focus on now was her screaming senses and the frail tendrils of darkness that had alerted them. Following the weak trail lingering in the air.

She paused before the door, rested her hands against it, her breath stuck in her lungs. She was terrified of what would wait on the other side of it. She was giddy with excitement, revelling in the feeling of the dark aura licking against her skin. A sensation she’d thought forever lost to her. 

With her heart teetering at the edge of a precipice, Kagome slid the door open and stepped in.

She stared at the figure lying comatose in the hospital bed for a long while, fingers digging into the skin of her arms as she hugged herself.

She didn’t even recognise him at first, not until she saw the markings.

Once, they had stood vivid and proud against the pale perfection of his skin. Now they were faded and wan, offering little contrast with his sallow face.

The tears Kagome hadn’t been able to shed for so long now streamed down her cheeks as she crossed over to the bed. Even with her vision blurred she drank in the sight of him. 

It was a shock to her system – and not just because she’d never expected to see him again. Sobs burned in her throat, threatening to spill from her lips. 

Like his markings, he was just a shadow of the daiyoukai she’d once known. His wonderful silver-white hair that she’d secretly admired had been hacked off. It had lost its gloss, lying limp against his head. He was thin enough to appear gaunt. His skin had a sickly pallid cast to it. 

And the worst of all were the tubes and wires and other medical paraphernalia attached to him, hooking him to monitors and whatnot. It looked wrong. He looked all wrong, lying there in front of her, so fragile. 

As if any second, he could break.

What had happened to him? What had brought him here? Rendered him into this husk of a youkai?

Her knees weak, Kagome dropped down to sit on the edge of his bed. Her tears still ran unchecked, falling to dot the hospital sheets. It broke her heart all over again, seeing him like this. 

She reached out, unable to help herself. Her fingers brushed against the flimsy hospital gown, splayed over his chest. She rested the palm of her hand on top of his heart because she had to touch him, to reassure herself that despite how he looked, he was alive. 

Kagome closed her eyes on a sigh. The tears were slowly drying on her cheeks. Her arms were alive with goosebumps, reacting to the darkly whirling youki in the room. It was thin and subdued, not at all like the storm of power she remembered. But it was there and that was all that mattered. 

That, and the heartbeat under her palm – steady, if sluggish.

Kagome opened her eyes and looked at him. A gasp tore from her lips.

The eyes – golden, bright and clear – were open, staring at her.

Kagome’s fingers curled, pressing into his chest now as her own heart began to race. Her other hand, shaking, rose as if by its own volition to come to rest on the cool skin of his cheek.

He was still staring at her, the youki in the room was pressing more insistently against her skin and the tears were burning in her eyes again.

The corners of Kagome’s lips curved, her voice rasping out in a broken whisper.

“Hello, Sesshoumaru.”

 End.

[builder051]

Glad you're doing better after surgery and the aftermath. Would you be up for a Creedless Assassins fic? Natasha guessing wrong on how much of the substance of the week is enough and doing an inadequate job covering for herself? Thanks!

Nat knows it’s wrong to snort a line before going on duty, but a cup of coffee isn’t going to cut it.  A cup of coffee and a couple of Adderall aren’t going to cut it either, so she is truly down to her last option when she pulls the tiny clear plastic baggie out of her pocket.  She pours the crystalline substance within out onto the edge of the toilet paper rack in the SHIELD women’s bathroom, then uses her security badge to cut it and a leftover 1000 Yen note rolled into a tube to inhale the powder into her system.

When she emerges, wiping her nose on her sleeve and trying to be casual about it, Clint cocks his head slightly and says, “Ready?”

“Yeah.”  Nat pulls her fingers into her jacket, ignoring the dampness of mucous and the immediate secretions that start post introduction of a foreign substance.  She feels dry and wet at the same time.  It’s uncomfortable, but she knows she can manage.  She has to.

They jump into the Jeep Grand Cherokee waiting in the parking garage and immediately hit the road, Clint at home in the drivers’ seat whilst Nat bounces along uncomfortably in the passenger side.  

“Why’re you stepping on the brake so hard?” Nat snaps.  “You’ve got traction for miles with these tires.”

“Um...”  Clint hits the gas and accelerates away from the red light, then glances over at her.  He narrows his eyes as if sizing her up.

“Hey, eyes on the road, dumbass.”

“What’re you on?” Clint asks slowly.  “You’re only this harsh when you’re high.”

“Shut up.  I’m not,” Nat lies, though she knows she’s not convincing.  

“Right.”

Nat grabs her tablet out of the bag between her feet before Clint can say any more.  She pulls up the mission briefing and re-reads the details, even though she didn’t miss any the first time.  

“The target’s on a solo hunting trip just over the West Virginia border.  In the god forsaken fucking mountains,” Nat says.  She bites at her cuticles and looks out the window while she scrolls through the information with her other hand.  The sky overhead is turning grey with cloud cover, the atmosphere becoming heavy and seeming to settle into a throb right above Nat’s brow.

“You say that like you don’t want to, you know, enter the hornet’s nest.”  Clint spares her another look.

“Let’s just... get it done.”  Nat returns her gaze to the tablet screen, even though it’s only worsening her headache.  Something’s brewing in the pit of her stomach, though whether it’s guilt or nausea is anyone’s guess at this point.

When Clint leaves the highway for the path less traveled out toward open country, Nat flicks her eyes from the speedometer to the compass reading on the rearview, then to the clock embedded in the dash.  She has enough of the drug in her to last a few hours yet, plus enough in her pocket for a second dose, but she’s not sure she’ll have the opportunity, let alone the privacy, to get set up with it.  

“What?” Clint asks.  “Got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, a hot date.”  Nat shifts in her seat so her arm wraps around her abdomen and her elbow points painfully into the handle of the door.  She’s moved around enough, though, that she doesn’t think she can scoot out of her current position without seeming like a wiggly child.

“No one will go out with you,” Clint says.  

Nat sniffs.  “You would.”

“Nah.”  He twists his lip.  “Used to be my thing, but... Don’t play that way anymore.”

It’s obvious, since they haven’t hooked up in over a decade.  But Nat can’t help but feel a little hurt inside.  “What do you mean?”

“You’re...” Clint gestures nebulously at the air between them.  “Skinny.  Pale.  I mean, I know you’re using.  Something.  Some of the time.”

“We are not making this a sobriety discussion.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault--”

“Clint.  Just, please.  Shut up.”  Nat can’t look at him, so she turns to look out the window instead.  The green, rocky terrain blasting by blurs a little, and she isn’t sure whether it’s due to their speed or the optical illusion of coke aura gathering in the creases of her lower eyelids.  Her stomach feels empty and watery, and something is clearly brewing to splash up into the back of her throat.  Nat swallows heavily, hoping the whole thing will collapse as an imaginary construct, aura built out of the extra feeling brought on by the perceptiveness of the drug.

It does nothing for her, though, and the deep lines between Nat’s gums and cheeks begin to fill with warm saliva.  She uses her tongue to sweep the passages clear, tasting bile, mucous, and chemicals as she goes.  The urge to gag rises on the back of her tongue, but Nat swallows hard and authoritatively, staying in control and refusing to be desperate.  Not now.  Not yet.

“Nat...”  Clint sighs out her name, which Nat finds irksome as ever in her current predicament.  She’s overdone it now, she knows; the top of her head is vibrating against the back of the seat rest.  She can’t stay still.  She digs the nails of one hand into the palm of the other and tries to focus on the pain, but it doesn’t come.  The rush in her bloodstream, the beating of her heart in her ears, it’s all louder than every external input combined.

A gush of heat into the greater space of her mouth and the feeling of her jaw falling into her lap brings Nat back to the urgency of the moment.  She stays stock still and moves only her eyeballs, pulling them sideways toward Clint until her head screams in protest with a sharp throb.

“Mm.”  Nat shifts again, pulling forward against her seatbelt and creeping one hand upward toward her face.  Instinct tells her to clap it over her mouth, but stubborn dignity says otherwise.  Nat clamps her sweaty fingers down on the collar of her jacket and holds on tightly.  She knows she won’t last long, but she can’t make herself speak up, either.

Clint turns his head at the sound of her voice, though, and seems to take in Nat’s pale visage.  “Fuck,” he mutters, shifting gears and turning in his seat to unnecessarily look behind him before pulling off the road.  

The Jeep stutters to a halt in the gravel on the side of the country highway, bouncing Nat side to side in her seat.  Vomit erupts into her throat, and she flails her shaking hands at the door handle while Clint turns off the engine and leaps into action.  Within half a second, he’s around the car and opening her door, then taking her under the armpits and supporting her forward as she spills her guts into the dust between them.

Not much comes up, but Nat continues to retch after her stomach is empty.  Her eyes begin to water, and fat droplets run down her cheeks and collect under her chin until they fall en mass and add dampness to her already soiled jacket.

“Ok, it’s ok,” Clint murmurs, patting Nat between the shoulder blades and bringing her forehead down to rest just above his tactical belt.  “I got you.”

Nat spits.  “Hm.”  She withdraws her hand into her sleeve again and wipes her eyes, then her nose, from which clear fluid with a thin streak of blood has begun to leak.  

“There has to be a Kleenex somewhere...”  Clint starts to reach around her to dig in the glove compartment, but Nat stays his arm.

“Clint, stop.”  She shakes her head and immediately regrets it.  “I’m-- I’m fine.”  Nat raises her eyes to his, knowing they’re wet and bloodshot and full of lies, but hoping she can still convince him otherwise.  Or at least to let her be.

“Yeah, you are.”  Clint juts his jaw forward, and Nat can’t tell if he’s angry or hurt or maybe just disappointed in her.  He lets out a breath.  “You, uh, wanna go, or you wanna stay stopped for a minute?”

“I’m ok.  I’m good to go.”  Nat pulls her feet back into the vehicle and reaches to close the door.  Clint grips it from the outside as she takes the handle from within.  It slams loudly as it closes, exacerbating Nat’s headache, and she tries not to wince, for he’s staring at her through the window, pleading with his eyes.

Nat sighs and holds his gaze for half a second, then looks into her lap.  She raises her eyes again, though, but Clint’s already gone, walking around the back of the Jeep to return to his seat.

[elliemarchetti]

Kindred Souls

Previous chapter: Clear as Silver Drops

Words: 2065

The morning came pale from East, excerpts of blue sky peeking over the quivering branches. The light filtering through the yellow leaves woke Elva up, making her think for a moment she was still home, her sleep disturbed by a cool summer sunrise; but her house wasn’t a talan and from its windows she couldn’t see the Silverlode valley, spread out in a gold sea swaying gently in the breeze, therefore the illusion didn’t last long and she was ready to resume her march with the rest of the Fellowship, now led by Haldir and his brother Rumil.

“Goodbye, sweet Nimrodel,” she muttered, turning around to catch among the trunks a glimpse of white foam, bearing the beautiful notes that followed them for a while along the path, where Orcs’ footprints were visible on the ground. The elves didn’t seem surprised and as soon as they reached the trees shade, Haldir stopped, informing those who hadn’t noticed there was one of his people on the other side of the river. The newcomer was entirely dressed in gray too, but the hood fell over his shoulders, leaving his loosely braided air, glistening like jewellery in the sun, free to fall on his back. Rumil deftly threw him a silver rope, the end of which he tied to a tree near the bank: it wasn’t wise to build bridges in those wary days, so that must be how they crossed, light and quick as spiders, the exact opposite of the men who accompanied her.

“We have two more,” said Rumil in Sindarin, as if he had read her mind. He had understood that unlike others of their race, she cared for her companions despite their mortality and he had no intentions of letting her get away with it, little mattered that, albeit very slowly, one day she too would grow old and die.

“If the strangers hold on them with caution, they’ll be able to follow without swimming,” added Haldir, in Westron.

In spite of her perplexity, so it was: some slower and more cautious, like Sam, other with greater ease, like Pippin, they all gathered on the eastern shore, leaving behind only the younger elf, who rolled up the first rope and returned to guard at the Nimrodel with a greeting nod.

“I apologize for my brother’s attitude,” Haldir told her, loud enough so it didn’t seem they were exchanging private confidences but at the same time turning his back to the others. He was trying to be polite, probably towards Gimli, whom he believed to be her mate, but those niceties would worth little to the dwarf, who knew nothing of the misunderstanding, since he soon would be blindfolded. That the agreement had been reached without his consent was the primary objection he made, but Elva managed to coax him as only she could.

“Haldir doesn’t question your loyalty, I granted for you,” she explained, “but this is the law and since he’s not its master, he had no right to transgress it. When you’ll return home, you can ask King Dain to enact a complementary rule, which doesn’t allow the elves of Lothlorien to enter Erebor unless blindfolded.”

“Only if you promise to make sure you’ll get a good delegation,” he agreed, the shadow of a mischievous smile lighting up his face. Elva didn’t understand why the dwarf believed she might have any influence on her people’s distant cousins, but she agreed anyway and the complaints decreased to merely empty threats made by a dwarf with his eyes covered. Certainly those must’ve been mad times, if there was a need for such malfidence among allies.

“It may sound crazy, but we find so little faith in the world beyond Lothlorien’s border, except perhaps in Rivendell, we dare not with our confidence endanger this country,” said Haldir, leading Elva to wonder if suddenly her face had become so easy to read. If her thoughts were so clear, she would no longer serve as a diplomat or she would’ve risked leading the Woodland Realm in war.

“Our hands rest more often on the strings of the bows than on those of the harps too, and we have no river to help us defend the borders, but it’s not necessary for peaceful people to turn into warriors,” she replied.

“Fear of the Shadow is rampant, some even hint at leaving, but it seems it’s already too late: the mountains to the west are becoming evil, to the east the lands are desolate and invaded by Sauron’s creatures and it’s rumoured that there’s no longer any security on the way leading south, through Rohan, with the mouths of the Great River guarded by the Enemy. Even if we managed to reach the Sea banks, we wouldn’t find any shelter, as maybe only the Lord and the Lady know where to find the last High Elves’ harbours.”

“West of the Shire,” Elva revealed, with the feeling she shouldn’t have. Maybe Lady Galadriel had kept it hidden from the rest of the population to make sure she didn’t lose her best men, the defenders of the weakest who must’ve been tired by now of tasting only the ugliness of the outside world, but, although she didn’t know why, she wished their guide knew there still was a glimmer of hope away from the constant danger of the Orcs.

“Happy are the hobbits, who live near the Sea shore!” said Haldir. “It has been long since my people last aimed at its waters, yet we still remember them in out songs. Tell me about those harbours while we walk.”

Elva tried to cheer his heart describing the infinite expanses of white gold and sapphire blue, how the horizon merged with the sea on sunny days and the placid waves brought shells of all shaped and size with their impalpable foam.

“I wonder if there are trees of gold beyond the Great Sea,” said the elf when she fell silent. For a long second, nothing was heard but the footsteps of the Fellowship moving slowly through the forest paths. Aman was forbidden to whoever had mortal blood, about this king Thranduil had been very clear, so Elva never paused too long to think about what could wait her people, her friends, in the Undying Lands.

“I’m sure someday you’ll find out,” she concluded, backing up to reach Aragorn, with whom she marched all day, until the cool evening came, whispering among the many leaves. Almost inaudible over that sound, when it was time to go to sleep, Haldir's apologies arrived.

“It wasn’t my intention to offend you,” he murmured, taking her by surprise.

“No offense will ever be as great as what you’re doing to my friend, forcing him to stay blind on the ground when you can guard from the talan’s safety,” she replied, alluding to the fact that despite persistent request, Gimli wasn’t allowed to remove the blindfold, not even now they were camped. Haldir said nothing more, and slowly climbed the ladder, thus closing the matter. Elva knew she overreacted, but whenever someone talked about Aman, she couldn’t help but fall in a bad mood: she didn’t envied the other elves’ possibility to escape from that dying land, nor was she afraid of losing those she loved, it had already happened and would happen again, but she hated they had an option invalidating all the work and toil she had done for her home during her limited years. She'd seen too many lives wasted on a cause that wasn't worth it, and she feared she’d chosen one of those too. Because of these dark thoughts she barely managed to sleep and the next morning she woke up so tired that she decided to continue without haste until they reached a shaded clearing, where they encountered a group of border guards headed for the northern frontiers to defend Lorien from a possible attack from Moria, that might’ve wanted revenge once realized the marauding Orcs, who had been ambushed, were almost annihilated. They also carried a message from the Lord and Lady of Galadhrim, saying from now on the dwarf would be able to walk freely, making him the first able to see the trees of Lorien’s Naith from Durin’s time.

“What can I do to make you look at me again as a friend?” Haldir asked with a deep bow, as soon as he had freed Gimli of the blindfold. For some strange reason, those two seemed to understand each other, and the dwarf replied that while he meditated on it, he could accompany her to visit Cerin Amroth.

“This trip didn’t allow us to encounter much beauty, and I fear that by now the memory of the Kheled-zaram’s waters is no longer enough for a woman used to reaching the most amazing places in Arda. And then, for us poor mortals and for the hobbits, who are not used to such tight marches, I fear a break is necessary, more than welcome."

The half-elf glared at her friend, but when the shadow of a smile lit up Haldir’s crystal blue eyes, she didn’t felt like denying, especially when it was an experience she probably would’ve risked not being able to repeat ever again. With light steps, they climbed the grass-covered slopes, the sensation of crossing a timeless place, unable to change, fade nor fall into oblivion, growing as the number of flowers and leaves stirred by the same cool wind that caressed her face increased. Soon, they entered the circle of white trees, and for a moment she heard coming from south the sound of remote seas lapping beached now erased and the cry of birds whose races had died out on earth many and many years ago. Haldir moved on first, and started climbing the high talan. Preparing to follow, Elva placed her hand on the tree beside the ladder: never as then she had perceived so suddenly and with such intensity the contact and texture of the bark and the life flowing underneath. The wood brought her and intoxicating joy, different from that of the carpenter of the forester but the one experiences by the tree itself. When she finally stepped onto the aerial platform, it didn’t even seem strange that Haldir would take her hand to help her.

“Look south first,” he suggested, pointing to a hill with many towering trees, from which radiated all the power and the light illuminating that land, making her wish she could fly like a bird to perch on the green city. Her gaze then stopped at east, on the land of Lorien, stretched out to the Anduin’s pale glow; raising her eyes beyond the Great River, she saw the world she knew, flat and empty, a vague and imprecise land rising further away like a dark and desolate wall. The sun illuminating Lothlorien had no power to penetrate the shadows of those distant hills.

“There is Mirkwood’s southern fortress,” Haldir explained. “It’s surrounded by a forest of dark fir trees struggling against each other, their branches rotten and withered. In the middle, stands on an imposing rock Dol Guldur, where the Enemy lived hidden for a long time. We fear that today it’s inhabited again, and by a power seven times stronger. Often, a black shadow hangs over there and from this hill we’re on, the contrast between light and darkness is clearly visible. The goodness can penetrate into the very heart of the wickedness, but how long the secret of such strength won’t be revealed?”

With that grim question pending between them, Elva quickly returned down the slopes, where she found Aragorn, sitting still and silent like a tree; he was holding in his hand a small golden elanor, eyes shining with a nostalgic light. He was thinking of Arwen, it was evident to whoever knew of their love, but the dreams of the past can be dangerous and Elva didn’t had the heart to leave him pining longer, so she silently reached him.

“Don’t worry, once we’ll get to Calas Galadhon we’ll both forget our worries,” he told her, his blue-gray eyes looking in the deepest depths of her soul. Kindred soul often understand each other more than they can do with themselves, and she suspected what he could see in her was the same thing that prompted Gimli to send her away alone with their guide.

[deathonyourtongue]

Winter Passing | Chapter 10

Summary: After car accident leaves him at the base of a mountain with no sign of civilization for miles, a breakup is the least of Henry’s problems. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, salvation presents itself in the form of an old cabin in a clearing. Despite years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories that warn against such things, he uses his last of his strength to reach the cottage. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: None, for once. A/N : I think my tag list broke during the last update. Should be fixed now. Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!

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Foraging in the winter was a skill to be honed, and after finishing the morning work on the property, Henry followed Olivia out towards the wilds of the forest that took up the back end of her home. 

“I didn’t think anything grew in winter, especially out here,” he murmured, watching her intently, keen to learn and-as he tended to be more and more often with each passing day-in awe of how she moved, how she lived. 

“Technically nothing grows in winter, but there’s plenty to gather,” Olivia explained as she opened her hand, showing Henry a seed pod that resembled a dancing flame.

“The pancakes we had the other day? Were made with flour from these Hornbeam seeds. And here? These are delicious when you prepare them correctly,” Olivia explained, her other hand holding a few crabapples. 

Eyebrows up in amazement, Henry dutifully turned around, letting Olivia put more foraged goods into the backpack she’d strapped him into. “What about poisonous stuff? Or stuff that you can use for...You know…” He made a face and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, cupping Henry’s cheek and reaching up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss as they continued their walk through the forest, protected from the elements by the thick overhead cover of the ancient trees. 

“That too. Holly and Mistletoe, though I personally have little use for them as nature intended,” Olivia nodded, her smile growing bigger as she felt Henry tuck her in under his arm, pulling her close as they fell in step with one another. 

“Tell me a story from when you were...Before you were a witch?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tinged with reticence, lest he say the wrong thing. 

“I was born a witch, sweetheart. It’s not like vampires. You don’t get turned into one at the peak of your life,” Olivia laughed sweetly, squeezing his waist with one hand while the other rubbed gently over his chest. “And before you ask, no vampires do not exist. Some of us do blood magic, which is pretty close, but none of us have fangs...That I know of.” Gazing up at him with amusement, she leaned into his strong form as they continued to walk.

“A story from when I was younger. Let’s see...When I first became aware of my powers, my favorite thing to do was hide things up in the trees. I started small; little bits of fur, some meat, one of my mother’s hair combs. No one noticed at first, of course, but then I started to get bolder. My father’s saddle was the first thing anyone really noticed, because, well, we only had one at the time. My crowning achievement though, was putting the family goat in the tallest tree of our village. It lasted all of an hour before the goat began to bleat, and a crowd formed. My parents were none too impressed. I’ll never forget my father having to climb up there, only to throw the poor thing down into an elk skin a few of our neighbors held out.”

“You were-”

“A little shit, yeah.” Olivia grinned proudly up at Henry, earning a laugh and a playful kiss, neither her nor Henry paying much attention to their surroundings, too wrapped up in the moment to care about what might be headed their way.

“Well, you turned out alright, that’s what matters, no?” Henry chuckled, giving her a warm squeeze and another kiss to the temple. 

Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more at peace and more elated. Looking up at him, she knew Henry was the root cause, but after centuries of solitude and suffering, Olivia refused to let the fear of the unknown take hold. What they had was all she’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t about to let it slip from between her fingers. 

The choice, however, didn’t seem to be hers. 

As they rounded the path into a smaller clearing just west of the cottage, the woods turned silent. Though it was winter, the forest still tended to be a cacophony of sounds, from bird calls to deer munching on berries. The silence was unnerving, and looking over her shoulder, Olivia’s unease grew into fear as she watched Gunnar go into a low crouch. Eyes fixed on the clearing, the husky bared his teeth and raised his hackles, on the defensive. 

Olivia had barely turned back around when she caught sight of the apparition. Despite the cloud-covered sunlight that streamed into the clearing, the creature still terrified her, as the light allowed her to see her mother’s visage in greater detail. 

Henry’s hold on her tightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the ghostly image before him. “Liv, darling, what do we do?” He whispered, his concern growing when he felt Olivia begin to tremble. 

Hiding her face in his chest a moment, Olivia worked to get her breathing back under control, fighting off every urge to run, knowing that doing so would only aggravate the apparition. Instead, she felt an anger grow inside her, usurping the fear as she forced herself to remember that this land was hers. With a push away from Henry, she turned her full attention to the spirit, drawing it closer with her actions. 

“Gunnar, stay.” She commanded when she heard the husky stalk closer, a low rumble making it clear he was ready to attack at any moment. 

“You’re not welcome here. Leave. Now.” Olivia spoke firmly, taking off her gloves. Henry’s eyes went wide when he noticed the aquamarine waves entwining around Olivia’s fingers. Moving like the ocean itself, they crashed and flowed, gathering in strength and fury until they created a stormy swell between her hands. There was no doubt, even to Henry, that if she let go, whoever was on the receiving end of the rush of water, would be in for a terrible time.

“Last chance, wretch. Tell me who summoned you and from whence you came, or suffer even more than you already have.”

The water between her hands began to glow, and upon closer inspection, Henry realized there was fire beneath the waves and the true nature of Olivia’s threat became clear. Being hit with a jet of water was one thing, but if that water were hotter than an open flame, spurned by anger, it was something else entirely.

Frozen in place, Henry couldn’t stop his cry of fear as the apparition suddenly lunged forward, screeching when it was hit full on by Olivia’s fury. To his surprise, the thing began to disintegrate once more, although this time, the process seemed far more grotesque. Instead of fading, the water seemed to eat away at the apparition, like acid on metal. It turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away, fascinated and appalled in equal measure. 

Just before its face melted away, the creature let out another ear-piercing wail, the singular word it spoke chilling Henry to the bone. 

TABITHA!!

Unable to keep from shivering, Henry only found himself able to move when Gunnar nuzzled at his thigh, the husky’s demeanor back to normal as he sat at Henry’s feet. 

“Tabitha? Who’s Tabitha?” Olivia asked as she shook off her own chill, the creature’s all-white stare one that would be burned into her memory for a very long time. Moving back to where Henry stood shell shocked, she rubbed his back, knowing full well this could be his breaking point. 

“T-Tabitha’s my ex-girlfriend’s name. I w-was leaving her the day you saved me.” 

Olivia could feel the chill in his body, the fear in his heart as he made the connection. Though she had no idea how long they’d been together, the betrayal and astonishment Henry felt coursed through every vein, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Tabitha had kept her true nature a secret from her lover. 

Taking Henry’s hand in hers, Olivia turned them in the direction of home, hoping the hearth, some tea, and her thickest blanket would be enough to ease the pain she knew was imminent in Henry’s very tender heart. 

“What I don’t understand is...Why’d she have your mother’s face?” Henry mumbled long after his tea was gone, his gaze still despondent as he sat curled up on the couch, as close to the hearth as he could manage. 

“If she’s as strong as she seems, Tabitha will have seen me with you. It doesn’t take a lot of work to conjure up a family line, even one as old as mine. She’d have found my mother’s face in my thoughts without breaking much of a sweat.”

A visible shiver went through Henry and he shook his head, looking for all the world like he might cry at any moment. Frowning, Olivia curled up next to him, making sure he could feel her arms squeezing tightly around his torso, hoping the contact would ground him. 

“Am I cursed?” Henry’s question made Olivia’s laugh spill out before she could stop it. 

“I wouldn’t say that. After all, only one of us is sending threats, and from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like she wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with.” Shifting easily with Henry, Olivia let him settle as they both laid out on the couch. With his head between her breasts, she finally felt Henry’s anxiety ease and his heart rate slow. 

The crash against the window sent them both flying off the couch, once more on high alert. 

“Oh my god, it’s just an owl. Christ, where’s Dyster when you need him?” Olivia muttered to herself as she moved to the window, opening it to let the bird in. Scrambling up the couch and as far away from the black-and-white-feathered creature as possible, Henry’s wide-eyed look matched the owl’s, the two staring at one another for a long moment before the bird turned its attention to Olivia.

“I come on behalf of--”

“Theofina, right? Yeah, I get it. I’m wanted in Rome. Since it seems I don’t have much of a choice, tell her to ready my apartments, and that I’ll be bringing a guest not of our order. How’s your beak? You hit pretty hard.” 

“It’s fine, ma’am. Just wasn’t paying attention as there was a mouse and, well, I’m hungry.” The difference between the two emissaries couldn’t have been more blatant, and not for the first time, Olivia wondered just how much had truly changed in her former home.

“Here, I have some rabbit to spare. Warm yourself by the fire. Are you pressed for time?” Olivia asked, doing her best to ignore Henry’s befuddled expression as she pulled some raw rabbit from the floor cooler, cutting it in half before meeting the bird by the hearth.

“What’s your name?” She asked, stroking over his head gently, surprised when she still felt a chill in his feathers.

“Atrix, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Atrix bowed his head for a moment before taking the offered meat and downing it in go. 

“Are you treated well?”

“I’m given a home, food, and responsibility, ma’am. That’s all I require.” Atrix nodded, his eyes closing in peaceful enjoyment of the food in his belly, the heat from the fire, and Olivia’s caring touch. 

“Good. Go when you’re ready. I’ll leave the window open.” Olivia spoke softly, feeding Atrix the second half of the rabbit before moving to wash her hands. 

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most kind. Is this the guest you intend to bring, in the typical way?” Atrix questioned, his eyes going as wide as saucers before he turned his head nearly all the way around to look at Henry. 

“Yes. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s the quickest way there, and I know he’s strong enough to endure it.”  

“Endure? Endure what?” Henry asked, eyes still fixed on the owl, unsure of what was being talked about, given he could only hear one half of the conversation. 

“How do you feel about a quick trip to Rome with me?”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.4}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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Hogsmeade was quite as underwhelming as Robin had anticipated, but she found that she enjoyed it nonetheless. High street was crowded with students of all ages, as well as with adults of all ages, which overall was something Robin didn't enjoy. However the shops and taverns looked rather appealing in their particular aesthetic, and she made sure to actually take the time to visit some of them the next time she came here. Today however, she was on a mission.

Finding the way Professor Snape had described was easier than expected, and Robin had to snort at the sheer understatement of him saying students rarely came this way… Everything that lay off high street was practically void of any life in general! Deserted so much that she felt comfortable immediately. No people was better than too many people.

The walk to the shop wasn't actually all that long long, but then again, it was a really small village in general, so this was not at all surprising. Soon, Robin stood in front of the black building with the gold inscription and gave it a lookover. The place seemed dubious, gloomy and just so incredibly low profile that it must undoubtedly be important. Just the place she would expect nobody but Snape to know about. Now… she only needed to gather up the courage to go in. With a deep breath, Robin built up her walls to force all anxiety and doubt out of her mind. If there had ever been a time to allow herself to be bold, it was now. Bold, and stoic, and serious… sound familiar much? Robin rolled her eyes at herself, and opened the door.

"Scurry off, kid… This isn't a place for the innocent." A scratchy male voice greeted Robin the very moment she set foot into the shop.

"If you talk to all customers like that, I'm not surprised that I'm the only one in here. And the first in just how long…? Going by the dust on the shelves and the look on your face, I'd say it's been a while." She shot right back, a perfect copy of calm indifference on her face, even though her heart beat like crazy. No place for the innocent indeed.

The man's eyebrows lifted higher than Robin thought possible, and he let out a small laugh in accordance with his astonished expression. "Fast mouth for such a little thing… Say, how old are you anyway?"

Robin completely ignored the question and simply looked at the man for a moment, making it clear that she wasn't here to chat. Then she went straight to the core of her presence. "I need a variety of ingredients for a potion and I was told I could get them here."

The man lifted an eyebrow at Robin again, but his superior smirk vanished to make room for a neutral expression. Good, maybe he would actually start taking her seriously now. "You want to talk business, alright… Who told you that you could find what you need here, with me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! It matters because I haven't made my mind up if I'm gonna screw you over or not, and your affiliations could play an important part in that decision."

"Who says I can be screwed over in the first place?" Honestly, Robin didn't know why she didn't just tell the man that Snape had sent her. It would likely make things way easier for her to just rely on the professor's reputation. But then again, exactly that was the issue: Robin wanted to be taken seriously for her own sake. And she would never achieve that if she placed herself in Snape's shadow now. Then she'd never be more than the little errand girl.

"You'd be surprised who I've already conned… Wizards far more experienced, and witches far greater than you." The man chuckled. "But I like you, kid. No funny business. What do you need?"

Tersely, Robin read the list of ingredients to him and he moved through the room behind the counter to gather up the various things in return. A minute later, he placed what she'd asked for on the counter. Almost what she'd asked for.

"This isn't Abraxan hair. But you surely knew that already, seeing as you tried selling it to me. It's probably Granian, isn't it?" Robin commented with an (admittedly feigned) unimpressed expression. "I'll grant it to you, they're very similar, but not enough to fool me. You see, while Granian is originally grey in color, it can bleach out enough to turn white naturally. That however, even in the best cases, leaves it with just a hint of an undertone of a different color. Abraxan hair on the other hand is purely white by nature, and thus void of every and any undertone. Looking at this, there's definitely more grey than white in it, wouldn't you say?"

Now the man's jaw dropped in anything BUT amusement, and he looked as incredulous as any person probably could. Surely he hadn't seen that coming… but Robin for her part merely kept looking at him in perfect neutrality. After half a minute of dead silence, he finally spoke up with the first honest expression he had worn since Robin had entered the shop. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone you don't want to screw over no matter who I'm affiliated with. Now, would you be so kind and bring me the correct ingredients?"

"As you wish." He replied immediately, finally void of all humor and joke, and went back to the shelves to bring out what looked like the same seven ingredients already present on the counter. Those ones he merely swiped out of the way, and placed the new items down with much more care than the first time. "Is this everything you need?"

Robin let her eyes travel over the ingredients slowly, considering and foremost conscious of the fact that she was being watched. The Abraxan hair now looked like what Robin assumed it was supposed to… and that was about everything she could tell. Honestly, to her, all of the other ingredients looked exactly the same as before. She had absolutely no knowledge about any of these items, leave alone any clue to identify if they were what they were supposed to be. It had merely been her dumb luck yet again that she had recently read an article about freaking Abraxan hair and it's astonishing similarities to Granian hair, and even more dumb luck that she had been right in calling him out. Dumb luck was rarely deserved… But she would still take as much of it as she could, as it obviously had just sufficed to make this man believe that she knew more than she actually did.

With her neutral facade still running smoothly, she looked back up at him behind the counter. "Yes, this will be everything. For now."

"You're freaking me out, Miss, but I do respect your knowledge. Not many people would've known the difference between those hairs, and I least expected it from s-..." He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed Robin's glare, then a muscle in his jaw ticked and he avoided her eyes in fairly obvious discomfort. "...from someone like you. This will be sixty five galleons."

"For account of Severus Snape."

"Bloody hell…" The man groaned and hid his face in his hands. "You're with him?!"

"Do you have a problem with that?" Robin rose her eyebrows in question and stared him down again, which clearly seemed to make him even more uncomfortable. On the inside, Robin's pride did a happy dance… she really was doing Snape justice here.

"Let's say I have a lot of respect for that man… But you're no better than him, looking like you can kill with your glares…" He made a face that was almost the opposite of the mocking distaste he'd shown her when she'd entered the shop. "Just take your stuff and go, will ya?"

With a small, innocent smile Robin packed the ingredients into her backpack and then looked back at the man once more while she made for the exit. "Thank you for your assistance. Have a nice day." Without waiting for a reply, she opened the door and let herself out into the street at last.

She managed to keep her neutral facade up until she took the first turn back towards high street. Then the grin on her face widened until it was simply unstoppable, and she had to walk up and down the alley a few times to calm down her racing heart and her lasting excitement. Bloody hell, that had been both absolutely exhilarating and absolutely frightening all at once. Robin couldn't believe that she had actually managed to be intimidating all on her own, and that she'd been taken seriously because of that. No wonder Snape preferred everyone to be intimidated by him… it surely was a good way to get respect.

Finally her heartbeat slowed down, and Robin made her way back to high street with a small smile. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a candy shop here in Hogsmeade… and Snape would surely still be stuck with David until dinner. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to visit that shop before heading back to the castle… maybe it wouldn't hurt to do something normal for once.

… … …

It was late afternoon when Robin left Hogsmeade to head back to the castle, not long after her quick visit to the candy shop had come to a rather sudden end when she had felt absolutely overwhelmed by a horde of people storming the shop, which then had resulted in Robin's immediate departure. Unfortunately, this was exactly the time when most other students decided to return to the school as well, which left Robin stuck in an entire throng of people on their slow trod back to Hogwarts.

"Didn't expect to see you here, jay, out of all people…" A boy one year above Robin spoke up as he fell into line with her. She didn't know him, not really… she only knew that he was one of the Slytherins who took particular joy in bullying her for some reason. She had never cared enough to find out more about him than that though.

"But then again, David did say something like that." He mused, shrugging, then skipped a step ahead and walked backwards as he looked at Robin. "He also said something about you getting him into trouble with Professor Snape, do you happen to know anything about that?"

Robin continued to ignore him, and simply looked at a point far behind his shoulder as she walked on. This kid was friends with David? And David had spilled the tea on the events of last night? Great… that certainly didn't make it easier to ignore his mocking. Robin would just have to stay neutral and ignore this incident, same as always. But obviously the boy wouldn't have that, and neither would his friends who Robin only noticed closing in as they had formed a loose circle around her already. Oh geez, she really wasn't in the mood to deal with these idiots right now… today had already been exhausting enough as it is.

"David said you would be running some errands for Snape today… Is that what you were doing in Hogsmeade?" He frowned at Robin with a mean grin. "You're such a teacher's pet, you know that jay?"

"If that's what it takes to talk to someone other than you idiots for a while, then yes, I'm indeed a teacher's pet. Happily." She replied at last, refusing to let that be used as an insult against her. Getting along with her professors was a good thing, getting along with Snape was great, even, and nobody could convince her otherwise.

"So what is it that you did for him in town? Got him some new torture device? Or poisoned a few people?" The boy mocked, and his friends proved themselves to be loyal peasants as they laughed about his every joke. Again, Robin decided to say nothing. Even if that wouldn't stop them from being jerks, it at least wouldn't make her one of them. Insults never led anywhere other than to more insults, and Robin could very well refrain from getting involved in it. That however was until their strategy changed from insults to actions. "Why don't we take a look into that backpack of yours, huh? See what you hide in there…"

In an instant, the boys beset her and the bag was ripped from her shoulders while they held her arms at her sides with two boys each. Alright, neutrality went a long way with Robin, but this was a step too far. In a natural response of fight or flight, she chose to fight indeed and moved to free her arms, actually succeeding in that, before she lunged at the boy in front of her. Nope, she wouldn't let this vile creature touch any of her belongings.

The boy barely escaped Robin as she jumped at him, but before she could make any attempt to either go at him again or draw her wand, he dashed off together with his friends, Robin's bag still in his hands. In an instant she was after them, not even caring if she had to push people out of the way or go at a full sprint over uneven ground to catch up with them. She would get that bag back, no matter what. This was the third time today she was forcefully reminded that she was only a student, one who didn't fit into her house, one who couldn't escape the cage she had been put into, one who couldn't even prevent getting involved in the childish behavior and shenanigans of her peers. However this time, for once, she had no other choice but to get her hands dirty as well.

… … …

It was over an hour later when Robin made it back into the castle, her bag clutched tightly in her blood and mud covered hands. Hopefully nobody would see her like this. Hopefully she could sneak past everyone despite the stupid limp caused by a twisted ankle. Hopefully… this day would just be over soon. Every step felt like a knife to the core, every inch of her skin burnt like it was clawed open and dipped in salt, and every muscle felt like it was ripped apart anew with each movement. Put shortly, Robin was in quite a bit of pain, but she refused to allow herself to cry over it, to even be bothered by it at all. She wouldn't give them that last pleasure, not even in their absence. She refused to acknowledge that their sheer idiocy had resulted in her getting hurt, even if it hadn't been their intention. There was only a certain capacity for emotions Robin could endure every day, and today she had long run out.

Once she caught sight of herself in the glass of a cabinet, she still had to close her eyes for a moment to force away the anger, and the embarrassment. Honestly, she could be partaking in a contest for the best zombie costume… only that the blood and cuts covering her skin were her own, and the dark bruise forming on her cheekbone was only one of the many that remained hidden under her clothes. However she still considered herself lucky as she made her way to the dungeons, entirely unseen and soon swallowed by darkness. She had gotten her backpack back, and it was still as good as it had been this morning, with its entire contents merely a little shaken up from the run but otherwise in perfectly ordinary condition. The same thing really couldn't be said about her own self, but quite frankly Robin worried more about her possessions than about her body. Bodies healed, objects didn't. Especially not rare potions ingredients that weren't even her possession in the first place.

Robin's feet carried her to the door of the potions classroom without detours, but before she opened the door she took a moment to remind herself of what she would likely find behind this door. The reason for her catastrophical evening going down like it had in the first place, and thus the (even if indirect) reason for the agonizing pain she was in. David. Truth be told, Robin felt very tempted to burst into the room at once and torture that boy without even having to voice a single spell and before he even realized that she was there. But that revenge would be short lived, unproductive and highly inappropriate, even if probably very satisfying for a very short moment. This was the same situation she'd been confronted with in her first year with Alexander, only on a different scale… and she wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She'd try to be better this time.

After taking a deep and thereby slightly painful breath, Robin opened the door and walked into the room with as little limping as she could. Slowly and forcefully calmly she walked towards the front of the classroom where Professor Snape hadn't even bothered looking up from the book on his desk. Perhaps he was so focused on whatever he was reading that he hadn't noticed Robin's fairly silent entry… He didn't look like he was deliberately ignoring her, at least.

On her way to the front, Robin focused her entire attention on Snape, thus on her own part deliberately ignoring David and two other students who were sitting at their own desks and probably writing up some assignments. They, however, didn't ignore her.

"Bloody hell, what happened to you?!" David of course was the first to blurt out the obvious, though in a tone so entirely amused that Robin felt tempted to reconsider her decision on torturing him. "Looks like you've finally fallen out of your ivory tower, huh?"

That at last got Snape's attention, and his eyes lifted off the book in lightning speed to find David across the room, however his gaze came to a sudden halt on Robin instead. The sheer amount of barely noticeable microexpressions flashing over his face right then would have sufficed to keep Robin thinking for an hour at the least, but she wasn't granted that time before he was back to neutrality and addressing her in the gravest of tones. "What happened?"

"I would rather tell you about that without… the additional ears, sir." Robin brought out in a quiet and calm voice that however was just a bit too breathy to not give away how she truly felt. In pain, but also surprisingly numb. Looks like she really had run out of any emotional capacity for the day.

Snape's eyes moved from Robin to the clock on the wall, then to the three other students sitting in the room, and finally back to Robin. "Detention will be over when dinner starts, in approximately forty minutes. If you have no other obligations, you should wait for me in my laboratory."

The laboratory? Goodness, Robin wouldn't be able to decline that no matter how much pain she was in. "Thank you, sir, I will do just that."

"You know how to enter." He merely replied with another of those pointed looks and finally turned his eyes back down to his book.

Robin could tell that he wasn't reading though. The muscles in his jaw were clenching, even if only subtly, and he looked way too tense to be focusing on anything but the room around him. Yet, she understood that this wasn't the place for further conversation, as of her own request, and thus she made her way back to the door with quick steps that hurt more than could be healthy. Three pairs of eyes followed Robin as she grabbed the doorframe too tightly to replace a pained hiss, opened the door abruptly and almost fell into the hallway before slamming it shut again. So much for being subtle.

The walk was luckily short and dark, and Robin found that she could enter the lab with the same spell as the classrooms indeed, but this time she made the effort to lock the door behind herself with the corresponding spell for once. Only then she felt like she could finally loosen the grasp on her bag, could finally allow herself to hurt, could take a true breath at last. The small space really had a calming effect on her, even now. She didn't bother lighting up the candles before she dropped her bag in a corner and sat down on the floor with her back against the side of one of the shelves. Having the wood pressing her jumper against her sore skin wasn't the most pleasant feeling, but sitting at last was enough of a relief to still allow a deep relaxation to wash over her nonetheless. Now that the adrenaline was slowly wearing off and the necessity to protect herself was withdrawing in her head, she felt surprisingly dizzy as she stared out of the window into the last bits of dark grey sky that were slowly taken over by blackness. Before she knew it, the blackness had swallowed her as well.

______________________________

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[silverypurple-rosedlions]

🥀//This content may contain sensitive topics that could upset you such as: mild language, violence, psychosis, blood, gun and knife use, arson, body carving, graphic description, and death. Please continue at your own will and be cautious . . .

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟾, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

And to their astonishment, he crawled out from the dark depths of death, escaping the gates of Hell that yearned for his twisted soul. With bloodied fingers, his chest heaving, clothes tattered as his body ached and trembled with broken bones, he sauntered to the abandoned building of the sick and ghastly. But a glint of venomous rage and determination glistened within his eyes that pooled their enchanted soft blue.

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟾, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

Breathing in sharply through his nose, he opened the door, existing the car with narrowed eyes. As he shut the door with the keys shoved inside his coat, ripples of shocked gasps and screams surrounded him. But he walked calmly past them, a path being made for him as he entered the large building belonging to The Silver Lions. And as he walked, the doors swung open, being greeted by the main members of the allied group.

"Holy fuck-" Soonyoung gasped. Beside him, Seungkwan dropped the briefcases he had been carrying, their contents spilling as he covered his mouth with his hands.

"Don't fuck with us! If this is some sick joke, I'll personally decapitate someone!" Seungkwan said.

"Goodness, and hear I thought you all would be crying tears of joy for the man who sacrificed their life to be a distraction," The other replied calmly, only to freeze as the two rushed forward and threw their arms around him.

"HOW THE HELL ARE YOU ALIVE, JEONGHAN?!"

"Because I used my brain, and did not remove the bulletproof vest," Jeonghan responded, wrapping his arms around the two tightly, feeling them tremble within his embrace. "Now . . . Where did you put my negotiator and consigliere?"

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟿, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

Joshua sighed, shifting his gaze towards Mingyu, who stood by the window his arm rested against the wall. Beside him was Seokmin, having the chance to hold Jane who was nestled in his arms, asleep.

"Mingyu, I think it's about time we sleep now. I'm tired..." Joshua said, catching the bodyguard's attention.

"Go to sleep with Seokmin and the others, hyung,"

"Mingyu, you haven't slept for two days. Don't make it three," Joshua rubbed his eyes, standing from the table. "Besides, there's nothing for you to wait for. And Jihoon will let us know when it is time to move,"

"I'll nap later, I promise..." Mingyu's hand formed into a fist as he shook his head, "And you don't even know what could happen. I mean, we clearly didn't see the invaders come trampling in," Mingyu responded sharply.

"Mingyu," Seokmin whispered with furrowed eyebrows. Joshua flinched at first automatically gesturing for Seokmin to leave the room with Jane.

"Mingyu, please. Just shut your eyes for a bit at the very least. I know you're just as anxious as we are, especially now that we're all miles away from each other, but you'll ruin yourself if you keep this up," Joshua said, crossing his arms as he walked towards the male. "And besides... Arin wouldn't want you to keep yourself awake like this, even if it's for our sake. Think about yourself too," Joshua frowned.

"I know... I honestly do, but I just can't sleep right after the incident," Mingyu rubbed his face, the distress finally surfacing after being pushed deep within in. "Everything was so perfect... And that was the only time we ever saw him express himself, the Jeonghan we knew back in Highschool... Then it all came crumbling down so fast, and, stupid or not of what he did, it worked... But not for him. You lost your husband, and the father to Jane... And we could've done better if we noticed the changes..."

Joshua hugged himself, nodding as he shifted his eyes to the floor, his heart clenching tightly at the mention of his deceased husband. "True... But there's nothing that can be done now. As much as we want, or hope we could've fixed it, or stopped it... We know it isn't possible.. But please attempt to rest or sit down. That's the least you can do for us, and, Jane needs her uncle's protection, yeah? But you can't do that if you're up so late," He stood beside Mingyu, staring down to the parking lot with few cars.

"I'll try at the very least... But what about you? Haven't you been struggling as well?" Mingyu questioned cautiously.

"Of course... Every second I am," Joshua responded, rubbing his arms. "I have been getting sleep, but... well, it's haunting..."

"And Seokmin's been drained entirely, hasn't he? Is that why he barely comes out from his room?.."

"He's just been so, so very tired..."

"...What will we actually do now?" Mingyu questioned, shifting his gaze towards the older. "Are you sure you can handle Jeonghan hyung's position?... To even appoint me as Underboss?"

"It's my responsibility now, isn't it?" Joshua whispered softly, looking towards the ring that glistened on his finger. He gently touched it, turning it slightly. "As much as I would rather let Jihoon take the position, it's now embedded into the family, and it directly goes to the Underboss... And it's the least I can do for everything he's ever done and wanted for us..." He paused. "And yes, I am positive that I want you to have your position again. But you must swear to me that you will not repeat your errors like you had done in the past. I entrust you with my life, and always have, but if you even dare to do it, especially with how things are now, I will not hesitate to have you suffer the consequences Jeonghan had refrained from."

Mingyu sealed the thick lump in his throat, shivers running down his spine as he exhaled, nodding. "Of course..."

Suddenly, they heard a knock on the door, causing them both to pause, turning their attention towards the locked door.

"No one left this building at any time, did they?" Joshua asked skeptically.

"No..."

"Mingyu, give me the backpack, and get the rest to the stairs," Joshua said, receiving the bag as he shuffled through it and pulled out his daggers. As Mingyu quietly made his way into the hallway, Joshua walked towards the door. He listened, waiting to hear if they'd continue or speak. But all that filled the air was silence.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Mr. Yoon, open up," Joshua froze.

"It's Jihoon, Joshua hyung. I've brought someone who needs our help desperately," Joshua didn't respond at first, unsure until he gained confirmation that it was the Consigliere. Breathing in, Joshua opened the door, unlocking the numerous locks before he found the younger standing at the door.

"What's with this new person?"

"Well... They want to gain their revenge, and, I'm sure all of us want to gain the opportunity at well," Jihoon said, causing the older to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't that right?"

"Oh," A male said darkly, sending shivers through Joshua as they came to the door, causing the other to drop his weapons, eyes big and round. "Most definitely. Wouldn't you agree, my love?"

"N-No... No way." Joshua said, his heart racing as his knees began to buckle, stumbling backwards with his hands over his mouth. "You can't-... Y-You can't play sick jokes l-like-"

"Joshuji, you know I would never play any twisted jokes like these on you. Never in my life, and, I swore to you I would never, yeah?" Joshua let out a sob as his husband stepped forward, holding his arms firmly. "I swore to you that I would never leave you. Not now, not ever." Softly, Jeonghan caressed his cheek, his other arm wrapping around his waist. "I would never abandon my Angel on this God forsaken Earth,"

"H-Hannie," Joshua choked, falling into his embrace as he held him tightly, sobbing as Jeonghan held him close to his chest, pressing a kiss to his head.

"Everything's going to be alright. I'll make it alright again... And we'll make them pay for this. We'll get our revenge once we've gathered the rest, my love. And then we'll finally have our well deserved time of peace. I'll make sure of it."

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟸, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶

As the building filled the sweet sounds of agonizing screaming, Joshua hummed happily as he held Jeonghan's hand, both walking towards the room where the head man was kept. Blood splattered the walls, bodies being ripped and torn, others being filled with holes. Joshua turned his gaze when a man was slammed against the wall, Jun being the one to push a sharp blade into their shoulder to hold them in place, blood sprinkled on his face as he cackled wickedly. But they left him to his "fun," entering the room where the man behind the reigns was tied to a chair, squirming and thrashing as he spat vulgar words.

"Settle down, settle down," Jeonghan chuckled as the newlywed separated, watching as horror formed on the man's aging face. "We haven't even gotten to the best part~"

"T-That's impossible! You JUMPED! You should be DEAD!" The male screamed.

"I defy death, haven't you heard?" Jeonghan chuckled as Joshua left the room, leaving Jeonghan to circle the male. "Besides, even if I died, I have some unfinished business... Thanks to you, our fucking wedding nearly became a funeral the very same day. We didn't even have our family and friends attend thanks to you and your belief that you," He started to laugh, running his fingers through his hair, "you could even achieve the impossible!" He then grabbed the chair, whipping him around as he pulled him, bringing him face-to-face as he tilted his head, a sick and deranged look within his eyes. "And as a gift for your fuckery, you'll get a test of your own medicine, my friend!"

Jeonghan then twisted him again, facing him towards the door. "But you're not getting it from me this time. No, no. You're going to suffer the consequences from my darling of a husband since you brought greater grief upon him than anyone else!"

"YOU'RE ALL MAD! YOU'RE ALL FUCKING DEMONS FROM HELL!" The man yelled.

"Oh. Ohohoho. You're absolutely right," Jeonghan grinned wickedly, lowering towards the man's ear. "We're the most demented shits here~" As Jeonghan finished, Joshua walked in with a bat resting against his shoulder, the most twisted smile on his face as his eye twitched slightly from the rage that was slowly surfacing.

"Hannie got the chance to do this to his parents, you know? Give them pretty bruises and dents before having their bodies scorched. I'm sure you'll love the honor of receiving the same treatment~"

As the man continued to protest, cursing them and degrading them, neither listened. Instead, Jeonghan stared at his husband with love and adoration, his smile sinister as he held the man still. "Let loose, baby~"

With a delighted giggle, Joshua swung the bat up, his eyes large with pure insanity as he yelled, "BATTER UP, BITCH!" With all his strength, he cracked the bat against the male, causing him to let out a cry as a bone snapped within his arm. And again, Joshua swung back and cracked it against his other arm, another cry emitting from the male. "THIS IS FOR RUINING OUR WEDDING!"

Bringing the bat above his head, Joshua slammed the bat against the male's knee, repeating it to the other. "THIS IS FOR ATTEMPTING TO TAKE DOWN OUR GROUP!" Slightly hopping with excitement and burning rage coursing through his veins, he slammed the bat against the male's head. "THIS IS FOR TRYING TO KILL MY HUSBAND, MY FUCKING FAMILY!"

And finally, swinging the bat, Joshua slammed the bat between the male's legs, a choked sob and scream filling the air. "AND FOR RUINING OUR FUCKING HONEYMOON BY CAUSING US TO SEPARATE YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" And as Jeonghan backed away after slamming his hand against the male's head, sending him to the floor on his side, he watched as his heart raced in his chest at the most beautiful and alluring sight before him as Joshua continued to crack the bat against the male over and over again, savoring each and every scream before dropping the bat down with satisfaction.

Proud of his husband, loving the torment he was bringing and the insanity emitting from him, Jeonghan went around the sobbing and bloodied man, Jeonghan wrapped his arm around Joshua, pulling him close as the other let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow towards him with a smirk. "How did I-" Joshua didn't finish as Jeonghan kissed him, tightening his grip on the other's waist as Joshua wrapped his arms around his neck, kissing him passionately and roughly, biting the bottom of his lip before the other broke the kiss, humming in content. "You did beautiful~" But he whispered into Joshua's ear, causing the other to turn red before grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"Yah, Yoon Jeonghan! You can't say that when we haven't even finished this!"

"Just a heads up for later," Jeonghan winked, causing the other to roll his eyes, but the feelings were equally enhanced as they stood over the broken and crippled man. "Speaking of finishing the job, why not leave a little something as a wondrous final touch before the real grand finale?~" He smirked devilishly.

"And that is?~" Joshua watched curiously as his husband pulled out his butterfly knife, flicking it open and having it placed within his hands, letting out a delighted squeal.

"Let's leave our initials~ A permanent reminder of who gained their revenge,"

With a grin, Joshua nodded, pulling his husband with him as they squatted towards the slowly dying man in front of them. "Let's carve it together, Hannie!~"

"Sounds perfect~" Jeonghan purred, taking Joshua's hand in his, both digging the knife within the male's flesh and beginning to tear it, carving their initials as the man screamed and writhed in pain, blood spilling like a river.

"Y. J + Y. H. J. J"

"It's almost like cutting our wedding cake, except, we won't be eating this one~" Joshua chuckled darkly, being nuzzled by Jeonghan who nodded in agreement.

"And now, the grand finale, Joshuji~" Jeonghan grinned, his head twitching slightly, naturally hitting his own head in response. Joshua cooed softly, used to seeing his lover inflict pain to himself.

"It'll be a beautiful campfire!~" Grabbing the gasoline and twisting the cap off, Jeonghan poured it all over the room before spilling the rest of its contents on the male after Joshua brought him upright in the chair, sitting loosely. As Joshua opened the window, he pulled a flare gun, shooting it upward as it bursted in purple, watching as everyone began to evacuate the building.

"And now," Jeonghan began, taking out a match and lighting it, "This will be our way of letting the fire consume the damned here~" With Joshua wrapped in his arm, standing at his side, Jeonghan tilted his head towards the tormented male. "All of your death here will be a reminder of who we are and what we do. So, thank you for being the reminder that The Purple Rose will forever reign glorious!" And as Jeonghan threw the match, the room set ablaze, the fire rising as it consumed hungrily, beginning to burn into the male's skin as he screamed.

Jeonghan and Joshua only watched with amusement and twisted delight, both turning around and leaving the building as the fire followed, but never reached far enough to catch the two as they joined the rest outside, the large building beginning to glow. And as they stood far away, Jeonghan wrapped his arms around Joshua, the other nuzzling him.

"Bring the building down, boys!" Jeonghan roared, and at his command, an explosion erupted within, the building beginning to collapse inside as the fire continued to rage, finishing their beautiful work. The members roared in triumph, laughing and sneering as they cheered for their group and the newlywed, watching the scene.

"Time to go home!" Jeonghan announced. "Everyone here deserves a rest after such a wonderful accomplishment tonight!"

"But to where?" Joshua questioned.

"Somewhere safer, I promise you that,"

💕| @ghoulxbaekhyun [Seok's Love/Bacon] @seventeen-chatbot [Jun's Woowoo/Fiance] @arinschoi [Mingyu's pumpkin] @heartbrokenxinseong [Jihoon's Moonlight] @kjiwon [Minghao's Rainbow]

Closest friends| @jiaqi-xu [Kiki] @kpop-shelter [Lovely Shelter] @vitoria-oc @bloodrose-cb [Julia] @shin-haneul [Haneullie] @sweetandsleepyjamie [Jamie] @frenemies-hyunsung [Rascals] @mitsukojen [Lovely Jennie] @pup-hendery [Pup] @mafia-chae @college-baekhyun [Wonwoo's Tutoring An Intellectual]

💎| @boxer-joshua @yanderexmingyu @decadewonwoo [Wok] @god-vernon @leejihoon-cb @van-gogh-minghao @weeb-wonwoo @mafia-svt @tattooartistjoshua @mafia-shua @vampireprince-jeonghan @yan-svt @captain-jihoon [and more]

🥀| @vampiremomo @princess-yeji @dungeonhybrids @incubuswooyoung @initial-d-renjun @la-soleilmafia-cb @floristluda @fairy-dejun @model-lucy @ateez-treasure9au-chatbot [DM for +/-]

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 22: Deader is Better (Loki x OFC Pairing)

It was exactly one day before the greatest holiday of all time, and not just because I was the most powerful I'd ever be that year. The streets were packed with people, every parking lot was booked solid, every parking space even, residents were even renting out some of their spaces for pocket money. Loki and I helped out Zari with her little store in exchange for letting us crash at her place, Loki was both surprised and delighted by how accepting people were of him even after asking if he was who he was. I explained to him that while the country as a whole has a longass way before it can be completely progressive and welcoming, Salem, being one of the first historical places here that destroyed itself in fear and intolerance, was probably the first to turn that around. It went from burning, hanging, crushing, and torturing people that were considered different and therefore dangerous to welcoming the different and weird as one of their own. No one even cared he took over New York, what they saw was an alien army attacking the city and a god that brought a bunch of heroes together to stop them.

"If Asgard were still around, I wish it had a city like this, celebrating magic and welcoming the weird as you'd say," mused Loki.

"Isn't there a realm entirely like that? Where the Light Elves live?"

"Look at you, trying to learn my culture," he teased. "It was where my mother learned magic and passed it onto me, yes. But we didn't go there often enough for me to call it another home. Most of the time, if we went anywhere it was to beat the natives into submission thanks entirely to Thor."

"For all the advancements your people had on us, the technology, the magic, the fuckton more years in a lifespan, you're not that far off in some idealogies from us. Rarely does peaceful methods end a dispute between peoples. Oh sure, there's been tons of times we tried that, it rarely works in our favor though. Peaceful rallies or marches are usually ended with police brutality they claim is the right way even when they're throwing tear gas grenades at unarmed civilians, tazing random protesters they later claim as dangerous, or just blasting them with high pressured firemen hoses. It always ends badly, with injuries, false claims, and injustice. I'd seriously love to meet Odin just to tell him he ain't special."

Loki smiled at this and kissing the top of my head. "I shouldn't be proud of you despising him like I did, but I am anyway. I am glad you met my mother in some form though, I had a feeling she'd like you."

"She told me to trust you and that in doing so, you'd stay with me as no one else besides Thor if even that, has trusted you since you came here indefinitely. A lonely existence that is, everyone keeping you at arms length. I can understand that, outside of Salem, skin color alone is an excuse not to trust someone, people see someone that looks like they're past their expiration date like me and they go running. Hell, even hair color or skin ink can keep you from getting jobs here, we're still an extremely regressive country. Not worth saving anytime soon."

"Then why bother?"

"Because unfortunately I'm one of the idiots inhabiting it with no way to some place better."

"I asked Thor why he fought so hard to protect this speck of a planet once, don't recall him giving me a good answer but yours shall suffice, if nothing else, because you're part of it."

"Whoa, hold your eight legged horses, you really don't need to do that...at all. Just find a way out of here if we can't at least save this city, the Avengers can handle this planet and if they can't...well at least they tried right? We don't need to get involved when neither of us signed any kind of hero contract like they did."

"You sure?"

"I'm not just sure...I'm HIV positive."

"You'd have to be alive to contract that disease and I'm not quite sure it would transmit to something already dead."

I opened my mouth to retaliate but something else stayed my tongue for a moment, something felt wrong, unnatural even. "Listen...do you smell that?" I asked curiously. Loki didn't get a chance to answer as a great surge of necro-power struck me full force and I was sent flying back several feet away, breaking several trees of the park we were enjoying till then along the way before my back slammed against a particularly thick one and I stopped flying. A dull pain exploded from my chest mere inches from where the stone was protecting my important bits and cool black blood lightly dripped from my lips. I looked down at where the pain came from and blinked in surprise.

"Oh look I've been impaled," I mused before breaking off the branch sticking out of my body and stepped away from the tree behind me. I looked for the source of the power surge and glared as I spotted the culprit walking toward us.

"Are you hurt?" asked Loki warily.

"Just a flesh wound," I assured him, gathering power from behind into my arms and fists. "You might wanna sit this one out though."

"No no, let him try," the attacker taunted as he got closer to us.

"I knew I smelled something rotten in the wind," I muttered. "What is it this time? First the heart, now the brain rotting away, would make sense if it was you that sold us all out."

The man before us glowered at me then flashed rotting, blackened teeth, while for the most part he looked alive, he was essentially rotting from the inside out. "You aren't the only one with a stone organ, my head will remain just as much as your heart does till I rip that out of you."

I arched an eyebrow. "Lemme guess, one of your Hydra buddies was a brain surgeon or so he claims. They all think themselves doctors of something that organization, not one medical degree posted when I was with them though, kinda makes you wonder."

"They don't need doctors for corpses," he snapped.

"You sure you're not braindead? Cuz I'm sure coroners and morticians both require a medical degree to be licensed with the job."

"Have a few run-ins with those folks have you?" he sneered. "You know the best part about you was at the very least being a warm body at the end of the day, now you don't even have that."

I snorted at his attempt to insult me. "Oh hun, the best part of you ran down your mother's legs. You gonna bark all day, you little bitch, or are you gonna bite?"

He held his hands to his head and another ball of smoke and lightning came hurtling at us but this time it was aiming for Loki at breathtaking speed, he was essentially pulling an Azula on me thinking I'd either let Loki get hit or take it myself but I saw his Azula and raised him a Dumbledore, telling my guiding spirits to yank him away from the path of the ball as I wouldn't be fast enough to help myself. I waved my hand toward Loki and he was suddenly swept aside and away from the direct battle ahead. Loki scrambled to his feet, a dagger in each hand and returning to his battle armor swiftly, glancing at me in shock. I mouthed a sorry to him before focusing all my attention to the rotten necromancer in front of me.

"Targeting what's mine isn't your best move when you really don't need to give me more motives to decapitate you than you already have," I warned.

"I know he's your weakness though. I want to see just how weak he really makes you," he sneered. "If what doesn't kill you makes you strong, what about when you're already dead."

"You're well on your way to finding that out yourself, hun. I can help answer that for you though." I thrust out a hand and black lightning flew from my fingertips. My rival managed to shield some of it with his own magic but as he wasn't a demi god the impact of that much power still sent him flying back. I didn't wait for him to get up though as I charged at him with a ball of power around each fist.

He rolled away right before I could punch in his head and destroy the stone inside it and got to his feet as I stood up, charging at me as I straightened up so we were suddenly toe to toe trying to kill each other. For a solid few minutes it was just dodging and exchanging blows and balls of energy before he decided to get sneaky and tried to slash me with his ceremonial dagger hidden in his boot. I dodged it just enough to not actually cut me but it did do some damage to my hoodie which had me glaring at him as I loved my hoodies. From there, it was throwing either each other, balls of power, or punches at each other with him occasionally trying to throw power at Loki who quickly learned to keep an eye on his attacks as much as I was without interfering, this wasn't his fight anymore. The ground around us was starting to look barren and dead from the effects of our powers used against one another, the grass brittle and brown. We both paused for a moment, both battered and frustrated neither of us were getting the upper hand with what we were doing.

"Why won't you stay down?!" he demanded.

I scoffed. "What is dead can never die. What's your dilemma here? What did Hydra even offer you to make you switch sides?"

"A chance to be something greater than this, the other necromancer, to be a demigod."

"And how's that working out for you?" I asked in bemusement. "They aren't higher powers, they're hired powers, there's a difference. There's no cutting corners on that one, ask nicely or die trying. How did you know where to find me? On the plane?"

"I had a spook tail you, not all the spirits are on your side you know."

"The good ones are, the rest are usually locked or exorcised so kudos on finding one of the select few willing to help a brother out."

He narrowed his eyes at me, collecting powers as he did. "If I'm not given what I want, then I'll have to take it myself just like I did with the other necromancers that went against me."

"And that's why no matter where that stone is surgically implanted in you, you will never be one of us, going against your own kind for something you'll never get." I lowered one hand to the ground and reached into the earth with just death magic alone, calling for something very specific as I waited for him to make the first move this time. "Especially not from me."

"And what makes you so special?" he demanded.

"Come here and find out." He lunged forward, taking the bait and I dropped to one knee at the last second, dodging his power-fist at the same time a rotted hand burst from the ground with my own dagger I snatched up and sliced into my enemy's rotted guts. He stumbled back, his free hand going to his stomach as he was weakened but not done for, the stone keeping him barely alive inside him. "Almost seems pointless since you're already decaying inside."

He looked at the wound I gave him from my dagger and glared at me as it was already speeding up the process. "You little cunt."

"Let me guess, you're gonna kill me, right? Join the line of people with empty threats they never finish."

Black lightning danced around his head and down to his body, staving off the spreading death from reaching his neck but not healing the blade wound either. "Should I rip out your soul first or your stone?"

"You say that like you've actually gotten the upper hand in this fight but who here has the unhealed wound and who here has survived worse?" I retorted.

He sneered at me with his rotten teeth and lunged forward once more but being the slimy little bastard he was, pulled his dagger apart so there were actually two identical ones and threw one at my leg while making a bee line around me with the other dagger at Loki. I gritted my teeth as the dagger hit its mark in my thigh and not wasting time even to take it out of me, threw a power ball at him from behind so he couldn't dodge it and sent him off his course to my lover. I then took out the dagger in my leg and limped over to the bastard despite the agony burning through the entire limb. I didn't wait for him to get up and kicked him hard in the head right where I guessed the stone was before aiming for the wound I gave him with my blade. "Silly asshat, kicks are for ribs." His snapped under my leather boots. He tried to throw the other knife he still had at Loki but I caught it this time and dissolved the twin dagger like I did the one in my leg. I grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up, and slamming into another park tree while holding him in place.

"You really wanna know why you can't kill me after all this time?" I challenged.

"You don't scare me, Nell," he choked out.

I recalled what the Wiccan seer had told me and let go of everything holding me back. "I can fix that. You can't kill a Horsemen." A different kind of power rippled throughout my body, not necromancy, but something stronger, eternal and deadly and incomparable. The entire arm and hand holding him up was skeletal as was half my face and that's when fear started to leak into his. He fought and wiggled in my grasp, trying to pry my bones off his neck but my finger bones just dug in deeper while he kicked at me. I raised my free hand, also all bones, and went for his head, aiming for the stone still managing to keep him alive when his throat was slowly being punctured and torn. And then the world seemed to pause, everything went silent and still, everything was frozen even including most of me as I couldn't seem to reach the stone in his head but was poised to grab it out of his forehead. And then something else happened, something that only happened to me when something very specific was coming. I got what Peter Parker would call the "the Peter tingle" and chills ran up and down my body despite the whole lack of nerves and feelings thing I had being a skeleton.

[myarmsaretoolong]

For the Greater Good

@whumptober2020​ Prompt #9: For the Greater Good - “Take me Instead” | “Run!”

Word Count: 2457

Warnings: Drugged | Kidnapping

Synopsis: Drugged, captured, and locked in a dingy room, Tony fights to escape and keep Peter safe in the process

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

Tony woke slowly, his head pounding like it used to the morning after Rhodey dragged him home from a college party. He hadn’t been to a party, right? The last thing he remembered was working in the lab with Peter. 

Forcing himself to open his eyes - and silently thankful for the almost pitch black - Tony investigated the room. The wall in front of him looked to be carved from stone, ragged and shimmering with water, and so close he could probably reach out and touch it.

His shoulder muscles screamed out in pain as Tony tried to move his arms. They jerked to a sudden stop as a clang resounded around the small room. The sound echoed inside Tony’s skull, bringing him close to throwing up. He swallowed hard and looked down at his wrists.

A metal cuff cut into his wrist, the skin around it rubbed raw where he’d tried to move. The other end of the cuff was connected to the arm of a chair, further inspection showed the chair was bolted down. Tony groaned. He was not in the mood to be held hostage, not today. Not when he should have been spending time with-

“Oh shit. Peter!” Tony, sobered up at the thought. He whirled his head to the side so fast he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. Next to him sat an identical chair with the small frame of Peter sitting atop it. “Kid,” Tony called. He gained no response.

Peter, too, was cuffed to his chair. His shoulders slumped forward and head lolled down, chin resting against his chest. He looked almost peaceful, had it not been for the dingy surroundings and restraints.

“Pete,” Tony tried again, a little louder this time. “Come on, I need you to wake up.” Still nothing. His brief jolt of adrenaline beginning to wear off and give way to the pounding once again. “Urgh,” he moaned, “I hate you for making me do this.” Tony stretched his foot towards Peter’s, hoping to nudge him awake. If only he could reach.

Tony inched his foot closer, shuffling his butt forward in the chair and fighting against the shackles clamped around his wrists so he had a better angle. Still, a couple of inches laid between the pair. Tony hunched over, whatever drugs their captor had used were doing a real number on his head, even the small movement felt like somebody juggling knives inside his head. “Oh, kid,” he whispered. “I’m going to regret this in a minute.”

He braced his back against the corner of his chair and thrashed his foot out as hard as possible. It hit Peter’s shin, the effort just about enough to tip Tony over the edge. He doubled over as his head swam and every muscle in his body howled in pain. “Urghhh…” the sound left his mouth of its own accord as Tony drifted to the edge of consciousness.

Another groan joined his own, though Tony didn’t have the energy to do anything bar stay awake. “Mis’er Stark-” Peter mumbled, sounding a mixture of drunk and terrified.

Tony mustered the remains of his strength to reply. “Gonna need a moment here, kid.” Each syllable drilled into his brain, but the silence after was deafening. He lifted his head slightly, bile rising in the back of his throat, to look at Peter. He hadn’t moved, Tony wondered if he’d imagined him talk. “Kid?”

“Shhhh,” Peter slurred, his head rolling to one side. “Loud.”

“Right,” Tony dropped his voice to the quietest whisper he could manage, “of course.” Peter seemed to be faring worse than Tony, and that was saying something. Then again, Tony had his partying days to rely on, he’d gotten pretty good at working through a hangover. He gave Peter a moment to gather his bearings before speaking again. “Kid, I need you to open your eyes so we can get outta here.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Pete, I’m serious. You can do it, come on.”

Slowly, Peter raised his head and peeled open his eyes. “Wha-” He looked around, wide-eyed, as he took in the unfamiliar scene. “Where are we?”

Peter’s question came out as a single slurred syllable, it took Tony a moment to decipher what he’d asked. “I don’t know, kid.” He made sure to keep his voice low. “But we gotta get out. These cuffs aren’t vibranium, so I need you do break them.”

Peter met Tony’s gaze with his own half-closed, unfocused eyes. “But it’s gonna be so loud.”

“It will. But then it’ll be over.” Tony’s heartbeat picked up, the longer Peter stalled, the more chance of their captor returning before they had a chance to escape. He kept his gaze firm. “You can do, Pete.”

“Okay,” Peter nodded once, then screwed his face up from the movement. “Can’t-”

“Yeah, you can.”

Peter groaned again, but raised his arms as high as the shackles would allow. For a brief moment - and judging by the face Peter made - Tony feared he would give up and let his arms fall back. But this was Peter, the kid who’d rather risk his life in a onesie on a plane than give up. He tensed his arms, and ripped them apart, shattering the shackles and pressing his hands to his ears as chunks clattered to the stone floor.

“That’s great, Pete, you’re doing so well. Now mine, and we can go.”

“Don’t wanna,” Peter muttered. He curled up in the chair, hugging his knees to his chest. “Wanna sleep.”

“You can sleep when we get out, kid,” Tony said frantically, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, that’s a promise.”

“M-kay.” Peter rose to his feet, swaying and stumbling as he walked the few steps to Tony’s chair. He knelt and wrapped his unsteady hands on the chains at Tony’s wrists and broke them with ease.

The second he was freed, Tony slipped to his knees and scooped Peter into his arms. “You did so good, buddy. So good,” he mumbled into Peter’s shoulder as the kid practically collapsed into him.

“Can I sleep now?”

“Not yet, we need to get out first. Remember?” Tony rubbed circles on Peter’s back, trying to balance on the knife-edge that was keeping Peter calm, but not so calm he gave in to sleep. “Can you walk?”

Peter shook his head against Tony’s chest.

“Well that wasn’t really the answer I was looking for.” Tony slide his arm under Peter’s shoulder and carefully lifted him to his feet. “Lean on me, I’ve got you.” He ignored the part of him that wanted to bring up last nights dinner and half dragged, half carried Peter over to the old, wooden door. Reaching out with his free and, he took hold of the handle. “Bets on this working?”

“Zero,” Peter muttered.

Tony smiled, Peter wasn’t completely out of it, at least. “I must say I’m in agreement.” Still, he tried to handle. Neither were surprised when the door didn’t open. Tony glanced across at Peter - who’s head rested against his shoulder, eyes fluttering as he fought to keep them open - he was in no state to kick the door down.

“S’alright, I can do-”

“No,” Tony cut Peter off. Keeping the kid conscious was more important. “I’ll do it. I mean, it looks like a light breeze would knock this thing over.”

“Mister Stark-”

“I’ve got this,” Tony assured. He eyed up the door, looking for the weakest, most rotten panel he could find, braced himself, and kicked it with all his strength. The door clattered to the floor, a cloud of dust rising around where it lay. Tony nearly fell backwards, but Peter stabilised them at the last moment. “Thanks, kid.”

“No problem.”

“You ready to go?”

“Wait,” Peter lent into Tony’s side, clinging to his shirt as sweat covered his brow. “Just one minute.”

“Okay.” Truthfully, Tony didn’t want to wait. Their captor could easily have heard the door hitting the floor and come running, but leaving would be no use if Peter - or him, for that matter - succumbed halfway out.

The wait went by painstakingly slowly, but eventually Peter was ready to move again and they made their way out of the room. They found themselves in a long corridor, much the same in design as their little room, only lights lit their way to freedom. Trying to move was incredibly awkward, not just from the way their limbs tangled together in attempt to keep each other upright, but each step sent a shudder all the way up Tony’s spine.

Eventually, they reached the end of the corridor, only to be faced with another, even longer one. Tony sighed, and started on his way.

“Wait,” Peter said, “I can walk by myself.” He straightened up and untangled himself from Tony’s arms.

“You sure?” Tony asked, the space at his side suddenly feeling incredibly cold.

Peter nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.” Tony led the way, Peter walking half a step behind him. The ground beneath their feet sloped upwards, slowing their progress even further, but they trudged on. Tony wished they could fall into their regular banter, but in truth, he was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to talk.

They passed various passages and doorways, each one looking near identical. Tony chose to keep on their current path, assuming the incline signalled freedom. He stopped even bothering to look down them. 

That turned out to be a mistake. 

A scuffle sounded behind him, Tony whipped around just in time to see someone leap out from a tunnel and grab Peter. The kid barely had time to react before a knife was pressed to his neck, drawing out a drop of blood.

Tony held his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not do anything too hasty, here.” The warning was aimed at Peter as much as the captor.

“You mean like capture a billionaire and their intern?” The captor said from under the hood of a long trench coat. Her voice a little too wobbly to be entirely confident.

“That would be an example, yes.” Tony took a step forward, trying to close the gap between them. She only took a step back, pulling Peter with her. Tony met the kid’s eyes, trying to communicate for him to stay put. Neither of them could exactly put up a good fight in their current state, they’d need the element of surprise.

“Don’t look at him,” she snapped. “Don’t go planning anything or I’ll do it. I will.”

It sounded as though she were trying to convince herself, maybe she could be reasoned with. “But you don’t want to, right? Else you already would have.” She didn’t respond. “What do you want, money? I can get you money.”

“Don’t pretend. If I let you go you’ll send the Avengers, not an envelope stuffed with cash.”

“Actually, I’d send a cheque.”

“Stop it! Stop making jokes.”

Tony kept his mouth shut. A feeling of grief washed over him, they were so close to the exit that he could almost taste fresh air, not this damp, musky cave shit he’d been breathing for god knows how long. It reminded him of Afghanistan. The same smell and vague feeling that you’d never really be clean again.

“You’re going back to that damn room, or I’ll slash this twerp’s throat.”

Tony didn’t take well to threats, never had - see: The Mandarin. He didn’t move, only just fought the urge to joke about the lack of door. The captor pressed the knife harder, a trickle of blood slipping over the edge as Peter whimpered.

“Wait!” Tony blurted, eyes frantically dotting between the pair and hands raised, palms out. “T-Take me instead. Let the kid go, and I’ll come with you.”

“No-” Peter yelled, only for it to turn into a strangled gargle as the captor tightened her grip.

She appeared to mull the idea over or a moment, but her face remained shrouded by the hood so Tony couldn’t be sure. He stayed quiet, avoiding Peter’s eyes, and prayed she’d take up her offer.

A sprinkling of dust fell from the ceiling between them, and before Tony knew it, the whole thing came down. Blinding light flooded the tunnel, catching all the inhabitants off-guard, and something heavy fell through the hole.

“Tones?”

Tony opened his eyes, squinting against the light, just in time to catch a small, flat-ish object being thrown his way. He looked in confusion at the nano-housing unit in his hands, then up at the figure standing at the centre of the beam of light like some goddamn angel sent from heaven.

“Rhodey?”

Talk about the element of surprise.

Peter took the opportunity to free himself from the captor’s grasp - she was too preoccupied with Rhodey’s hand levelled at her chest to care - and scrambled to Tony’s side.

“Kid, go!” He ordered, gesturing up the tunnel.

“But-”

Tony held up the nano-housing unit. “I’ve got this. Go, run!” Peter hesitated, before pelting up the tunnel, still looking a little drunk. Tony turned back to Rhodey and their captor. She ran forwards, clearly looking for an escape. Tony pressed the housing unit to his chest, prepared to fight, but Rhodey took her down first with a swift blast from the repulsor.

“Tones.” He hurried over, faceplate open, and searched Tony’s eyes worriedly. Only then did Tony realise he must look as high as Peter. “What the hell? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony tried to smile. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s nothing compared to college.”

“Yeah well, I scooped your ass out of far too many gutters to describe college you as ‘good’.”

“Is a cave a step up or down from a gutter?”

Rhodey didn’t answer, instead locking his arms firmly around Tony. “I’m glad we found you.”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, me too you big softie. I’ve only been gone, what, a few hours?”

“Tony,” Rhodey stepped back, his brow furrowed. “It’s been two days.”

“Oh.” That was all Tony could manage, momentarily shocked. Though it explained why they felt so bad. “Not my longest drug-infused nap.”

“Wait, you’ve been out of it this whole time?”

Tony nodded, “Just woke up. The kid broke us out, then you came in through the ceiling. Bit over the top, by the way.”

“Rogers wanted to enter through one of the side tunnels, but Friday’s scan showed Pete in trouble so I made an executive decision.” He squeezed Tony’s shoulder and started up the tunnel. “Cho’s on standby, we’ll get you both checked over as soon as we’re back at the compound.”

“You bring the Quinjet?” Rhodey nodded. Tony chuckled. “This is all eerily familiar to our previous soiree. Guess I’m riding with you after all.”