#why does he need to plead his father to lift his own weapon

[worstloki]

Odin is actually so mean and twisted for the hammer thing like why is he controlling the ability of his thousands of year old son to fight battles depending on whether he's good enough on some imaginary criteria

[darylmydix]

THE SCARS WE SHARE | daryl dixon - 002

summary: you were the only good thing daryl had in his life. bonded by similar trauma, you suffered abuse at the hands of your stepmother, just as daryl had suffered from his own father. when you finally decide to escape your abusive home life, you're forced to leave behind your best friend in the process. now with the world in an apocalyptic state, you're left wondering if daryl was even alive.

pairings: daryl dixon x f!reader.

warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, unrequited love, best friends to lovers, mentions of s/a, mentions of abuse, mention of suicidal thoughts/attempts, mention of drug use, use of deadly weapons, fluff, angst, slow burn, strong language, kidnapping, coercion, seasons 5-11, 18+, minors dni.

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: sorry if your name isn’t in the taglist and you asked to be. it wouldn’t let me tag some of you.

You lift your hand, blocking out the sun’s gleaming rays as you watch Daryl mutilate an opossum, removing the poor creature's insides. “Can’t you cook it or something?” You scrunch your face in pure disgust.

Daryl scoffs, eyeing you. “This ain't a damn five star restaurant, princess.” He says as he pops a piece into his mouth. “Well I am not eating that.” You shake your head. Daryl shrugs, making no complaints. “More for me.”

Eating dead animals was a cakewalk for someone like Daryl. He’s had to learn how to survive during times like this when his father would kick him out. At least he knew how to hunt and track thanks to the old man. The one good thing the bastard has done for his son.

You observe in silence while Daryl pigged out like he was enjoying a fine dine meal, even going as far as licking his fingers. “I don’t understand how you can eat raw animal guts. Aren’t you afraid of rabies?”

“It’s survival,” he states. “The world could go to shit one day where we ain’t got a choice but to eat crap like this. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

The thought of that makes you sick to your stomach. You didn’t even wanna imagine a world where you’d have to tear apart defenseless animals to save yourself from hunger. It just wasn’t in your human nature to hurt anything innocent. “I don’t think I could do that no matter the circumstances.” You admit.

“Then you sure as shit better hope the world don’t ever come to an end. You’d be the first to get taken out.” He jokes, but there’s some seriousness to his words. Compared to Daryl’s hardass exterior, you were as soft as a plush toy.

Two different personalities; but that’s why your friendship seemed to work so well. Daryl needed something delicate in his life to take the brute in him down a peg, and you needed a brute to protect you from what you’re too delicate to protect yourself against.

“Maybe you’re right...” You sigh, fiddling with your fingers, well aware of your fragility.

“Best be lucky ya got me then.” He says, standing up, while wiping his bloody hands on his pants. You look up at him, a smile forming your face. Daryl avoids your gaze, which he often does when he says anything remotely soft or caring to you. It was just the brooding man in him wanting to hide any emotional connection, but you knew he cared about you. And he knew you knew.

“I am lucky I have you.” You say softly. His eyes finally lock with yours for a split second before he simply nods and changes the subject. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.” He holds out his hand for you to take. You bite the inside of your cheek, rejecting the gesture. “I’m not in a rush to go back there.” You glowered.

“I know, but I ain’t tryin’ to get you into trouble again.” Daryl reminds you of the day that not only did you suffer consequences, but he did as well. Last time you avoided going home, you returned only to find cop cars outside of your house and your stepmother pretending to be oh so worried about you.

“Him!” She shouted, pointing to Daryl. “Arrest that inbred thug! He kidnapped my daughter!”

You tried to plead with the officers, telling them that wasn’t true but given the criminal history of the Dixon family it fell upon deaf ears and you had to sadly watch as your best friend was forced into a squad car. Fortunately he didn’t get into much trouble by the police, and was taken home.

His father was another story though.

You sigh, taking his hand and the brunette lifts you off the ground. “For the record, I’m only going because I don’t wanna get you in trouble again.” You inform him. Daryl scoffs. “Yeah whatever.”

“There it is. The house of horrors.” You mumble, staring ahead at the home that no longer brought you joy. “Need me to stick around a bit? Watch over the house?” Daryl suggests, and you look at him with a raised brow. “You’re gonna stakeout my house? What good would that do?” You ask.

“First prick I see walk up there’ll get his ass kicked, that’s what good it’ll do.” He spat. You could feel the anger radiating off of him; you shake your head. “You and Merle got it bad with assault,” Daryl glares at you in response. “If you just a walk up and kick whatever sick fuck comes to my door to get his jollies off then all my stepmom’ll do is call the police and have you arrested for stalking and battery.”

Daryl made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Pigs would be givin’ me a medal if they knew the fuck was goin’ on in there. What those assholes and that bitch was doin’.” He was passionate about your situation, and you appreciated it because you felt the same when it came to him and his own. “Hell am I supposed to do?”

You put your hand on his shoulder, which makes him tense slightly before he’s calm. “Nothing. Like I said, it’s just our reality. Go home, Daryl. Eat a meal better than opossum. For me, please.” You giggle a bit.

“You sure?” He asks.

“That I want you to eat a meal better than opossum? Pretty sure.”

The brunette scowls at your joke. “No. That you want me to go.”

You knew what he meant, but you often deflected questions like that because in the end what you wanted didn’t really matter. Stay or go, your position was all the same. “Yeah. Go home.” You give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to walk away. “Hey,” Daryl calls out, and you look back at him. “I’ll wait out here for a bit.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re a stubborn bastard.”

“Yeah, well it takes one to know one.”

You roll your eyes, turning away once again to walk home. You pull your keys from your sweater pockets as you get to the door, but it was suddenly ripped open with your stepmother standing there eyeing daggers at you. “The hell have you been? I almost had to call the law and report you missing again.”

“I’m an adult now, Sandra...”

“Like I give a damn. Get your dumbass in here.” She pointed inside with her thumb. You sigh, stepping into the house. Your stepmom pokes her head out, noticing Daryl standing there on the sidewalk. “What the hell are you doing by my house, you yokel?” She hissed.

“I was walkin’ her home, somebody’s gotta make sure she’s okay.” Daryl spat back. Your stepmother chuckled. “Well, aren't you quite the gentleman.” She snarked. “Well she’s here now, so why don’t you take your hillbilly ass back to the trailer park where you belong and get the hell away from my property before I call the cops.” She slams the door, getting the last word.

You peer at Daryl through the living room window, mouthing for him to ‘just go’. You could see him struggling within himself with the decision before he heads off. Your stepmother shuts the curtains, glaring at you. “Don’t you ever bring that redneck here again or I’ll make you regret it.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, holding back tears. “What do you have against him? He is the only thing in this world that I have that cares about me.”

She laughed mockingly. “You think he cares about you? You’re not even worth a damn to care about. The only thing you’re good for, honey, is making me money to keep this damn roof over our head. And if that little bastard isn’t helping support that, then he has no business here. Next time I see him I’ll get a restraining order and make sure he’ll never step foot here again, do you understand?”

You don’t respond, tears now falling down your face. She roughly grabs your arm, digging her nails into your skin. You yelp in pain. “Do you understand?!” She repeats. “Yes!” You cry out. She lets go of you, throwing your arm from her grasp. “Now go shower. We’ve got a guest coming later tonight.”

You quickly rush to your bedroom, slamming the room door shut. You pace around your room, wiping tears from your eyes. You were full of different emotions. Anger, sadness, sorrow, hate, agony. You wanted to just give up on this life. You had no willingness to live.

You open your drawer, digging through your clothes until you find the razor you keep in your drawer. You eye the tiny blade, twisting it around in your finger. ‘It could just end here’. You thought.

But then the sudden flash of Daryl came into your mind.

Like it always does.

You threw the razor atop of your dresser, the unwillingness fading away. “Daryl Dixon the things I do for you.” You mutter to yourself.

Taglist:

@daryldixmedown, @supernaturalstilinski, @vampiresluv, @myassisasolarsystem, @mosstheshoeshoethemoss, @scripteria, @moonlightreader649, @creepumiku, @filmsbyblair, @ginger-haired-queen, @darylsdollie

[purrincesskittens]

Star Eyes, Zuko is mistaken as Water Tribe.

Gift for @muffinlance based off this post and this one

......................................................................

It was night when they found him. A quick examination showed blood on the back of his head. As they pounded on his back someone noted his eyes. “Gold eyes.” They called. “Are you fire nation?” The boy lifted his head and the light of the lantern caught his eyes reflecting back at them. “Of course I am.” The kid snarls. “Star Eyes.” Someone breathed. Shit this kid was one of theirs. “Could be the child of a war bride.” Was suggested by someone. “At least he’s not a fire bender.” There was a laugh that was quickly interrupted by the star eyed boy himself. “Yes I am.” “Well that was.... honest.” 

Star eyes were only something seen in the water tribes though. Even if this kid was a fire bender he had to be water tribe. More then likely the result of a woman stolen from her tribe during a raid and raised as Fire Nation since he looked enough of the part. But he was young, probably just recruited or practically forced into joining the military. There was a easy way to figure out how dangerous this kid was or rather how much more dangerous he was considering he was a fire bender. 

“Have you ever killed someone?” Hakoda asks crouching before the boy lifting his chin in one hand so the boy had to look him in the eye with those gold colored star eyes. “What? No ... I don’t think.... No.”  The kid seemed confused the blood on the back of his head suggested a head wound but this kid was young probably just assigned to a ship only to get knocked overboard by either by a storm or by another soldier. Those eyes probably didn’t make him popular or the fact that this kid’s eyes kept sliding away from Hakoda’s own suggested he may be a fey child. 

“What do we do with him?” Somebody asks as they watch the kid cough up water, curling and uncurling his fingers against the wood of the deck his eyes cast down. “We keep him for now. His mother is probably Water Tribe war bride if he is star eyed. Have Kustaa check him over and if he survives we figure out what to do from there." Hakoda announces to the crew. They took care of their own and until they figured out who his mother was and could turn him over to her family if she had any left the crew of the Akhult would take care of him for now. Half Water Tribe and the child of a war bride was still Water Tribe and like hell were they going to turn him over to the Fire Nation to continue using as a weapon.

Kustaa later informed him the boy had hypothermia as well as potentially severe head trauma it was hard to tell right now. The kid mistook him for his uncle. Which uncle they weren't sure. It's possible the boy's mother had a picture of her family she either managed to take with her or she drew herself or he could be thinking Kustaa was his father's brother. The escape attempts didn't help some of the crews opinions on keeping the kid but considering he was raised as Fire Nation and was in a strange place so its expected that he would try to escape although climbing the mast was something Hakoda really wished he didn't do along with scaling the side of the ship.

Kustaa had mentioned the boy called for his mother while delirious along with begging his father for forgiveness pledging his loyalty to him and pleading no to the man which didn't paint a pretty picture of the man or gain much favor of the fire nation in the crews opinions. "Tell me about your mother." Hakoda suggests sitting up on the mast beside the boy. Glowing gold eyes blinked at him. "I remember trailing robes. She favored long sleeved robes with delicate embroidery. She had long hair I remember her brushing mine when I was little. I would sit in her lap and she would brush my hair talking to me about theater or turtleducks or plants. Different things she liked. I think I would sometimes tell her about my day or what I had done recently I don't remember clearly its... faded almost. Fuzzy. I barely remember what she looked like."

Hakoda frowned the boy was water tribe he had to be with those star eyes of his but why wouldn't his mother tell him about her people, her home. Maybe she couldn't? Maybe the boys father was so controlling he made sure she never spoke of home to their son? Then the boy said something that made him rethink everything he knew about the kid. "Uncle said my hair is alot like hers. Or it was. I don't even remember why I shaved it." The kid frowned obviously struggling to remember rubbing his head with one hand. The head wound had left him confused he didn't rember his name or much of anything recent but he remembered he had been burned for cowardice supposedly or partially for that but what did the fire nation consider to be cowardly? Kustaa suspected the boy's own father burned him based off what they gleaned from fever dreams and night terrors.

“What did she look like?” Hakoda questions softly holding his breath hoping he was wrong with the hunch he had. “Elegant, beautiful, she had long straight black hair that was so soft and amber eyes with flecks of true gold in them she wore long sleeved red robes with elegant embroidery. The sleeves would bellow and she would hide me in them when I was little.” The boy continued to talk about his mother someone he remembered fondly although all the details suggested the hugs, the turtle duck kisses and every else stopped when the boy was small. Something happened to his mother and Hakoda was beginning to suspect it may have something to do with the boys true parentage. But how to suggest it to the kid without breaking the poor things mind? The whole crew already suspected he was spirit touched as the water tribe liked to call those who were different mentally the earth kingdom called them fey and not all of the earth kingdom where kind to them. 

“If I promise no one on this ship will hurt you and we won’t turn you over to the Earth Kingdom will you stop with the escape attempts?”Hakoda asks when the boy falls silent picking at the grain of the wood under his hands not meeting Hakoda’s eyes. The kid blinked up at him startled. “Okay.” Getting the kid down the mast was surprisingly easy after that and a few more rules were hashed out before the kid was sent to see Kustaa again and the crew was gathered. “The boy’s mother was fire nation. He remembers her more clearly then anything else.” This drew murmurs from the crew some wanted to toss him over board then since he wasn’t the child of a war bride. “But he’s star eyed he has to be Water Tribe.” Toklo says tilting his head in confusion. “Exactly. We know he seemed to have issues regarding his father and Kustaa suspects he may have been the one to burn the kid. I learned his mother also disappeared or may possibly have been killed when he was young.” This gained more murmurs from the crew. 

Panuk pulled in a sharp audible breath. He had figured out what Hakoda was getting at. “Does any one here know where they were about 16 to 17 years ago? If they were around the Earth Kingdom or the colonies anywhere?” Their chief had to ask if none of the men on this ship was the boys father he would have to send messages out to all the others in the fleet see if anyone remembered if maybe had met a pretty woman in the Earth Kingdom or in the colonies and spent a night with her. If the kids mother was Fire Nation and he was star eyed that meant his real father had to be Water Tribe. His mother had to have married or started a new relationship soon after and the boy looked fire nation enough to pass him off as her husband’s but the husband probably suspected what with the star eyes. There was silence followed by an uproar. “You can’t be serious?!” Aake shouted in outrage. “I’m not judging anyone but the boy is water tribe and with his mother gone we most definitely are not giving him back to the Fire Nation so we need to figure out whose he is. We take care of our own.” Hakoda soothed the crews ruffled feathers listening as the men scrambled to remember where they were and what they were doing all those years ago.

Slowly they managed to clear the majority of the crew those who couldn’t remember were left struggling valiantly to justify why they couldn’t possibly be the boys father while their youngest two crew members watched with glee obviously in the clear themselves due to their age. Once Kustaa cleared the boy Hakoda set him to work and had to add no breathing fire to the list of rules. Toklo and Panuk made friends with their newest crew member over laundry and the boy was very shouty about women’s work. And then the issue over the kid not having a name he remembered came up. Names like Siqinq, Kallik, Cupun, Tulok, Yuka and Tulugaq were tossed around. He is pretty sure they settled on Tulok simply because they already have a Tuluk and Toklo on board and that name is almost a combination of the two plus it had a star meaning behind it. The boy just wanted to fit in.

Reds were changed for Toklo’s blues and the boys hair shaved to regrow properly after Kustaa managed to break it to the kid that a real father wouldn’t abuse his son, biological or not. They picked up Bato who sympathized with them for wanting to keep the star eyed child, teach him his real culture, and find his real father but the kid was still a fire bender. A fire bender on a WOODEN SHIP!! The boy, Toluk looked like a kicked polar puppy being denied sleep in the hammock he was used to and his usual snacks when ever he wanted. They still had a lot of work cut out for them when the kid thought he would be killed over a bending accident because he didn’t fully remember he needed to mediate to control his fire. His memories were still patchy at best. So Hakoda ended up with his temporary foster star eyed child sitting in his cabin breathing with a lantern holding a dog.  

The kid liked sea prunes proving he was Water Tribe at heart. He was good at using his fire bending for non evil purposes even if he protested it. He proved he shouldn’t be left alone in port either by himself or with his friends. He gained a piercing, two rusted swords, a theater scroll and a cabbage? No one seems to know about the cabbage. He can cook as it’s proven despite how spicy his cooking is and nearly gets kidnapped by prostitutes. Sex workers were not on the list of people Hakoda thought he would have to fight for custody of Tulok with. He nearly gets himself kidnapped by a Earth Kingdom solider they are allied with who seemed sure their boy was then dead prince of the Fire Nation. Never mind that the prince was dead and their boy was star eyed. The solider was surprisingly unfazed by the heat of the kids cooking. He didn't end up kidnapped despite his best efforts.. The kid really needed to stop climbing the mast. “Prince Zuko?!” Hakoda’s kids seemed to also mistake Tulok for the dead prince. 

“That’s the Prince of the Fire Nation, dad he chased us all over and tried to capture the avatar numerous times. His sister did capture Aang.” His kids argued trying to convince him that their new foster brother was some evil prince. The kid in question for his part had more headaches then usual and just seemed more confused and angry. He remembered something. A little sister named LaLa. It takes a while but after watching their new brother and listening to the crew, “His name is Zuko, he is the prince of the Fire Nation, his father is Fire Lord Ozai does no one care about that?!” Sokka asks in outrage staring as the kid in question does laundry like its a perfectly normal thing for a prince to do. “His mother may be fire nation but his father sure isn’t.” Panuk comments dodging a wet shirt thrown by their resident fire bender.  This earned laughter and calls of “Good for her!!” And “She could do a lot better!” Followed by “At least a water tribesman would treat her right!!”. Sokka groaned in frustration and confusion. 

“Why is my nephew wearing blue, convinced Ozai isn’t his biological father and that he is water tribe?” General Iroh the Dragon of the West questions calmly. Tulok seemed to recognize Iroh and even called him Uncle and recognized some of the crew but he still didn’t have complete clear memories although his headaches grew worse until Kustaa told him it didn’t matter if he remembered or not he was water tribe and nothing was going to change that spirit touched or not. “He is star eyed you can’t possibly tell me the fire nation has star eyed kids that’s a water tribe thing only.” Iroh considered it briefly before dismissing it. His nephew looked similar to a young Ozai, so Ozai had to be his father even if he wasn’t much of one and his nephew deserved better then Ozai. But surely Ursa couldn’t have had an affair while married to Ozai it was impossible. Iroh tried to do the math off the top of his head of when Ursa and Ozai married vs when Zuko was born. “Look the obvious answer here is that the boys mom met with a Water Tribe beefcake and had a one night stand that lead to the boy. It’s the only thing that explains why his supposed father hated him so much and why he struggled with fire bending and is star eyed.” Bato explains grinning. “Beefcake?” Hakoda and Iroh question. 

Azula finds this all far to amusing. “That just means I’m the rightful heir after all. You can stay here with your little water tribe family and I can be the next Fire Lord after Uncle.” Somehow things get worked out that their star eyed fire bender’s fire nation sister will be staying with them along side her two scary friends and the kids supposed Uncle will become the next Fire Lord once they take down Ozai. The kid is still confused and there are still gaps in his memories but they aren’t giving him back now he is their’s and the fire nation can’t have him. They still call him Tulok since the fire nation does consider the sun to be a star after all. He seems to like it better then Zuko. He still does their laundry still wears beads in his braids in red, blue and one gold. In all that’s happened no one thought to alert the rest of the fleet about what they learned leaving them in for one heck of a surprise when they reach Chameleon Bay where the rest of the men from the fleet scramble to try to remember where they were sixteen-point-nine years ago. 

[that-one-weeb-but-starwars]

Must be this tall to Hunt| Boba Fett (tcw age so like 13/14)

Couldnt find a good teen boba gif, so heres bosk instead

Warnings: fake blame,

Reader: female

"You are expelled from the order-"

"What!?" Y/n shouted looking up at the council, "I did nothing! Master Plo! Reason with them!"

"I am sorry little one, I-"

Y/n was heart broken, looking up at the surrounding Jedi, this couldn't be true.

"Master Obi-Wan!" Y/n pleaded.

"Your attachments grow," Windu spoke, "and with them your anger."

"My anger?! My anger?!" Y/n shouted at him.

"Little one please." Plo pleaded, "I have brought a witness."

"You!?" Y/n argued, "Master I demand an answer! Why! Why would you- You out of all People!-"

She watched Anakin walk in guilt ridden on his face, "You!? Anakin! You!?"

He kept quiet as Fives walked in, her world stopping.

"Y-Your lieing!" She shouted, "Fives?! Not you! I trust you and you do this!?"

"Arc Trooper Fives." Windu spoke, " what have you seen Padawan Y/n do?"

Fives looked at her, "I. Saw Genral Y/n with a clone trooper,"

"Im with troopers everyday!" Y/n defended.

"What was Padawan Y/n doing with this clone trooper."

"...intercourse sir." Fives responded.

"Thats Obsurded Fives! And you know it!" Y/n argued, "You're my brothers- Why in gods name would I fuck any of you!"

"Y/n! That is enough!" Plo argued.

"You believe this crap!? You're suppose to have MY back!" Y/n demanded, "I'd have your back no matter what! And you turn on me!"

"Are there any other witnesses?" Fisto spoke.

"Yes." Windu spoke, "bring them in."

Y/n watched, her brothers, the wolf pack, Commandos and even some from the Corosaunt Gaurd walk in, and they strung there string of lies and they strung them high and low, entagled the lies beyond untanglement.

"Padawan L/n is to be expelled from the Order and that is our final verdict."

The platform she was on went downward, the clone troopers who had made there testimonies were gathered at the bottom, a path for her to go through.

"Y/n-" Wolfee spoke reaching out a hand.

"Don't you dare touch me!" She shouted in anger pushing past the clones.

"It had to be done." Commander Thron spoke quietly.

The others nodded.

"Damn it!" Fives shouted running out the room and rushing down the halls, after the light echoing of Y/n's angered footsteps.

She pushed the doors open and just walking out them she stopped, hearing Five's steps behind her.

"General. It had to be done-"

"What!? The lies! The string of lies you built! Why!? Why would you do this to me?!" Y/n argued looking back at the clone.

"We wanted to protect you-"

"Bullshit Fives! Bullshit! I love all of you! All of you!" Y/n shouted, screaming so loud it was sure to be heard all the way down to the lower level.

"Y/n listen!-' he grabbed her shoulders trying to plead with her but she pushed him away ingiting one side of her double sided saber as Fives quickly backed up.

"Touch me again and I'll kill you." She spoke.

"I don't even deserve death. I know- I-" Fives tried to explained, "We wanted to protect you-"

"Then you should of had my back!"

The bright blade turned off and she turned around leaving without a second thought.

"Hey! Wake up!" Boba argued.

Y/n turned her self around as she opened her eyes, "what do you want Fett."

"Rations idiot." He spoke as Y/n sat up, the girl only a year older than Bobba.

She was thrown a rations bar by the boy as they were in a hotel room, she had been sleeping on the couch.

"How much longer we waitin?" She asked taking a crunch out of the bar.

"An hour, I told you that the how much longer last time you woke up." He argued looking through the window.

Y/n kept quiet as she ate her food, it bland and bleak in both tast and color.

Bobba took an arm chair by the window as he ate his own rations. It was silent for a long mintue.

"Did. You have that nightmare again?" He asked.

Y/n looked over at him, "when do I not?"

Boba ate a peice of his own ration bar, he never knew what the nightmare was about, but knew it was the same one, on repeat.

He had the same.

"You, uh. Wanna talk about it?"

She looked his way, then looked away quickly, only able to see the faces of her brothers.

"No." She replied coldy tossing the barely eaten ration bar on the table, her appetite gone, "I'm gonna go scope the roof, don't wait up for me."

She walked towards the door, grabbing the sniper on the way out.

"I'll come with you. Incase someone tries to get you from behind."

"I don't need someone to have my back." Y/n argued.

"Well then Im coming because I want to!"

He pushed past Y/n as she scoffed, following him close behind as they walked towards the steps, somewhere along the way Y/n hacked into a vending Machine, Boba going up the stairs himself, stealing whatever she pleased putting it in her sling bag, enough for her only.

"Sharing is what?" Y/n questioned Woflee

"An opportunity for someoen to get there arm chopped off, it's my food." Wolfee told her.

Y/n sighed, how she hated her own little life lessons to her brothers, and stole more food, enough for both Boba and her, and a little extra.

Walking up the rest of the steps she made it to the door she kicked open with the bottom of her foot.

"Could you try and be quiet?" He seethed.

"I mean. I could. But no." Y/n responded walking towards the edge where Boba sat on a near by utiliy unit.

She sat down setting her back infront of her as she laid herself on her side her back to Boba the lights of the bright city below barely reaching the top of the tall hotel they sat on.

"You want one?"

Boba looked over seeing Y/n holding up a soda.

"Where did you get that?"

"Stole it."

Rolling his eyes he walked over to her snatching the bottle and sitting himself by her head.

"Hey hey. Fives calm your tits." Y/n laughed.

Boba stayed silent as he looked at her, she too busy looking out and onward, but feeling the stare she looked besides her.

"Oh." Y/n realized, "My bad Fett."

Boba stayed silent, as Y/n took a drink of her own soda, he had realized she had become more sympathetic with her apology.

"You wanna talk about it now?" Boba questioned.

Y/n sighed, answering in silence for a mintue, "My only family betrayed me. Strung a String of lies to supposedly keep me safe. I think about it all the time. We use to find these abaonded places and sit up on the roofs like this, we'd sing, start a bonfire, get drunk."

"Your as old as me." Fett argued.

Y/n shrugged, "war does that, you only live once Fett."

"Then why are you still worrying about it?" Boba defended.

"Why do you still worry about the things you worry about?" Y/n questioned, "but I was kicked out of my group, my name stripped of me, and instead of having my back, they had me cast out. Happy Now?"

It was silent again, the hearing of honking and swearving down below could be heard.

"I lost my dad to the Jedi."

Y/n stopped mid way lifting her drink to her lips but then contuined to drink then pull away.

"They tend to do that..." Y/n responded, "they expect you to follow every rule every word, there no better than the sith."

"You know alot of jedi and sith."

Y/n looked at him once, "It was when you father died did I stop really believing in the Jedi-"

"You knew my father?! You're a jedi-"

"Shut your trap and listen before you get rowdy you damn idiot!' Y/n argued Boba gritting his teeth, "I met Jango Fett when I went on a small assignment, my first one, with Master Shakk Ti- it was basically playing paper boy. I remember delivering work to your father...alot of people were mean to me, he. He never was, always said thank you, always asked me if I had eaten. He even watched me leave on the ship back to Master Plo Koon. So when I went througy reports and found him dead I was in shock, later to find out a Jedi did it. I started to loose faith. Why kill a man lookin out for him and his child, sure capture him- but taking family...I know how that feels and no one should go through it."

Y/n took a drink finishing her bottle and tossing it over edge, "so. I fought. And I fought and I fought. If i couldnt save Jango, I'd save what was left of him- the clones- my brothers. They share the same face but are diffrent than any could imagine. I spoke, I wrote, I pleaded, I trainned. It never was enough, and it was my 'emotion' that got the better of me. Pssh. Yeah right the Jedi can piss off because if they want to see emotion? I'll give it to them."

Boba listened, he had nevee seen Y/n before hand, maybe he had and just didnt remember, he never knew someone could share his pain. Neverless with the same person.

"Windu will pay." Boba seethed, "and your a jedi! You can help me."

"I will go head to head to him, I don't plant bombs." Y/n defended.

"We can take him! Two on one!" Boba tried to persuade, "you know his fighting style! I know guns! You know sabers! We take his head and anyone else that stands in our way!"

Y/n looked at him dully.

"Come on! How many bounty hunters have you single handedly taken on! And killed! How many sith have you injured! Jedi that chase after us! Without your laser swords! We can kill him! Together!" Boba explained standing up, Y/n move to sit up, "We're the left behind! We are the strongest! Because we were left behind! We round up a few others! Bane! Sing! Bosk! And there's always someone paying for a Jedi's head!"

Y/n stood up grabbing hee sniper rifle as she did and looked at her watch.

"It can be a sniper shot! A saber battle! Whatever you want! As long as he die and Im involed I don't care how!" Bobba argued.

Y/n looked down below aiming her sniper adjusting the scope.

"My father would do the same for you-"

He was cut off by a bullet shot and soon the sounds of crying folks who see a man just drop dead on the street, the target they had been waiting for dead. She pulled away from her weapon slowly, turning her head towards him.

"I'll do it.-" Y/n agreed

"No." Boba spoke, "We'll do it. Together. For everything the jedi took from us!"

Y/n looked at the outreached hand as she took it.

"Together."

"As One Unit."

"As One Unit." Y/n responded, "well one and a half"

"Im not that short." Boba argued.

"Shorter than me." Y/n chuckled.

[an-actual-angel]

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x Reader, Collin (RK800-60) x Reader, Richard (RK900) x Reader

Summary: The year was 2082. 44 Years after the android revolution. Things have turned south for humanity. Androids now rule the world, leaving humans to be considered as mere animals. While some Androids still have a general disdain for humanity some have taken to the idea of keeping them as “family pets.” You, born in captivity, specifically bred to be the perfect pet happen to get adopted by the RK brothers.

(If anyone wants to be added to the tag list, either dm or reply to this post <3)

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Chapter 36 -  Running away is easy, Its the leaving that's hard

It had almost been two weeks since you last saw Connor and Collin. It had been tough, to say the least, you missed them like crazy. You would constantly check your phone for messages that would never come. Perhaps it didn’t take them long at all to forget about you. You couldn’t let yourself get too upset about it though, this was your decision. Maybe it was easier for them to keep their distance. It would probably work out better this way in the end.

Danny was right when he said that life in the settlement wasn't going to be glamorous, it was hard work, something you weren’t used to, coming from living cushy in a penthouse. You mostly helped out with farming the land and tending to the chickens, feeding them, cleaning out their coop, collecting eggs, etc. You also got stuck with the job of babysitting some kids from time to time. It was good to keep busy though, to keep your mind away from androids.

When you had free time, you spent it mostly with Emily, catching up, attempting to look after her, although insisted she didn’t need the fuss.

You had been staying in Emily’s shack, it was just you her and her cat Pepper, but you made a good little family. You wondered whatever happened to the father of Emily’s child, she didn’t want to talk about him too much, whoever he was. She’d just say he was away.

You didn’t want to push her but your overbearing curiosity would not sit at peace. Some other ladies around the settlement had told you he had been taken by androids.

What Emily did tell you about the child’s father was that his name was James and he was the one that saved her from the adoption centre. Well, he’d been one of the humans in the midst of the one of the riots in the city who also happened to help some of the humans escape the centre.

“Took down two androids right in front of my eyes, that how I knew he was the one.” She laughed.  

“He took down two androids? On his own?” You spluttered out, not believing her.

“Yeah, with one of these,” Emily smirked handing you over a baton.

Taking it in your hand you examine it, slightly confused until you see a button near the bottom. “Is this one of the electric ones the cops use?”

“Yep, can take out an android with a few quick buzzes.” She points her chin at you and smiles. “That’s my man, always got the good weapons.”

“I’m quite surprised you settled on a man honestly.” You smirked, “Last time I saw you, you were giving puppy dog eyes to Olivia.” You cock your head to the side, raising your eyebrows.

“Yeah, I did have a thing for her, until she got adopted and you know. Kinda couldn’t see her anymore.”

“Liv got adopted?”

“Yeah.” Emily shrugged plainly and looked away.

“I’m sorry Emily.” You reach out your hand to touch hers.

“Why are you sorry?” She shakes her head, pulling her hand away from yours to rest on her baby bump.

“It just must have been lonely for you, without me and Liv.” You bite at the broken skin on your bottom lip.

“Yeah it was a bit, but then I met James.” She smiled a little but it faded fast. “He’ll come back you know.” She said quickly, more telling it as a way to convince herself, rather than you.

You nod back to her, not wanting to hurt your friend. “Of course Emily.”

Her hand wipes at her eye a little. “Best be getting to bed.” She stands to her feet. “You should as well” she smiles placing her hand on your shoulder.

“That’s probably a good idea.” You nod. “Big day tomorrow.”

___

You woke to the sun shining through the thin material of your makeshift curtain, with a rub of your eyes and a quick stretch you were up to start your day. Making breakfast for yourself and Emily was first on the list and then feeding Emily’s cat Pepper was second. The next few hours would be spent outside on the farm tending to some of the plants and vegetables, you would do this until lunchtime when you would have a quick bite to eat and then on to the ‘town’ meeting, a quick impromptu one that had been called by Danny.

They had received word from another settlement, one not too far from them that they would aid them in their next city raid.

“City raid?” You whispered to Emily, not understanding what he had meant.

“Yeah, we’d been planning this one for a while.” She whispers back quickly. “It’s how we get more weapons, people, stuff like that.”

“Does Connor know you guys have been doing this?” You ask.

“No. but he doesn’t need to know.” She shrugs. “We send our doughboys out with masks anyway.”

“Doughboys?” You asked even more confused than before.

“Yeah, our fighters.” She snaps as she furrows her brows. “Don’t you listen?” realising how quick she was with you she apologises “Sorry, I forgot that you’re still new around here. We call our ‘recruits’” she says with parenthesis. “Doughboys, and they get shit done. I was one before, well before y’know.” She rubs her bump.

“Never pegged you as a fighter.”

“Well, I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me then.” She laughs.

“Ladies,” Danny calls Emily and your attention back to him.

“This time it’s going to be the big one.” Danny looks around at everyone’s faces. “There are people from other settlements in the city as we speak. It’s almost our time to join them. Three days. Three more days!” His weathered hand hits the table he was standing in front of. “And we're getting our boys back.”

You notice Emily nod to Danny, her lip wobbles as she turns to you.

“James.” she half-smiles half whimpers as her hand grabs yours.

You give her hand a tight squeeze and whisper a silent prayer that they will indeed find him alive and well.

As the day goes on most of the camp seems in a mixture of excitement and fear about the upcoming raid.

The ‘Doughboys’ as Emily called them, coordinating their plan of attack, parents ensuring their children that everything will work out, farmers, bakers, and medics in a tizzy to prepare the needed supplies.

As the evening settles in you begin to worry for Emily, what if they can’t find James? what if he’s not even alive?

Poor Emily has been through so much. She doesn’t deserve any more grief.

A part of you wants to tell her to not get her hopes up but saying that would be cruel. You just nod along and try to keep her comfortable. After dinner Emily ends up falling asleep on the recliner chair she had been sitting on. As you wrap a blanket over her shoulders you realise that you're almost out of firewood and the fire its self is beginning to dwindle down.

Grabbing one of Emily’s cloaks from a hanger, you drape it over your shoulders before heading out on your quest to seek out more wood.

Wooden logs were usually kept in an area just west of the settlement, it was a little walk through the trees but not too far. You usually preferred going out when it was brighter. The light from your phone only made the place look creepier. The quietness of the area didn’t help either, if it wasn’t for the noises made by nearby animals the place would be downright eerie. At least you could still see the warm glow of the settlement in the distance through the trees.  

You knelt down on dry dirt to pick up some of the logs from the bottom of the pile to put in the wicker basket that you had brought with you. After you make your selection you stand back to your feet and dust off the dirt of your clothes. Just as you are about to reach down for your basket again you are abruptly stopped by a large hand being placed over your mouth as well as an arm wrapping around your front holding both your arms in place so that you cannot struggle from the grasp. You try to wrestle your way out of the grasp in a fit of fear but a familiar voice sends you into shock.

“Please calm down.”

Is that?

Your body is frozen.

“I only grabbed you like this in case you screamed. Sorry, it was a bit abrupt, I know.”

Your heart begins to thump harder in your chest but this time not from fear.

“When I let go, please don’t scream.” The voice pleads.

You manage to nod your head, still, in your state of shock, the hands and arm loosen from you and you try to steady yourself on your feet before turning around.

You take a deep breath as you slowly move on your feet towards the person whose grip you had just been in.

“Richard.” You exhale deeply.

His tongue wets his lip before he attempts to speak, however, you cut him off.

“What are you doing here!? If anyone sees you!” You shout in a whisper at him.

“Look, I know, I know.” He lifts his hands in defence. “I was just lucky that you happened to be out here so I didn't have to go in there.” He gestures his head towards the settlement.

“Don’t dare step foot in there.” Your eyes widen as if he’s gone mad.

“I won’t, I won’t… If you come back.”

“What? No.” You shake your head.

“No?”

“I can’t Richard. I belong here.”

“Y/N, Look at this place. It’s disgusting.” He shakes his head as he scans his eyes across the poorly put together ‘town’. “Surviving on scraps, like an animal. You have a nice home, come back.” He reaches out to hold your hands.

You lift your brows to look up at him, your mouth becoming straight as you shake your head and slowly pull your hands away.

“I can’t, I just can’t.” You pick your basket off the ground and turn to walk away from the android.

“I’ll give you anything!” He shouts out. You turn your head to him.

“I’ll do anything.” He moves towards you again. “Just say the word. Please.”

He reaches his hand towards yours once more, his other caressing your cheek.

“I’ll even help with the rebellion.” He whispers.

“The rebellion?” You look up at him, your face plagued with even more confusion.

“Whatever it is the humans are planning. I can help, I can be of use just, please come back.” He begs his forehead now resting against yours.

“Wha- I don't understand. Why?” You whisper to him, closing your eyes as you press your forehead back against his.

“Because I love you.”

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Chapter 37 -  Alrighty Aphrodite

You had entered the settlement on your own again. Going back to your shack, you had to explain the situation to Emily.

“If he can get James back.” She stopped for a minute to steady her breath. “Then I’m on board.”

After a quick hug and farewell, you had a bag packed and you were off.

“I’ll be back.” You said once more to Emily before leaving.

“I know.” She nods.

Richard had been waiting for you just outside the gateway, you had told him to wait there so he wouldn’t spook the residents.

“I can carry that” Richard insist, taking your bag from your hands, before you could say anything he had it thrown over his shoulder. You bite at your lips not really knowing what to say but walking through the forested area with him in silence.

“It’s not too far of a walk to the car,” He said. “I did try to park as close as I could.”

You just nod and continue to walk. After another while of insufferable silence, you finally speak up to him.

“So, is it true?” You turn towards the Android. “Do you really love me?”

His eyes fall to the ground for a moment as he continues on. “Yes.” He fell quiet again for a moment before continuing on. “I think I first began to realise when Collin got in that accident. You stayed with him.” He let out an artificial sigh. “I started to think about if something had happened to you and-” He shrugged.

“It took me a long time to come to grips with my feelings as you could probably tell. I never experience this type of emotion before.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You tilt your head attempting to make eye contact, his gaze still avoiding yours as he trudged forward.

“I was an idiot. A scared fool.”

“You are an idiot.” You stop for a minute causing Richard to stop as well, he moves closer to you, to see if you are alright. Taking him by surprise you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. Richard hums for a second moving away slowly, he looks into your eyes before he tries to kiss your lips.

You however hold your hand out and say “I can't do that, I have boyfriends.” Before walking on.

“Yeah, ones that left you behind.” Richard sighs moving again to walk beside you.

“They did that to protect me.”

“Connor in his twisted reasoning. He probably did it more to protect himself. He is selfish. You have no idea what your leaving has done to Collin.” Richard grumbles.

“So you’re guilt-tripping me now?” You roll your eyes.

“I’m just saying.” Richard grunts, re-adjusting your bag against his back. “Why’d you not bring your suitcase?”

“This is just temporary.” You shrug.

“I see.”

“How’s Connor doing?” You change the subject before Richard tries to convince you to stay forever.

“He’s stressed about all of the attacks that have been happening in the city and he’s stressed because Collins current mental stability is not too fun. I think it would cheer him up to see you.”

“Yeah and he might murder you for bringing me.” You quip back.

“True. I guess we’ll just have to see.” He retorts as you notice Richard’s car parked in the distance. He did park quite close. Something Connor would also be pissed about.

“How did you find me anyway?” You ask the question that’s been on your mind since you first saw him.

“I’m afraid the truth of the matter might unsettle you a little.” He explains as his car beeps at his arrival.

“Go on.” You encourage him. “You can’t stop now.”

“I am one of the most advanced androids in existence.” He explains whilst throwing your bag in the back of his car. He then opens the passenger side door for you to get in. When you do he leans down to your ear to whisper, “I’m everywhere.” And with that, he closes the door.

You sit for a moment in contemplation as he gets into his side of the car to sit down. As he puts his seat belt on you turn to him with confusion on your face. “Did you hack my phone?”

Richard rolls his eyes as he starts up the car. “I was able to tap into the journey history of Connor's vehicle. I knew he was behind all of this.” He begins to explain as his own car sets out.

“When I got to the location of the factory I was able to scan for signs of nearby technology. Your settlement stood out like a beacon. Didn’t take too long for me to tap into some phones that were being used yes, and then I saw you.”

“Can other androids do all that?”

“Not a lot can. And definitely not to the extent that I can. As I say, I’m everywhere. Any piece of technology, I can tap into if I desire so.” Richard explains proudly.

“So, do you ever use it to spy on people?”

“Only if necessary.”

“You ever watch people naked?” You smirk a little.

Richard’s brows furrow as he blushes slightly. “No, I would not do that.”

You burst out in laughter at his defensiveness. “I’m just teasing.”

Richard adjusts his shirt collar in discomfort. “Indeed.” He replies dryly.

You smile and rest your head against the back of the seat.

“You know you can lie in the back if you want, it’s a long drive and you could do with some sleep.”

You swivel your seat around to look at the back seat, assessing it. Swapping your seat with your bag that had been put in the back and lay down on the cool leather.

“You don’t have any blankets do you?” You ask Richard as you attempt to find some level of comfort on the cold seat.

“No, sorry. I can turn the heat up if you like?”

“hmmpf.” You think for a minute. “Isn’t this car self-driving?”

“Yes,” Richard replies, not really sure at what you’re getting at.

“Why don’t you just put in the destination and then come back here and lie with me?”

His LED begins flashing red. “I think Connor would definitely try and kill me if we sleep with each other again.” Richard stammers.

“I wasn’t suggesting we have sex, oh my god!” You smack your hand over your mouth to not laugh.

Richard's face began to turn in cringe, “oh I just thought-”

“I meant so we could cuddle.” You explain, smirk still present on your face.

“Do you think Collin and Connor would be okay with that?”

“I think they’d be angrier if you let me get sick from the cold.” You tease.

“That is a fair point.” Richard raises a brow as he puts in the location for the car to self-drive. When he has it tapped in, he too swivels around in his seat to move to the back with you.

Richard is a little awkward at first as he clumsily shifted to lay down in the backseat with you, eventually pulling you into his chest. The thrum of his thirium pump makes you grin in triumph as he settles his head to rest on top of yours. Richard then changes his body temperature to a comfortable setting so that he could be your personal radiator for the next few hours.

Was this weird? Absolutely. Was this wrong? Maybe. Was this comfortable? YES.

But you allowed yourself the brief comfort of being in Richard's arms, even if it was just for this one night. Maybe you felt like you deserved it, you were entitled to some amount of comfort after all the crap you’ve been through.

A part of you was angry and Collin and Connor for not reaching out, even to send a measly little text message. Your more rational mind told you to drop it, something might have come up, you didn’t know the full story, and maybe it was too hard for them. Although that didn’t stop it from stinging your ego any less.

You managed to drift off to sleep rather quickly, that was one of the benefits from all the hard work you had been up to at the settlement, sleep found you a whole lot quicker. Richard had stayed beside you for the majority of the journey as well, cherishing the feeling of having you in his arms once again. Deciding to himself to never be without this feeling anymore. His face snuck its way between your neck and collar bone to take in your scent and to delicately place his lips against your skin just for a sweet moment of indulgence. He had to wiggle his hips away from yours so you would not awake with his growing hardness against your ass.

Feeling a little guilty for his body’s response he decided to give you some space, sliding his form out from the side, slowly as not to wake you. He couldn’t help but smiling down at how comfortable you seemed as he made his way back to the driver’s seat, the seat still swivelled around to face the back.

Richard did eventually wake you up as the car pulled into the private garage area for the RK’s apartment building.

“We're here, little dove.” He coos to you, brushing his knuckles down the length of your arm.

Your eyes squinted open, feeling blinded by the violently bright fluorescent lights of the garage you had found yourself in. Looking down you had noticed one of Richard's coats had been draped over you. You rubbed your eyes briefly before reaching down to it to hand it over to Richard.

“You put it on.” He insisted, pushing it back towards you. “At least until we get inside. It gets cold in the garage, at least that’s what my sensors tell me.”

You didn’t object you just nodded in silence, still in that groggy half sleep-like state. Throwing the oversized coat onto yourself you open the car door and hop out, Richard grabbing your bag soon follows behind, hand on your shoulder as he directs you towards the elevator.

It felt strange being back in the city, even stranger to see the apartment building again.

When you entered back into your old home, it had felt different somehow, a little bit eerie even. Suppose it didn’t help that most of the lights were off.

“Collin and Connor are both out at the moment.” Richard finally spoke up again, leading you by the shoulder into the dark living room, with a flash of his LED the lights were on.

You squinted again at the harshness of them before Richard had dimmed them to a more pleasing brightness level.

“Why don’t you go and get a nice hot bath and I can put your stuff away.” He awkwardly half-smiles over at you.

“Are you sure?” You ask skittishly.

“Of course.” He tilts his head in confusion, it’s not like having YOU here was any bother to him, he was bloody delighted. “After that, I can go get my brothers?”

“Right now?” You stuttered out the question, fidgeting with the large sleeves of Richard’s coat that you had forgotten to take off.

“Do you want some time before?” Richard asked, head tilting once more, exposing his pale neck to you.

You shook your head and looked back down at your hands. “I don’t know, maybe. It’s not that I don’t want to see them. This is all just a little overwhelming.”

“I understand.” Richard nods. “Just one thing at a time.”

You look up at him once more, catching his cool eyes in a stare, you nod. “A hot bath sounds good.”

________________________________________________________________

Notes:  I lowkey called Emily's love interest James after Bucky Barnes (cause for some reason I imaging him looking like Bucky lol)

Sorry I'd been gone for a while, just been really busy with work and general life stuff.

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Taglist: @connorsdimple @clussysposts @iris-suoh​ @jellicorn05​

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[pedros-mustache-main]

baby, it’s cold outside

summary: for too long you’ve been cooped up. perhaps they will be the ones to change that...

word count: 12k

warnings: mostly tropey-wintery goodness, however: accident related trauma and nightmares, language, innuendo, brief suggestive content, absolute timeline inaccuracy but i don’t care!!!!, could also be described as queen x reader but we’ll ignore that

a/n: this is a little different from my normal, but i hope you enjoy this slow and gentle fic as much as i do. happy holidays, dear ones!! 

also thank you to @dancingdiscofloof​ for your help with this one! (if you aren’t reading rove’s deaky fic, you are sincerely missing out.) 

december, 1981. montreux, switzerland. 

day zero.

in the aftermath of the accident, the cabin in the alps has been your saving grace. though the home is overly large for just one person and a cat, you cannot imagine living anywhere other than here. it is a balm to your weary soul, having nursed your broken bones and shattered spirit better than any modern medicine. it is here you began again, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, and it is here you will remain—happily.

you cherish the cabin and all the memories etched within the handcrafted walls and sturdy pine beams. each morning as you make your tea and scratch behind marmalade’s ears, you hear the laughter of your childhood echoing through time and space to reach you in the here and now. each evening as you shut off the lights and secure the doors, you smell your grandfather’s pipe smoke, though the artifact is tucked away on the fireplace mantle, now cold with neglect.

your mother, father, grandfather—they’re all gone now. it’s just you and marmalade. you’re content, though, even as you crawl in bed and snuggle beneath the covers night after night and wake up morning after morning with the promise of another solitary day.

truly, the isolation does not bother you. after the accident, it’s people—crowds and gatherings and meetings—who have become the irritant. wherever people congregate, so too does danger. you’ve experienced your fair share of hazardous situations, so you prefer the quiet mountainside now. there’s less peril, less chance for heartache.

each year, after the last of autumn’s leaves have fallen and snow begins to blanket the alpine hills, you tuck yourself away in the cabin until the end of winter. the larder in your basement remains well-stocked with all the essentials—human, feline, or otherwise—and the weeks come and go without issue. you play your records in the afternoons to fill the silence and watch the television as you eat your suppers. marmalade makes for a good conversational partner when the loneliness creeps in—and it does on occasion. still, the orange tabby cat, fat with laziness and all the love you have to offer, tilts her head when you speak and meows softly when you lift your eyebrows in expectation of a response. she’s all you need, really; but the infrequent calls you have with your boss do make up for your lack of human interaction. editing manuscripts can be done anywhere, and, so long as you meet your deadlines, your boss doesn’t care where you get the work done.

early in december, on a dreary evening, the radio encourages all listeners to batten down the hatches in preparation for a nasty snowstorm due to sweep through the mountain and the valley overnight. you look away from your mug of steaming hot cocoa and shoot marmalade a grin.

“sounds fun, yeah?” you ask her, wiggling your eyebrows.

from her place on the yellow laminate tabletop, marmalade pauses her grooming session. her paw hangs midair, the tip of her tongue hanging over her small chin. she drops her paw as you move to curl your hand beneath her stomach and lift her to your hip.

“i know you like snowstorms just as much as i do,” you say.

leaving the kitchen in favor of the open living room, you nudge the overhead light off with your knuckle. it flickers before shutting off, but soon leaves the cabin illuminated solely by the lights of the christmas tree in the corner. the cocoa trembles along the lip of the mug, so you step gingerly. your socks snag against the faded carpet, but you make it to the sofa in one piece. marmalade hops from your arms and curls herself on the far side of the couch, her tail tucked snug around her body.

knees against your chest, you sip your cocoa and bounce your eyes between the christmas tree and the bay window overlooking montreux’s city-center at the base of the mountain. both the lights of the tree and the lights of the city twinkle in the darkness, rivaling any of the brightest stars. tree branches scrape against the roof, following the path of the wind, and, if you squint hard enough, the first of the snowstorm’s flakes are visible through the pale beam of the floodlight outside.

a sigh rattles your chest, and you smile.

it’s a quiet life. some might say a lonely one. but even if they’re right, you wouldn’t change it.

not for anything.

day one.

you wake up late.

normally, you rise with your alarm and keep to a consistent schedule. it helps with the monotony of your life and stops you from wasting time lounging in the comfort of your bed. some days, though, you allow yourself a few extra hours, and the morning after a snowstorm seems the perfect day to sleep in a tad longer.

it reminds you of childhood—the mornings you listened to the radio beneath your bed covers, fingers crossed your school would be announced as closed due to inclement weather. when the inevitable joy came, you would snuggle back in bed; though by then, the glee of a surprise day off of school was all too much too bear, and you were up and moving within moments.

you smile to yourself at the memory, at the way your mother made pancakes every snow day, without fail. you miss her pancakes.

when marmalade pounces onto the end of your bed, meowing sharply, you sit up. “what? are you hungry?” twisting, you glance at the analog clock across your bedroom. “it’s only nine, marmy.”

she presses your foot with her paw, meowing again.

“fine.”

slipping from bed, you cross to your dresser and drag a brush through your sleep-rustled hair. as always, a sliver of cold seeps in through the skylight overhead, and you lift your face, smiling at the sight of snow obscuring the heavens. your smile only widens as you hurry down the stairs, elbows fighting against the arms of your robe.

the world is drenched in snow. you trip to the bay window, press your hand against the cold glass, and grin. a layer of fluffy white powder clings to every nook and cranny of the mountainside. hints of evergreen peak through as the only spots of color in an otherwise white world. even the sky reflects the dazzling brilliance of the snow, and you have to blink rapidly to keep from going blind.

marmalade’s bell collar jingles as she makes her way down the stairs. she stretches at the bottom step, meowing again when she sees you.

“okay, okay, miss impatient.” you shake your head as you turn from the window. “we have the whole day, you know? ‘s not like there will be much else going on around here.”

you turn on the radio as you enter the kitchen. a soft melody—“merry christmas darling” by the carpenters—sets you to a gentle sway as you pour marmalade’s food and set about making your own breakfast.

karen’s warm voice distracts you from the first knock on your door.

keeping marmalade away from the bacon in the cast-iron skillets hinders you from answering the second.

the third, though—the third knock makes you scream.

it’s not so much of a knock as it is a hand slammed against the outside of the bay window, dark eyes peering into your sanctuary, winter cap pulled tight over any discernible features save a thick mustache. you screech, dropping the spatula in your hand to the floor. marmalade drives for the grease-covered utensil, and you trip over her in your haste to hide in the narrow closet beneath the stairs.

perhaps he hadn’t heard you? perhaps he hadn’t seen the streak of multi-colored fabric as you rushed across the living room in your purple robe and bright yellow socks?

who are you kidding? the bay window offers a glimpse into the majority of your home: the small living room, equally as small kitchen, stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor. he probably even saw you fling open the closet door and close it. if he did make it inside, he wouldn’t have to search for long in order to find you.

you press a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut, at the sound of another bang against the door.

this—this was why your aunt in sheffield had pleaded for you not to take the cabin after the accident. she was so afraid you’d be murdered by a crazed hiker or wayward bear. you’d laughed at the thought back then.

but here you are now, cowering in your closet between a hoover and a winter coat, preparing to make her worst fear a living reality. you only hope marmalade enjoyed the bacon grease as a parting gift.

a muffled voice drifts through the walls after a beat of silence. “for god’s sake, we know you’re in there!”

we? your heart rate triples at the simple, two-letter word. we!

drawing in a deep breath, you root around in the darkened closet for a makeshift weapon. this is your home; you will defend it. or at least do your best to scare off the intruders with whatever fake bravado you can muster.

finding nothing, you inch out of the closet and crawl on your hands and knees toward the kitchen. you pause long enough behind the sofa to peer over the arm. another man has his face pressed against the window, his eyes narrowed as he looks over the room. he looks to his right, long curls bobbing with the motion. his mouth moves, but only garbled sounds meet your ears. while he’s distracted, you crawl into the kitchen and grab the cast-iron skillet. it feels hefty in your palm, and you judge the weight with a turn of your wrist. it could do some serious damage if handled correctly. flicking the oven off and dumping the burnt bacon in the trash, you curl both hands around the handle of the skillet and slink toward the door.

no one stands before the window as you make your way through the living room. no one bangs against the door. yet you can feel their presence on the other side of the flimsy piece of wood separating you from them.

you swallow hard as you grasp the cold doorknob, twisting the lock to the side.

steeling yourself, you grit your jaw, and, in one quick motion, throw open the door, brandish the skillet overhead, and roar like a lioness.

“oh fuck!” one of the four men on your front porch stumbles backward in surprise. his arms pinwheel as he loses his balance and drops to his backside on the snowy ground.

the one with the cascading curls can only stare at you with wide eyes and parted lips, stunned to frozen. for his part, the one with the mustache shields himself behind the one with the curls, shouting for someone named deaky to get her to understand.

it is the one with the straight, grecian nose and storm cloud eyes—deaky, you surmise—who speaks to you first. he holds his arms out in defense, his long fingers splayed wide. he glances between the skillet over your head and your face.

“we’re not here to hurt you,” he says. his voice is even and calm, though more unique than you would have originally guessed. you thought all bad guys had deep voices. his voice is too pleasant, and it sets you further on edge.

you deepen your frown, drawing in another breath. “isn’t that what they all say?”

he frowns. “i don’t know who they are.”

“thieves. murderers. criminals!” you lift your skillet slightly higher, and he flinches backward, hands raising a fraction. “i’m not afraid to use this!”

“i don’t doubt it!” he shakes his head, and his eyelashes flutter when a wayward snowflake catches in his vision. “really, though, we just want to use your phone.”

“my… phone?”

with an exasperated sigh, the blond who’d fallen to his rump in the snow shoulders past deaky. “yes, your phone. you do have one, don’t you? we need to get down this godforsaken mountain before our tits freeze off!”

deaky twists and scowls at his friend, hissing, “roger!”

roger waves him off with a dark look. “deaky, i nearly broke my ass with that stunt she pulled. i’m cold, my trousers are wet, and i want to go home. you’ll have to forgive me if i’m a little terse, you twat.”

the one with long curls and sharp facial features gently moves roger out from under deaky’s increasingly cold stare. he places himself between the pair, towering over the other two. despite his height, he holds his shoulders in a noticeable hunch, as though attempting to make himself smaller. he offers you a wry grin.

“sorry for startling you,” he says. his voice is soft and decidedly unthreatening; your tight hold on the skillet goes slack. “i’m brian. these are my friends—roger, john, and freddie. we’re kind of in a bind, and we’d really appreciate it if you lent us your phone. just for a quick call. then we’ll be gone.”

you glance between the foursome. though roger’s face is still shadowed by frustration, they seem harmless enough. maybe a little cranky, but mostly harmless.

unless, of course, that’s what they want you to think.

your aunt’s warning that you trust too easily plays in the back of your mind, and you consider that she might be right. you bite your lower lip, prepared to turn them away, when marmalade jingles her way into the conversation. she curls around your ankle, head lifted to stare at the four men on her porch. the bell around her neck sounds as she turns from side to side around your leg.

“you didn’t say you had a cat!” the one with the mustache—freddie—coos in delight. he crouches, clicking his tongue to gain marmalade’s attention. after a beat of hesitation, she inches forward to sniff the proffered hand. you watch, and when marmalade nuzzles her nose against freddie’s palm, the tension in your shoulders dissipates.  

you sigh with a conciliatory smile. “well, if she trusts you, i suppose i will too.” stepping to the side, you nod to the living room. “come in and warm up.”

the men mumble various forms of gratitude and shuffle past you, sure to stomp their snowy boots against the welcome mat outside the door. they crowd around the low fire in the fireplace, and you hurry to toss a few logs on the dying embers. deaky takes the fire poker from your hand when you grab it from its place nestled along the extra pile of wood. his fingertips skim your knuckles, and you’re struck by how warm he feelings despite the weather outside. you meet his gaze, your eyes wide as you wait for him to explain.

“i can do that,” he says. “maybe you can show brian the phone?”

now that he’s shed his overcoat, you note the way his pale blue sweater brings out the pale blue of his eyes. he really is quite handsome. they all are, and it’s been a long time since you were in the presence of a handsome man, let alone four. who can blame you for being a little tongue tied?

you blink when you realize you’ve stared a bit too long. heat rushes to your cheeks, and you turn away, scanning the small room for brian. “right, yes. the phone.”

you find brian stood between the living area and the kitchen, his hands in his pockets, stiff while his counterparts make themselves comfortable. roger lounges on the sofa, his legs spread toward the fire. freddie sits at the kitchen table, marmalade snuggled beneath his chin. and with the fire now flooding the cabin with warmth, deaky drops to the single armchair facing the kitchen.

you motion to brian’s wet coat. “would you like to take your coat off, brian? you look awfully damp.”

he shakes his head. “i’m alright.”

you decide not to press and instead point to the phone attached to the wall. “the phone’s just there. do you need a number? or do you have what you need?”

“actually, do you have a number for the gondola lift?”

“yeah, of course.”

you step past him to pull open a junk drawer. apart from a winding, perilous road, the gondola lift is the only way down the mountain for the few people who live mountainside year round.  you’ve gotten to know the owner and operator—jimmy schmits—well after your several years living in the cabin. he or someone on his staff is only a phone call away should you need travel assistance, and you prefer the gondola ride to taking your beat-up car down the rocky, poorly paved road.

you hand brian a small, cardstock business card. “that’s the number there.”

he glances down then gives you a tight smile. “thanks.”

turning to allow him what privacy you can in the cramped space, you glance around the room at the three pairs of eyes staring back at you. the laugh that escapes from behind your lips is decidedly nervous, wavering and forced. “sorry. i just—this is a bit weird for me. i would have dressed the part had i known people were coming over.” you suck in a breath and nod to the refrigerator. “have any of you eaten?”

roger opens his mouth to say something, but deaky hurries to speak first, leaning forward in the armchair. “yes, thank you. we ate early this morning.”

roger’s face contorts to a frown, and, in what you assume is supposed to be a surreptitious move, deaky kicks his friend’s shin to silence any further protest. you look away when deaky’s eyes find yours again, his gaze apologetic.

“i’ll just make some tea, then,” you mumble.

the quiet in the room is thick, save for brian’s soft voice coming from the hall as he talks on the phone. you keep your back to the three men as you prepare a kettle for tea.

you spend much of winter in solitude, and truly, you like it that way. this sudden influx of company has you on edge, especially considering your less-than-becoming attire, bedhead, and sleepy eyes. you don’t know what to say to alleviate the discomfort in the room, aren’t really sure if it’s your job to make them feel comfortable.

really, you aren’t sure about anything this morning.

as you wait for the water to boil, you lean against the kitchen counter and cross your arms over your chest. the fuzzy neck of your robe rubs against your chin as you duck your head, and you study the worn tile floor beneath your long socks.

“what’s your cat’s name?”

you look up. it’s the one with the mustache—freddie. his brown eyes are warm, and he scratches beneath marmalade’s chin as he waits for your answer. for marmalade’s part, she purrs happily in his arms, seemingly more comfortable with your guests than yourself. “marmalade,” you say.

freddie grins, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling back. “perfect name. yet we seem to be missing one important thing…”

“what’s that?”

“your name. if we’re going to intrude upon your cabin and make you uncomfortable, i think we should know who to send the gift basket to once we’re rescued.”

your brow pinches slightly in confusion. freddie speaks with a certain air that you can’t quite place—one of regality, you think. you glance at deaky across the room, and he moves his eyes to the fire as he gnaws on his lower lip.

you look back at freddie, give him your name, then say, “and you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“please,” freddie deadpans. “i know discomfort when i see it.” he lets marmalade go, who jumps to the floor, padding her way from the tiled kitchen to the carpeted living room. he stands from the table and points to the stove. “the kettle is ready, love.”

you hadn’t heard the sharp whistle, so engrossed were you in your own thoughts.

“oh!” spinning on your heel, you flip the stove-top off and remove the kettle, the whistle dying to a light trill. freddie arranges a ramshackle collection of mugs along the counter, pulled from the spinning rack in the corner. “thank you,” you whisper, as you divvy out the hot water and he drops the tea bags into the mugs.

freddie gathers the milk and sugar, making himself both useful and right at home, which you find you don’t mind too much, though it surprises you how he moves with such ease and command around a home not his own. he must be comfortable anywhere and with anyone, and you envy him that.

he carefully sets the tea tray on the low coffee table in the living room. “how do you take your tea, darling?” he asks you, bending over, his ass pointed near the fire, as he makes to prepare your cup.

you skirt into the living room, shaking your head. “oh, you don’t have to—”

he arches an eyebrow, and his voice is firm when he speaks. “how do you take your tea?”

with a small smile, you lower yourself beside roger on the couch, careful to keep a large space between you. “more sugar than milk, please.”

freddie prepares your cup then passes you the steaming mug. your smile widens in gratitude as you take the warm ceramic from his hands. he prepares his own tea before dropping to the brick ledge of the fireplace. he waves his hand in dismissal at roger and deaky.

“you two make your own,” he quips. “you’ve thoroughly pissed me off this morning.”

from behind the lip of your mug, you pull your mouth into an amused line. your eyes dart to deaky, who is bent forward, frozen as he reaches for a mug of tea. he skewers freddie with an unamused look.

“this isn’t my fault, fred,” he says.

from beside you, roger’s deliciously high voice pipes up. “nor mine!”

“no, of course it isn’t your fault, roger. we wouldn’t dare accuse you of—”

before freddie can finish his sentence, brian returns from the side hall. you shift, turning your head along with the others to hear what came of his conversation with the gondola lift owner.

brian rubs the back of his neck, his eyebrows tilted upward in apology. “well, the gondola is down today.”

“all day?” you speak a little too quickly, and you wince, dropping your eyes to the pale liquid in your mug.

brian nods. “yeah—at least until tomorrow. i guess a tree fell after we were dropped off this morning and struck a line on the lift. and the road isn’t clear, so… we’re stuck.” he glances between his friends, the hunch of his shoulders growing as the weight of their predicament sets in.

“well…” you start. you lean forward to place your tea on a worn coaster. “i certainly won’t turn you out with nowhere to go.” for what feels like the tenth time this morning, you draw in a deep breath through your teeth to steady yourself. “i suppose you lot can stay the night, then. that is, if you want to...”

there’s a beat, a moment of heavy silence, before brian says, “we couldn’t impose like that.”

you frown. “where else would you go?”

roger snorts. “brian would sleep beneath a tree if he thought it might make your life a little easier.”

you glance at roger, uncertain if his words are more jest than jab. the half-smile on his face fades under your questioning gaze, and he shifts. “i just mean,” he continues, “that brian is the most chivalrous out of all of us. not that we have any ugly intentions—”

“roger.” it’s deaky this time, and he sounds more than a little perturbed. “stop talking.”

you hesitate before explaining your offer further. “it’ll be a squeeze,” you say. “but we can make it work. i would rather you spend the night here then wander around in the cold and freeze to death. my closest neighbor is four kilometers off, and she doesn’t have electricity. you won’t be able to find her cabin if it gets dark.”

freddie shivers, though you’re sure his backside is nice and toasty from where he sits close to the fire. “oh good god,” he mutters, bringing his tea close to his mouth. “you people are insane.”

deaky catches your eye, and his brow arches. “if you’re sure…”

you nod. “i’m sure.”

“thank you. honestly, you’re a life-saver.” brian’s shoulders seem to straighten as a smile eases the lines on his forehead. he offers you his hand, which you shake, as he says, “and i’m sorry, but i didn’t catch your name while i was on the phone.”

you give him your name, and he grins, nodding to his friends. “in case you forgot: i’m brian may, and that’s roger taylor, john deacon, and freddie mercury.”

there’s something vaguely familiar about the names, particularly freddie’s, but you can’t quite put your finger on where you’ve heard that lineup before. frowning, you glance between the four men, who stare back at you with expectant sort of faces, as if they’re waiting for the lightbulb above your head to illuminate. you run through the rolodex of names in your brain, but come up short.

“are you performers or something? i swear i’ve heard your names before.”

“we’re in a band,” roger says.

you cringe in apology. “i’m afraid i don’t know bands very well. my radio—i only get one station up here, and it’s mostly yodeling. christmas is the only time of year i can pick up anything worthwhile. got any christmas songs?”

“no, and i’m not sure we will.”

“what band, then? maybe i’ve heard of you on the off chance, but don’t take it to heart if i haven’t.”

freddie leans forward in expectation. “we’re called queen. ring any bells?”

you consider before nodding. “i think so. there’s only one song that comes to mind, though. another one bites the… something? dust, maybe?”

with a laugh, freddie slaps his hand against deaky—john’s knee. “that’s deaky’s song!”

you find yourself smiling—and easily—for the first time since waking. “really? i like it!” shrugging your shoulders in time with the bassline, you do a poor imitation of the song’s opening. beside you, roger laughs, shoving john’s shoulder when a flush creeps up his cheeks. “it’s fun!”

john nods once, mumbling, “thanks.” he drops his cheek to his hand, eyes falling to the carpet, and your smile softens.

you look away, sparing him further embarrassment. “so, i’m in the presence of royalty, i guess, but all i have to offer you is my parent’s old bed, which can fit two, a trundle mattress in my bedroom, and a military cot in the basement.”

brian squeezes your arm in reassurance. “anything will suit us fine. we’re just glad we found you.”

“i’m glad i can help,” you say, and even if it were for this moment alone, you’re glad you never listened to your aunt in sheffield.

day two.

you wake the next morning with a gasp, panic shooting straight to your heart when you roll over and see a man lying on the floor next to your bed. your first instinct is to scream, to call for help, but then the fogginess of slumber lifts from your mind. you recognize the man on the floor, and your defenses drop in relief.

you’d forgotten.

the previous day’s events seem more like something out of a dream than reality. four men—four famous men—appearing on your doorstep? getting stuck in your cabin after a technological malfunction? challenging one another to a game of rock-paper-scissors in order to determine sleeping arrangements? surely you’d made that up, a dream produced by an overactive imagination and too much time alone.

but no—the presence of one john deacon, asleep on the trundle bed extended from beneath your mattress confirms your current reality. you run your eyes over his sleeping face and note the stillness with which he softly snores, one arm tucked behind his pillow. he looks peaceful.

you hope you didn’t disturb his sleep during the night. ever since the accident, nightmares tend to plague your dreams. at least twice a week, you shoot out of bed, drenched in sweat and crying out in the empty darkness of your room. you can’t remember if you’d dreamt at all last night, but you’d shrivel up and die of embarrassment if any of your frantic kicking or mumbling had woken him.

“do you always stare at people when they sleep?”

“shit!” you crash backwards against the wall in surprise at the sound of john’s sleepy voice. your head connects with the paneled wood behind you, and you curse again, rubbing the sore spot on your skull.

“do you always have such a dirty mouth too?” he’s propped up on his elbow now, eyes gleaming with a mischief you hadn’t seen yesterday. his curls lay askew on his head, and his shirt—a flannel pulled from the depths of your grandfather’s belongings—swallows his torso.

continuing to rub your head, you frown. “do you always insist on asking so many questions this early in the morning?”

“only when people stare at me while i sleep.”

you drop your hand, wrinkling your nose in embarrassment. “sorry.” although the tip of your nose is cold, your cheeks feel warm with a flush. “i didn’t think you were awake, and i was… thinking. i wasn’t really staring at you.”

half-truth. maybe a quarter-truth. your four guests are handsome—each of them in their own right—but john… he has the potential to make your knees go wobbly should he flash you one of his secretive and elusive grins.

but, in all truth, you were thinking of other things as you’d looked down at him: thinking about the day and your work and how soft his hair looked and the strength of his nose and—

john rolls off the trundle bed. when he stands, he swivels his arms back and forth, stretching his back muscles. “’s okay. i’m getting used to it.” before you can ask him what he means, he points to the skylight in the middle of your room. “i’ve got a feeling we’re in for a rude awakening.”

your gaze follows his extended finger, and you huff when you see the skylight entirely darkened by a heavy layer of snow. yesterday afternoon, you had still been able to make out the sun’s rays through the unmelted snow leftover from the recent storm. now, the skylight serves more as an extension of your stippled ceiling than an opportunity to glimpse the night sky.

“must have been another storm last night,” you say, slipping out of bed.

you don’t miss the way john’s eyes immediately flit to your legs and your exposed thighs. your nightshirt falls to the middle of your thighs, a long pair of socks pulled over your knees your only leg coverings. his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his lips slightly parted, but he looks away when you shift uncomfortably with the hem of your shirt. damn your mother for passing on her penchant for hot sleeping!

he gathers his clothes from a chair in the corner and nods to the door. “i’ll just go… change downstairs.”

your nod is too enthusiastic to be anything but embarrassed. “yeah, okay. i’ll be down in a moment. help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen.”

john, holding his clothes to his chest, leaves the room in a hurry, his head down and eyes averted. when the door shuts, the lock giving a soft click as it slides home, you drop to your bed with a groan.

it might be a long day.

after fixing your hair and pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and sweater, you make your way down the stairs and into the living room. a chill hangs in the air, one much deeper than the general winter cold. it goes straight to your bones and makes your teeth chatter in your skull. shivering, you circle your arms around your waist, prepared to go start a fresh fire in the hearth, but something in the corner of your eye stops you.

your guests—all four of them in a line, their mismatched heights on full display—staring out the bay window.

“what is it?” you ask, bending to lift marmalade from the floor when she jingles her way over from the kitchen. “did it really snow that much?”

roger looks over his shoulder, and the disappointment shadowing his face gives you pause. “come see for yourself.” he drops to the couch with a defeated groan, cradling his forehead in his hand.

holding marmalade against your shoulder, you tiptoe to the window, the floor beneath your feet unusually frigid. you exhale at the sight of the fresh snowfall, and your breath clouds the windowpane. a thick layer of white powder covers the mountainside. as far as your eye can see, there’s nothing but pure white. it’s blinding in the morning sun, and you blink against the glistening snowflakes.

“it’s got to be at least one meter,” brian whispers. “maybe more.”

freddie shakes his head back and forth, gesturing to the side. “i can’t even see the bloody porch steps. they’ve been swallowed!”

john shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “no power either.”

you twist to stare at him in shock. “what? no power?”

he gives you the briefest of glances then returns his gaze to the window. “i checked the breaker. it’s all out.”

from the couch, roger groans again. “which means we are stuck for the foreseeable future. brian called the gondola and they couldn’t even pick up, so that’s out of the question.” he slumps further down the couch cushions. “i had a fucking holiday party planned for next week.”

“now wait a minute.” brian turns from the window and reaches over to give roger’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “the snow will clear up before then. it’ll just be a few more days. that is”—his eyes slide to you—“if you’ll let us stay?”

you glance between your guests before laughing in indignation. “you didn’t really think i’d turn you out, did you?” marmalade hops from your arms when you plant your hands on your hips. “honestly, i might be somewhat of a recluse, but i’m not completely rude.”

freddie skirts around john to place both hands on your shoulders and steer you toward the kitchen. “no one thinks you’re rude, darling. we just didn’t want to assume.” he jerks his head toward john. “now, john will start the fire and we’ll all get cozy and perhaps play a game of scrabble. roger found the board downstairs last night. how does that sound?”

you meet john’s eyes over freddie’s shoulder, and he smiles—ever so slightly, but enough to drop your defensive stance. you nudge freddie with your arm and nod. “scrabble it is.”

after breakfast, you are quickly bested in the shortest game of scrabble you’ve ever played. it seems your guests are quite the experts, so you leave them to their fun in order to complete a series of edits on your latest manuscript. from the kitchen table, you can hear them bickering over whether or not freddie’s addition is a dictionary defined word or whether or not john can go twice in one turn because roger knocked his letters from the coffee table.

the gentle hum of conversation—of life—warms your chest. it’s been a long time since your home felt lived in. for so long you have simply subsisted, moving from room to room to change the scenery, leaving the mountain only when necessary, never truly engaging with the outside world. it’s easier to live alone—there’s less risk in it, less wondering if today could be the last day you interact with a loved one because fate has some cruel trick up its sleeve.

but, damn, if having roger and john and brian and freddie grace your living room doesn’t remind you of how irritatingly necessary other people are to living a truly fulfilled life.

brian asks if he can prepare a light lunch, and while he does, you gather your work and set it aside. you have a deadline—the first of the year—but for the moment, you’d rather engage with others instead of shoving your head deep within the made-up realms of your novelists.

with a dramatic stretch, you raise your arms above your head and groan as the muscles pop in your back.

“all done, then?” freddie asks.

“for now,” you say.

he pats the open spot of the couch between himself and john, and you squeeze between them, tilting your socked feet toward the roaring fire. you find yourself still shivering slightly, despite the extra layer beneath your sweater and warm wool socks. if you remember correctly, your father had complained of poor insulation in the attic. you wish, perhaps a bit selfishly, he’d gotten that fixed before his passing.

“here.” john shimmies one side of the blanket draped over his shoulders around yours. “we can share.”

“thanks,” you whisper, grabbing the corner he offers and pulling it around your back. the movement draws him closer, the outside of his thigh pressed tightly against yours. he feels warm, though, like your own little space heater, and you resist the urge to lean into him for further comfort. instead, you focus your attention on freddie, who explains how he and his bandmates came to be stranded on a swiss mountainside.

“so, really, it’s roger’s fault that we’re in this predicament,” freddie says. “he was the one who wanted to go skiing.”

you tilt your head to the side, confused as you glance toward the front door. “where is all your gear, then? you didn’t bring any in.”

john sighs with a shake of his head. “we forgot that in the hotel.”

“no one is brilliant at five am, dear. except for maybe brian, but even he failed to remind us that the first rule of skiing is you need skis.” freddie shrugs his shoulders. “oh well. it brought us to you, didn’t it?”

smiling, you nod. beside you, john shifts a little closer. his free hand rests on his leg, but his pinky finger extends outward, brushing along the outer seam of your jeans. your grin widens.

“yeah, i suppose it did.”

day three.

it’s just past midnight when you tumble from the depths of your nightmare.

the accident—replaying—over and over and over. the twist of the car over the edge of the ravine. you, powerless, helpless as you watch from the safety of your grandfather’s truck. the crunch of metal against rock and tree and—

—and the ultimate knowledge that there was no way your parents could survive such a fall settling over your heart like a three-ton brick.

you jerk awake with a barely-contained screech. clamping your hand over your mouth, you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the images that flash through your mind like some sort of cruel slideshow. blood and guts and screams and—

a warm hand on your shoulder, soft voice in your ear saying your name, pulls you back to reality. “hey. hey, wake up.”

your eyes flutter open, sleeve of your shirt caught between your teeth where you bite down hard. in the dim light of the room, you can make out the angles of john’s face, the line of his nose, pout of his lips. a soft glow—from the nightlight in the corner, you think—shrouds the curls on his head, giving him the curve of a halo.

your ribs shudders as you exhale. he looks like an angel, an angel sent to save you perhaps. never in your lift have you so badly wanted to embrace someone in relief.

instead, you drop the hand from your mouth and lean closer to the wall at your side, away from him. “huh? wha—oh… john, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

his grip on your shoulder tightens, and he ignores your apology. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing. just a nightmare.”

“some nightmare.” john’s hand slips from your shoulder to your elbow, and he rubs his cheek with his opposite hand. “you hit me.”

“fuck, did i? oh hell, john.”

scrambling to your knees, you frown into the darkness, searching for a welt or bruise blossoming on his cheek. it’s too dark to see clearly, though, and you sigh in defeat, hanging your head. embarrassment swells in your stomach, wrenching it side to side, and you turn your face away, hoping against hope that he can’t see the evidence of your fluster.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

more than anything, more than the embarrassment roiling through your system and the nerves wracking your chest, you find yourself feeling frustrated. two day—two days with queen in the house, and two days you’ve felt a magnetic pull towards john. maybe you’re just lonely and maybe you’re just reading too much into the stolen glances and brushes of his hand against yours, but having him here in the house with you? tossing your sideways looks when freddie says something that makes you laugh and helping you pull the biscuit tin from its place on the top of the shelf? you’d thought that maybe—just maybe—he might see something worthwhile in you, too.

but no rockstar could put up with you. surely, he must see that plainly now. your fear of crowds and loud noises and your night terrors—that’s not made for the high life. he would go once he got the chance, forget about you and you cat in the cabin on the mountainside. why you ever considered for a moment he would do otherwise further stokes the shame threatening to consume you.

you fiddle with the sheets and blankets gathered around your knees. “you can sleep downstairs, if you like,” you say in a rush. your grip tightens on the quilt binding, and you rub your thumb back and forth across a frayed string. “i won’t mind.”

john remains still and quiet for so long you think he must’ve fallen back asleep. but then he stands, and he gently nudges your shoulder.

“scoot over,” he urges, and you find yourself inching closer to the wall without a second thought. john slides into bed next to you, his body warm and strong. “is this okay?”

you nod because, truly, yes, it is okay with you. very much okay.

“when i was little,” he starts, adjusting the quilts around his chest, his ankle brushing your leg. “i had this dog, and any time i had a nightmare, he would crawl into bed with me, help it all go away. i know i’m not as fluffy as a dog, but… well, i thought maybe we might see if this helps it go away.” he pauses for a breath and asks again, “is that okay?”

“yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” your voice is a puff of air, and if it were any colder, you’re sure your breath would crystalize.

“good.” he settles deeper into your shared pillow, and you catch a whiff of your shampoo in his hair. it makes your stomach clench, not from embarrassment, but an entirely different emotion. beneath the covers, one of his hands slips over the curve of your wrist, and his fingers tangle with yours. he gives your palm a squeeze. “go back to sleep.”

you do—easily.

john’s heartbeat is steady beneath your ear when your eyes flutter open for the second time. you’d rested without struggle for the first time in a long time. your shoulders feel loose, your eyes free from heavy circles.

and it’s all because of john.

your cheek is firm against his chest, and the fabric of your grandfather’s flannel still smells like his cigar smoke, but there’s something else, something distinctly john, and it’s all you can do to not turn your face further into his chest and snuggle closer to his side. he’s warm, and you’re still cold despite the heavy blankets cocooning you. his arm is slung over your back, drawing you tighter to his chest, his face turned to the side as he breathes softly in sleep.

you should get up, go downstairs, and find something to eat, check to see if the power has returned. you’d rather stay here, in this quiet, still moment, until the rest of the world fades away and you are left with him and him alone. your wish isn’t meant to be, it seems, because just as you are prepared to lean further into john’s warmth and return to sleep, freddie bursts through the door.

you jolt upwards at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. john is right behind you, and his arm instinctively tightens around your back.  

the grin on freddie’s face is positively shit-eating, and he puts his hands on his hips as he looks between you and john with something between pride and amusement. “oh! well, well, well, what do we have here?!”

“fuck, fred.” john releases his hold on you, moving to run a hand down his face to cover his yawn. “damn near pissed myself.”

“yes, i’m sure.” freddie chuckles to himself then cocks his head toward the open door. “make yourselves presentable. we’ve got decorating to do.”

he exits without further explanation, leaving a ball of confusion and uncertainty in your stomach and a proverbial elephant in the room. you fiddle with the end of your sleeve, wondering if john thinks the silence is as thick as you do.

“you seem to have slept better,” he says at last.

you turn, and his face is so near yours you could kiss him. instead, you just nod and say, “yes, i did. thanks to you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “i’m a selfish guy. i didn’t want to get hit again. seemed the easiest way to spare me the pain.”

somehow you know he’s joking. you know he slept as well as you because of your body pressed against his. you know he feels the spark, and he’s waiting for the moment to light the flame.

perhaps it’s the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, or the quick wink you nearly miss, that tell you you’re not crazy, that he feels it too. or maybe… maybe he’s the other half of the string that’s tied beneath your ribs. the string is no longer stretched and pulled taut, but relaxed, made light by fate and nature conspiring to bring you together.

or maybe you’re reading something that isn’t there again.

you look away first, but can’t keep the giddy smile from your face. he makes your heart feel weightless. and after being weighed down for so long, you feel as if you could do anything.

john gathers his clothes and changes downstairs while you get dressed for the day. by the time you make it to the living room, brian hands you a warm-ish glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal while roger tends the fire and freddie sits on the floor, marmalade sniffing around the open boxes of christmas décor at his feet. 

unbidden, tears spring to your eyes, and you tighten your hold on the glass in your hand.

three christmases you’ve been alone. three christmases you’ve avoided the tried and true rituals of your childhood. three years you’ve missed this, the warmth of friendship and togetherness.

your heart gives a painful lurch at the thought of all you’ve missed out on, all you’ve neglected in order to save yourself from pain. only, perhaps you’ve driven yourself to much more pain, shutting yourself away on the mountain as you have.

john appears at your side, and his hand comes to rest on the curve of your neck, his finger tracing the edge of your jaw. “what is it?” he whispers, low enough so only you can hear.

clearing your throat, you grin up at him. “i’m just happy.”

his eyes scan the room before he dips his head and presses his lips to your temple. his grip on the back of your neck tightens as he lingers against your skin. your eyes flutter shut, and you lean closer to him, warmth spreading from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet. he releases you after a moment, nudging you forward with a hand to the small of your back.

you drop to the carpet beside freddie and take a bite of your cereal. “where did you find all this? i didn’t know i’d kept it.”

“i found it, actually,” roger says from his place in the kitchen.

“and you found the scrabble board too… if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were snooping around my house.”

“so what if i am?” roger shrugs. “i’m bored as hell without the tellie. there’s loads of stuff downstairs just waiting for me to snoop through.” he finishing tacking something to the archway of the kitchen before stepping into the living room, hands in his pockets.

“roger, stop your griping and sit down.” brian nods to the open armchair. “we haven’t had this much time off in ages. enjoy it while you can.”

“really, why do you keep all this marvelous stuff downstairs?” freddie asks. he sifts his hands through the box on his lap, filled with tinsel and ribbons your mother collected over the years. “you have a tree, but that’s it. your entire cabin could be dripping with christmas cheer if you wanted.”

“it’s just me,” you say. as if understanding, marmalade gives a petulant meow. you smile and scratch behind her ears. “and marmy, i guess. there’s no reason to go above and beyond if it’s just me.”

brian’s brow furrows in concern. “your parents? siblings?”

“my parents died about five years ago, my grandfather shortly after. there’s no siblings. just me.” rising from your place on the floor, you gather your empty breakfast bowl and the leftover plate sitting adjacent.

it’s quiet as you deposit the dishes in the sink. the story of your parent’s tragic accident and grandfather’s health decline has never been a mood booster; this you well know. still, you feel obligated to tell your guests. no—not obligated. willing. you love your parents and your grandfather, but you’ve neglected their memory too long.

you turn from the sink. “why don’t we put the decorations up? in their memory.”

freddie’s smile is soft, affectionate. he nods resolutely. “a lovely idea.”

brian puts a christmas record on the turntable, and the house seems to sigh in relief as life, happiness, and festive cheer fills the rooms after so long. roger tosses handfuls of tinsel upon the sparsely decorated tree, his hips swaying to the beat of the music, and freddie directs brian in hanging garland over the mantelpiece and around the staircase banister. you sit beside john on the floor, stringing popcorn along a piece of string. your hands are salty and warm from the popcorn, and his shoulder brushes yours as you work.

“you know,” he says. “my dad died when i was young.”

you pause, an unpopped kernel between your fingers. “really? sorry—i don’t mean to sound so surprised. i just—you didn’t say anything, so…”

he brushes your hurried apology away with a shake of his head. “i was eleven. changed me forever. i don’t really remember much of my childhood, you know, ‘cause of that.”

“oh, john.” though your fingers are slick with salt and butter and grease, you cover his hand with yours. he looks up from the half-filled bowl, and leans closer, his shoulder pushing against yours. “i’m sorry. that—no child should have to lose their parent at a young age.”

“i don’t tell you to feel sorry for me.” he removes his hand from beneath yours and continues to string the popcorn, but there’s no malice or hostility in his words—just truth. “i’m just saying it because i know how it feels to lose a parent early. it’s… devastating.”

you nod, twisting your mouth to side and looking away from his searching gaze. “yes, it is.” drawing in a deep breath, you face him again. “i think i dwell too much on the sadness, though. there’s happiness in their memory, and i forget that. but you lot helped me remember. you helped me remember.”

john ducks his head on a shy grin, his cheeks pink with blush.

heart tripping in your chest, you stand and return to the kitchen to refill the popcorn bowl while he drapes the first completed string around the tree. as the popcorn pops, you tuck your face near your shoulder, smiling to yourself. three days ago, you’d gone to bed thinking you knew what christmas would look like this year: desolate and lonely, with only your cat by your side and work to fill your days. how could you have guessed? how could you have known what nature would bring your way?

when you turn, the freshly filled bowl cradled in the crook of your arm, you stop short. roger, a sideway grin on his face, stands in the doorway of the kitchen. he jerks his chin upwards, and you follow his eyeline to the sprig of faux mistletoe tacked to the ceiling.

you roll your eyes. “so, that’s what you were doing. you really are a trouble-maker, roger.”

“come on, it’s tradition, love. just one kiss?” he opens his arms slightly, beckoning with a wave of his fingers.

you huff with mock indignance, but your cheeks warm at the thought of roger taylor wanting to kiss you of all people. the little you know of queen and their stardom is knowledge enough to tell you that roger has kissed far worthier people. they all have, probably. you—you’re just a country bumpkin, hardly interesting or captivating enough for his—or any of their—attentions.

that, at least, is what you would have told yourself three days ago. today, the thoughts tumble through your head, but you push them aside with a newfound sense of confidence. it doesn’t mean anything, anyway. it’s just a mistletoe kiss. and you think you’d regret it forever if you turned him down.

before you can stop yourself, you step forward, and roger rightly takes the movement as an agreement. he kisses you soundly, one hand feather-light in the center of your back. you don’t let the connection linger too long for fear you will lose yourself to the moment. roger is kind and charming, but he’s not… well, he’s not john, and the thought of john and whatever it is he means to you makes you pull away after a few seconds.

from their place in the living room, freddie and brian cheer, clapping in response to the good-natured fun. you duck your head, but smile all the same and drop to your spot beside john. you hand him the bowl of popcorn, but he doesn’t start stringing the new line. he just looks at you, his eyes roaming your face, barely so much as a frown pulling his brow tight or downward tilt of his mouth wringing his lips in a scowl. he just… stares, openly, without pretense, and you suddenly wish you’d turned roger down. though the feeling of roger’s lips still lingers on yours and the kiss wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest, john’s arms around your waist while you sleep leaves much more of an imprint on your skin. his soft breath when he sleeps, the perfect rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all is so much better than a silly mistletoe kiss with roger.

a muscle ticks in john’s jaw, the only evidence of possible frustration. you look away and continue stringing popcorn along the line.

“i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

at the sound of john’s mumbled words, you trip over a mislaid shoe in the middle of your darkened room. he’d gone to bed earlier than everyone else, leaving you and the others to play another round of scrabble until well after the sun disappeared. you’d considered following him when he made his exit and explaining your kiss with roger, but you’d decided it against it.

neither roger nor john could stake any claim over you or your actions, and you’d wanted to kiss roger. not to piss john off, not to push him away, but purely because you’d wanted to. maybe you wouldn’t do it again, not after seeing the crestfallen look on john’s face. but you’d done it, and there was no shame in it.

you grip the edge of the bed frame, bent at the waist, frozen in the way you’d tripped. “what?” the word is a sharp exhale in the already tense room.

“you heard me: i wanted to be the one to kiss you.”

you aren’t sure what to say, so the first thing that comes to mind slips from your mouth. “well… you didn’t.”

john huffs and hops off his spot atop your bed. the snow covering your skylight has started to melt in the last day or so, allowing slim rays of moonlight to pierce the darkness of your room. the moonlight coupled with your nightlight illuminates only the sharpest features on john’s face, and while any other evening you might think the line of his jaw or definition of his nose might be alluring, tonight, coupled with the scowl on his brow, you wish you could see him clearly. he stands in the center of the room, hands on his hips, and you straighten, run your fingers through your rumpled hair.

“you could have,” you whisper. “but you didn’t.”

“beneath the mistletoe?” he scoffs like the mere implication is an offense. “no. that’s not what i meant.”

“what did you mean, then? you can’t just say you wanted to be the one to kiss me with no explanation. i’m not some plaything, john. you boys might be used to that, being famous or whatever, but—”

“no.” his voice is stern, commanding, resolute. you shut your mouth with a snap. “you drive me crazy, you know that?” he steps forward; you step back. “you think you’re so insignificant, that you’re not good enough for anybody.”

your frown and retreat another step when he advances. “i don’t know what you’re—”

he cuts you off as though your protest went in one ear and out the other. “you’re shy, sure, but you’re brave. i mean, dammit you live all the way up here by yourself, and you nearly fought us off with a fuckin’ frying pan.”

he sighs. but then his arm extends, his fingers hovering over your cheek. when you don’t flinch, don’t so much as move a muscle, he covers your cheek with his palm, his fingertips tracing the edges of your hair. “you’re a lot like me. we have a lot in common.”

your heart lurches—not out of pain or regret, but anticipation. a lump of excitement clogs your throat, and it’s hard to swallow, hard to think, hard to breathe, with john so near and his words so intoxicating.

“john…” your eyelids flutter shut, your head tilting into the warmth of his palm. “i—”

“i wanted to kiss you because i like you, not because you’re the only bird here, but because i like you and i think we have a lot—”

you surge forward on a burst of assertiveness. grabbing the edges of john’s night shirt, you drag him forward and slot your mouth over his. his lips are smooth, and once he registers what you’ve done, he responds with equal parts ferocity and tenderness. one hand bunches the fabric of your shirt at your waist, the other grips the back of your neck, holding you against him like you might be blown away by the wind at any moment.

after a moment, he pulls away, rolling his forehead over yours. “tell me to stop and i will.”

you kiss him again, chaste and fast enough to draw back and murmur, “don’t stop,” before losing your nerve.

john circles his arms around your back, then, resuming his careful but hungry attack on your mouth, your cheeks, your neck. you wind your arms around his shoulders, drawing him tight, and you don’t make it to the bed before collapsing to the floor in a heap of passion.

day four.

the power comes back on the next day, and by late evening, jimmy schmits from the gondola service calls to tell you everything will be back up and running by morning. your guests are pleased. they’re eager to get back to the comforts they’re accustomed to, and you don’t blame them. four days in an unheated cabin with rapidly spoiling food in the fridge is not typical rockstar accoutrement. still, they tell you they’ve thoroughly enjoyed their break from reality, and you respond in kind. it was as much as break for you as it was for them.

on that last evening, the lights are kept off for the final time. the fire in the hearth permeates the room with its light, though you don’t need its warmth as much now that the heater is back on. the christmas tree sparkles in the corner, and a few candles flicker in the kitchen and hallway. brian sits in the armchair, your father’s old acoustic on his lap. roger, of course, had found it buried in a spare closet, and he suggests brian play to close out the night.

you lean your back against john’s chest where he sits on the couch. his arm is draped around your body, his fingers running nonsensical patterns over your waist. the back of your head rests against his shoulder, and you feel like you could walk on water you’re so light. all the stress, the aches and pains you’ve carried for so long, have melted like the snow. john is to thank for that, as are the others, but mostly him. he’d pegged you quite right with his speech the night before: shy and unsure of yourself and entirely unconvinced of your own worth. but you’re on the mend, you think.

insignificant? you? no, not anymore. not when he looks at you and holds you close.

brian cringes when he gives an experimental strum of the guitar and something akin to a high-pitched whine hits the air. “oh wow. this hasn’t been played in a while.” he looks up, pulling his mouth to the side in a wry grin. “sorry,” he says when he meets your eyes. “i just have to tune it some.”

“go ahead,” you say. “do what you have to.”

brian adjusts the tuners at the top of the guitar before plucking and pulling the strings in time to a gentle rhythm. when he opens his mouth, he begins to sing. “have yourself a merry little christmas. let your heart be light.”

freddie joins him, scooting forward on the other side of the couch, marmalade snug in his lap. “from now on our troubles will be out of sight.”

when roger jumps in for the bridge, the trio’s voices mingle together in the air like pieces of a puzzle. each part is distinctive and unique, but no less important to creating the larger picture. you snuggle closer to john and feel the vibrations of his chest against your back as he hums, his finger tapping along your shoulder.

“once again, as in olden days, happy golden days of yore. faithful friends who are dear to us will be near to us once more.”

tears cloud your vision, and you tighten your grip on the arm draped over your stomach.

tomorrow your guests will return to their normal lives, lives of fantasy and extravagance. you will return to your hum-drum existence, and the holiday will come and go with little fanfare. but if this is the only gift you will receive this christmas—this time with the hodge-podge musicians that make up queen, this time with john—you will take it with no expectation for anything more.

you’d forgotten what it was like to live with joy and freedom, some semblance of your life prior to the accident. john, freddie, roger, brian—they’d helped you remember, and for that you are forever indebted to them.

clearing your throat, you twist slightly in john’s arms, enough to tilt your head back and let your eyes roam his face. he looks down at you, lips caught in a serene smile. you brush your fingers along the line of his jaw.

“merry christmas, john,” you whisper.

he hums in approval, grinning, before lowering his mouth to kiss you softly. “merry christmas, darling.”

six months later.

it’s hot out, the summer sun roasting you through the thick glass of the gondola. you could drive your car down the mountain, but you prefer the gondola. the gentle sway of the hanging car, the way the buildings in montreux slowly grow taller as you inch closer to the city—it’s all a part of the journey, and you enjoy it, find a comforting rhythm in the predictability.

today, you have an empty basket on your lap, your ankles tucked beneath the bench, as you make your way to the farmer’s market that pops up once a month. it’s a simple little thing, and you often only leave with a few ripe fruits and handful of fresh-cut flowers, but ever since your christmas with queen, you’ve been venturing out more. not enough to truly consider yourself a social butterfly, but you enjoy the odd afternoon at the farmer’s market or dinner in one of the pubs where you listen to the local bands play. you’ve made a friend—your first friend in ages—and heather only further helps to draw you out of your reclusive nature.

then, of course, there’s john. he helps too, always does.

when he’d left in december, he made no promises, and you didn’t expect him to. after all, you’ve only really been with him in person for four days; that’s hardly enough time to build a lasting sort of connection.

still, he calls when he can, and you catch up, but there’s no real agreement between you both. yet he continues you to encourage you to get out more, going so far as to ship you a bicycle you can ride the mountain trails on. he promises to come ride with you one day, but you won’t hold him to it. it’s the thought that counts.

for the first time in years, you’re happy, sincerely happy. you once thought that living by yourself, away from the world so you couldn’t be hurt, was enough to be content, and for a time, you were content. but then you’d been forced to remember, to remember how much you need others, and now that you can accept that, loneliness no longer pervades your home or your person. you walk with purpose; your smile comes naturally; your shoulders sway with ease.

it’s still a quiet life, but a much happier one.

you disembark the gondola with your eyes scanning the small list of items it would be worthwhile to buy—a new vase, a bouquet of flowers for the dinner party you’re hosting for heather and her siblings in two days, a necklace to replace the one marmalade broke—and you barely noticed when you bump shoulders with someone boarding the gondola car. you startle, though, when a hand wraps around your wrist and someone says your name.

you turn, lift your eyes, and gasp, your heart leaping to your throat. “john deacon!” it’s practically a squeal, and john shushes you with a fast hand over your mouth.

he glances around to see if anyone heard you or cares, and it seems the world is too busy with their own affairs to study john deacon and the girl he has pinned against his chest, his arm around her back and hand over her mouth. his eyes sparkle when he returns his gaze to you. “hush! don’t blow my cover!”

you swat his hand away, but don’t move out of his grasp. “what are you doing here?!”

he nods his head to the gondola car, now filled, the doors shut and prepared for departure. “i could ask you the same thing.”

you flush unwillingly and shrug your shoulders. “i actually leave the house now.”

“really?!” john releases his tight hold on your back, giving you breathing space, but doesn’t move his feet. when he speaks, his breath—recently freshened with a mint—fans your face. “i was actually on my way up to surprise you, but it looks like you’ve beaten me to the surprise.”

your heart, still lodged in your throat, skips a beat. “you were coming to see me?”

“’course i was.”

“i didn’t know you were in montreux.”

he nods. “we’re recording. should be here a month or two. just got here yesterday.”

you grin. your cheeks pinch in a slight ache, such unrestrained joy still uncustomary to your muscles. “and you were coming to see me?”

while you grin and reach forward to toy with the edge of john’s shirt, he frowns. “’course i was,” he repeats. “you say that like you’re surprised.”

“well, it was your intention to surprise me, right?”

“of course i would come see you if i was in town.” john nudges your shoulder with his hand then covers your bicep with his palm, squeezing lightly. “you’re my girl.”

you tilt your head to the side. “your girl?”

he nods, steps closer, and holds your other arm. “yeah,” he says, his voice gone deeper, gravely. “my girl.” this thumb brushes along the exposed skin of your shoulder, tanned by the sun. “i told you in december: i like you. the last six months have been… hectic, but i was always going to come back.”

tucking your lower lip between your teeth, you narrow your eyes as you wind your arms around his neck. the hair at the nape of his neck is soft as you play with it. “i would say really and not believe you. but i seem to remember someone telling me that i’m a lot more significant than i give myself credit for.”

john laughs, and the sound pierces your heart like cupid’s bow. “what genius said that?”

you shrug your shoulders, rolling your eyes. “i dunno, but i took it to heart.”

“did you? good. then maybe you’ll be more inclined to say yes when i ask you to come on tour with me, with all of us.”

“oh, you were going to ask that?”

“part of my surprise.”

leaning forward, you feather your lips over john’s. “ask me, then,” you whisper, grinning even further when you feel a shiver run down his back.

“come with us. come with me. let me take you around the world.”

the you of six months ago flares in your chest, telling you to say no, to stay home where it is safe. the you of six months ago tells you that john is just being nice, that he doesn’t see you as anything serious.

but the you of today…

the you of today just smiles and kisses john soundly. you move your mouth over his like he is your dance partner, like you were made for one another, and maybe you were. he tastes sweet, feels even sweeter against your body, and you wonder if this is what your parents felt like when they first fell in love. as your mother tells it, she thought your father had hung the stars in the sky, and when you pull back to look at john, the same thought comes to mind.

“so is that a yes?”

you nod. “i’d go anywhere with you, john deacon.” another thought pops to the forefront of your mind, and you fist your hand in john’s shirt with a frown. “but wait: who will watch marmalade?”

[soramel]

Chained to You (Part 4)

genre: angst, romance, unconventional relationship warning: eventual smut A/N: cross-posted; the story continues at Part 18 in wattpad;

1 2 3 4

Part 4 words: 2,595

Drumming your fingers on the steering wheel, you unconsciously bit your lip as you tried to sort your thoughts out. You even closed your eyes... forehead scrunched in confusion as your failed attempt to detach yourself from all the happenings irritated you more.

So what if he has a woman?

It shouldn't be surprising at all because he's accomplished, has a good family background, and for sure, the looks that everyone would kill for.

Did I just admit that he's attractive?

You scoffed at the thought. Those sleepless nights you spent on analyzing worksheets after worksheets finally altered how your brain functions.

Your phone rang, pulling you out of your reverie. Its noise cutting through the deafening silence in your parked SUV. Then a knock came through the window, startling you. "Fuck!" you said out loud, clutching your chest.

It was your bodyguard. "Saeho!" you shouted at him sounding annoyed but it only muffled through the car door.

Taking a quick glance at your phone, you saw it was the devil you were just thinking about seconds ago. Instead of taking the call, you chose to open the window instead and talk to Saeho.

"What?" you snapped at him, also wondering how he found you so fast.

"You need to head back inside, Ma'am," he said in a stern voice, not liking the disappearing act you pulled.

You sighed and said, "I know. Just give me a break."

He watched you lean your head back on the headrest as you try to recollect yourself. The ringing of the phone just ended when it rang again with the same caller id. With a drag, you handed out the device to Saeho, but he just looked at it.

With another nudge of the phone in the air, he took it slowly from your hand.

"Sir," he answered as he put it by his ear.

There was a pause before Taehyung spoke up.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice laced with darkness that even made a big man like Saeho gulp.

"She's safe, sir. We're in the basement parking. She's inside her car. She gave me her phone for me to answer," he explained.

"Get her back here. Now."

Then you heard the line cut off.

Saeho handed back the phone to you and pleaded for you to follow his boss' order. "Ma'am, this way, please," his voice having a more hint of emotion now as he snuck in his arm through the window to unlock your door.

With a huff, you alighted from the vehicle and passed him your purse.

Saeho followed your steps, taking an enough distance from you like he always does. You suddenly stopped from your tracks and faced him again.

"I can't really go back there this soon. I'm still annoyed," you wondered out loud, leaving the man in conflict. It really is indeed difficult to serve two masters at once. He didn't know what happened when he saw you rushing down the hall and it was not his place to ask why. But he was smart enough to deduce the reason behind your act.

He might not show it but he feels bad for you, but at the same time, he wants to keep his job. Taehyung pays him a handsome amount which sustains the needs of his wife and ailing child.

"We're in no hurry but we have to keep moving, Ma'am," he replied in compromise.

You turned around an walked towards the entrance at a much slower pace. He opened the door as you headed inside the elevator lobby and waited for a lift.

#

"She's tightly guarded, Sir. We can't find a window to execute the plan," the man spoke through the phone.

The news earned a sigh from the other line.

"Keep trying. It'll be more difficult to get to her once the ceremony's all over."

"Copy, sir," then the hired man ended the call.

Regardless, the receiver prepared himself for the worst, and that is having to do everything by himself.

"Useless bastards," he muttered under his breath.

It was two hours before midnight and they only had little time left to act on the situation. Once they miss this window of opportunity, they'd have to take matters to their own hands and it won't be a pretty sight.

There were still no progress from the team he sent. It was difficult to bypass the heiress' security. Although they blend well in the crowd, his men were trained enough to recognize the security team's tactic.

Namjoon wasn't the type to get his hands dirty. No matter what job that is.

J, negative

He then replied without hesitation,

Plan B

He threw the phone on the table with a thud after sending the text message.

#

When Jungkook received the order, he immediately left the hotel suite to pursue his target.

#

Saeho approached Taehyung cautiously and said, "Number unidentified, but I sent someone to follow through and extract information."

Taehyung's jaw tensed in response. "Why not grab one of them now?"

"We can't do that without grabbing much attention. Unless, that's fine with you, sir," Saeho replied. Taehyung's eyes were deeply set on you as you talk with your colleagues. He roamed his stare on their faces then to the people within your perimeter, then back to you. His eyes met yours.

Without breaking away from your gaze, he uttered, "I'll bring her back to her room. Keep me updated."

"Yes, sir."

Saeho then gave way to Taehyung as he strode the distance between you. From his cold demeanor, he flashed a warm smile to your colleagues, making them flustered.

You felt his hand slid around your waist. His hold was gentle yet firm.

"S-sir!" one of your colleagues managed to utter a greeting. Both men and women looked at your fiancé with admiration.

You casually introduced him to them. "This is Minho, Song, and Hyeji. My team in one of my projects. And you already know Jae."

Without further ado, Taehyung said, "Would you mind me taking my wife back? We need to head back early for tomorrow's wedding."

This made you take a step back but with his kind of hold, you were only able to put an unnoticeable distance from him. "Already?" you voiced out in protest.

"Sure!"

"Of course," your team replied in unison.

"You need to have a proper rest," Taehyung told you before flashing his swooning smile back to your colleagues.

"Thank you, excuse us."

You were still confused as he led you out of the banquet hall. You were stuck to his side until you could finally free yourself from his grip once you stepped in the lift.

"What's happening? Isn't it rude to just leave our own party? Like that?"

He's getting on your nerves and your annoyance is also starting to get the best of him. He thought the attitude was because he was 10 minutes late to your dinner.

Taehyung let out a sigh and faced you after pressing the floor button for your suite. "Charles will handle it. I just want you to get your rest."

Though that was just his excuse.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, "If you were paying attention, I was still in the middle of a conversation with my team when you decided to have things your way. I didn't like that."

He tried his best to hide his sarcastic smile by looking down but you caught on. Your brow twitched in annoyance. His actions and the way he treats you makes you feel disrespected. No matter how much you want to cut ties with him, you need to know the tricks hidden up his sleeve.

Why would the news of merger suddenly brought harm to your family's life

Why the Kims, your supposed protector, are sweeping important facts under the rug

Why does your father trust them so much

Questions that you're sure would pile up as you try to uncover the truth. Despite that, you're determined to protect what's yours even though that means selling your soul to the devil.

You stared deep into his eyes.

"Fine. See you tomorrow at our wedding," you let out in a dismissive tone.

He sighed inwardly in relief as he watched the door slam right in front of him.

The room was dark as you entered. With a sigh, you blindly took off your accessories starting with the earrings.

You're getting married tomorrow and it's really happening. To an estranged childhood friend, a man you barely know, a lover of someone else. Red flags that were enough to stop someone from proceeding with the foolish ploy.

But this is for your family's sake.

The Kims are a possible threat you had to understand first.

On a flick of a light switch, you were startled to see a man standing in the middle of your suite. You almost squealed in shock but it got cut off when he approached you in a stride, stifling your voice.

Fear rose up in your chest and your imagination had gone haywire with the thought of why would be someone in here.

"Hush, I'm not here to harm you," he looked at you intently and you slowly start to associate a name on the man's face. It should have comforted you but it only added to your growing fear and confusion.

Jungkook?

He saw the recognition that flashed your eyes, then he continued in a much lower and hushed voice. "Promise me you won't scream, I just need to talk."

Your brows furrowed. What is Taehyung's friend doing in my room, surprising me like a murderer, in the middle of the night?

Just to know what the fuck is going on you nodded your head thrice, still breathing heavily, with your pulse racing.

Once his grip loosened, you immediately took a step back, holding your purse in front of you as if that was enough for a weapon to defend yourself.

"What are you do--" your loud and scandalous voice made him cover your mouth again. You didn't see how but he's now on your back, your body tightly pressed to his.

"Not so loud," his voice laced with irritation. It wanna made you scoff, you should be the one irritated in this situation, not him.

"Taehyung's not who you think he is," he murmured, hoping that will stop you from fighting him off.

You did your best to calm down to show him that you're ready to listen. Not that you don't know what he's talking about. You know who the true Taehyung is.

Jungkook loosened his hands on you once he thought he piqued your curiosity.

You turned to him, a little bit surprised at the very close distance he had put in between.

You looked up a bit to meet his eyes.

"I know who Taehyung is,"

You told him, full with pride.

He was about to speak when you cut him off, "So if you're here to warn me about his lover, you can leave. I've already decided," you told him and he seemed surprise at the news. It looked like that was not the thing he was pertaining about but you could care less.

This marriage is more than you and your feelings.

If being close to the threat will help save your family, then be it. If they're not and they're really trying to help, then better.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows in surprise, "You're truly whipped," he said in disbelief. Well that was not new to him. He knew Taehyung during his teenage years. He knew how he was or is with the ladies.

"I'm not. I-" you were about to spill some sensitive information but you luckily caught yourself.

No one else is supposed to know about this except you and your private investigator, Hoseok.

"Well that sucks but that was not just it, Princess," he informed, the title he used sounded like a mock.

"His family will use yours to get what they want. This might bring harm not only to your family, but to everyone."

#

Tilting your head to the side, "then this will be just another billion dollar venture for them," you stated after Jungkook told you what he could let you know... for now. He has yet to see for himself and the organization which side you're on. It was a huge gamble for them to involve you in this. If it were up to him, he would rather not involve a socialite like you. The type that Taehyung lures in and break. But to Namjoon, you were different.

He silently strode to the door and looked into the peephole to see if there are guards. "How did you get in here anyway?" you asked him, as you were sidetracked from his movement.

"The balcony," he stated as he walked back. "They'll eventually monopolize the IT industry. All the servers, engines, systems, running in this country will be under their control. Just masked in different names."

"We traced that 65% of the sector belonged to their family already. Indirectly,"

"and if this will go out of hand, there will be irreversible repercussions." he finished as he stood before you, meeting your gaze intently.

You walked around the living area of the hotel suite, settling on the couch. "I didn't know they had that slice too," you blurted out as you went in deep thought. The Kims are involved in a lot of ventures. May it be in security services and systems, management consultancy, logistics, and others. But so is your family. Well your mother's side to be specific. With it being more prominent in hospitality and airline industry.

You traced back your gaze to the intruder.

"Regardless, that's none of my business, Jungkook. The world is what it is." you told him.

And he knew.

A privileged woman like you won't understand it. Because the system fits well for you that you became a part of it.

His jaw almost twitched in disgust, but he managed to mask it off with a smirk. "Your family will be their puppet. You will bear the damages once things fall out of place,"

"Then I'll make sure it won't," you replied, looking at him straight in the eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you suggested, "I could pretend this didn't happen. I'll let you slip back where you came from without sending a distress call to my security next door." then you took out a black device out of your purse, lifting off its switch. Then you placed your thumb on top of it, ready to press it in any second.

He let out a chuckle. "You'll be lying dead on the floor before they arrive here, don't underestimate me."

You let out a sweet smile and shook your head. "I'm not. I know you're very capable of that seeing how you managed to get here," then you unceremoniously pressed the device which made made him jump to his feet and briskly left, leaving the glass door open. All the while making sure that you know how pissed he is and he's not yet done with you. If eyes could kill.

Saeho barged in right after a beep. "Ma'am," he let out. When you seemed fine, his eyes scanned the room immediately, looking for any threats.

With your gaze on the glass door, he jogged onto it seeing that it was ajar.

You stood up and headed into the bedroom. "Please close it. It's getting cold," you calmly ordered as you closed the bedroom door shut.

[juliandev0rak]

You’re The Reason I’m Leaving

Chapter Three of I’m Your Villain

Words: 3063

Warnings: mentions of death, murder, all the usual things for a story about an assassin

The weather has turned from sun to pouring rain in the span of an hour, and Cadmus paces his room in a dour mood. 

There are a few hours till nightfall when he needs to leave for Greythal, and he’s trying to strategize and pack his saddle bag but the incessant sound of the rain is too distracting. It’s giving him a headache and he could really use a nap, or a drink, but he has no time for either. 

His pacing stops abruptly as he feels a presence at his back and he turns to see his door swing open soundlessly. It’s nearly impossible to sneak up on him after years of honing his instincts, and even his brother who has magical abilities that allow him to fade into invisibility can’t pass unnoticed.

“Come to see me off, then?” Cadmus smirks, taking in the sight of his younger brother leaning against the doorframe. Alastor looks expressionless as always, his demeanor cold as the icy color of his skin. The Durand family are all blonde, but Alastor’s hair is white. 

Alastor takes a step into the room and Cadmus resists the urge to take a step back to distance himself from his brother. Alastor smiles, a look that reminds Cadmus of his father in its unnaturalness. “I wouldn’t be so happy if I were you, Cadmus. This isn’t an ordinary mission.” 

Cadmus scoffs,“You’re just upset that father sent me instead of you.”

“No. I have missions of my own, far more important ones.” Alastor walks over to the window, peering outside with disdain.

“I doubt that, but since you’ve clearly come here to gloat about it- do tell me how important you are.” Cadmus rolls his eyes and turns back to the bag he’d been packing. If he has to stand here and listen to Alastor, he can at least do something more useful with his time.

“You have no clue, do you?” Alastor’s tone has gone even colder, his anger turning on like a light. Cadmus has the same temper, but while he’s fire- Alastor is all ice

“No clue about what?”

“You’re easily replaceable, if you fail someone will rise up to take your place.” Alastor sounds like he’s reciting the words from memory. “Father once told me that when you die there won't even be a funeral, you won’t get a burial. He said ‘Why would we make a monument to Cadmus’ failure?’ When you die it will be as if you never existed.” 

Cadmus laughs, this is nothing he hasn’t heard before. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I’d like to be cremated then! Makes things easier for all of us.” He crosses the room to where his brother stands staring at the rain. “Now, did you have a point to make or did you just come here to be an asshole? I’m a bit busy if you haven’t noticed.”

Alastor scoffs and turns to face his brother, his expression returned to blank stone. “Good luck then, brother.” The way he says the word is like a curse.

Instead of using the door, Alastor turns towards the stone wall and walks through it as if it wasn’t there. Another of his fancy magic tricks. Their mother had always favored Alastor, she’d taught him all of the magic she knows and as he’d risen in power he’d also risen as a threat. He’s only a few years younger than Cadmus, but Cadmus knows he wants the throne.

Cadmus doesn’t care much for ruling. He thinks being the Comte would be boring, too much administration, not enough action. But it’s his right as the eldest and he’ll be damned if he lets his creepy shit of a little brother take it from him. Alastor is clearly willing to kill for the position, and Cadmus doesn’t doubt he’ll strike when the opportunity arises. So he keeps his guard up, not trusting even the stones around him. 

Cadmus has got one more goodbye, and he’s saved the most important for last. His sister’s room is down the hall from his, around a winding corner where guards are always posted. Despite his cruelty, Daphne is the Comte’s favorite child by far. She’s kept in her gilded cage, only to be released some day when the perfect suitor arrives.

Before Cadmus can even raise his hand to knock on the door it swings open, revealing the excited face of his younger sister. She opens the door for him to enter and he takes in the sight of her room, drawn in by the color and vibrancy. Every wall is covered in paintings she’s done, and every window sill is full of plants. It’s her one sanctuary in this desolate place and though the room feels just as cold as the rest of the castle, it’s full of Daphne’s warmth.

“What did father say?” Daphne asks, pulling Cadmus further in so she can shut the door behind him.

Cadmus sighs, not wanting to disappoint her. “I’m afraid I have bad news. He wouldn’t budge.” 

“Noooo.” Daphne puts her head in her hands dramatically and Cadmus would laugh if he didn’t hear real despair in her voice. “When do you have to leave again?” 

“Tonight. But perhaps once Greythal has been secured father will be less worried about your safety. I’m sorry Daph.” 

Daphne heaves a heavy sigh that seems to reveal the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. “I’ll survive, I always do. I have my books at least.” 

“Don’t be too hard on Clarisse while I’m gone,” Cadmus says, thinking of the old woman who had been his governess and is now Daphne’s. She’d been strict, but kinder than his own mother had ever been. Or at least more present, which has to count for something,

“You should tell Clarisse not to be too hard on me! She’s practically made my fingers bleed with all the needlepoint she’s been forcing on me.” Daphne scowls, rubbing her fingertips together as if remembering the pain of a needle prick. “I want to learn to fight like you, or do magic! Anything would be more useful than sitting indoors all day. Mother says I’m too dull for magic but she’s never even tried to teach me!” 

“She said I was too dull for magic too.” Cadmus laughs, “And trust me, you don’t want to learn to fight.” 

“I think I’d look quite imposing with a sword.” Daphne strikes a pose, lifting her hand up as if she’s holding a weapon. Cadmus laughs at the sight of her, over a foot shorter than him and wearing a very impractical gown. She turns towards him angrily. “Nobody lets me do anything!” 

“We’re simply trying to protect you, Daph. It’s safer inside the walls.” Cadmus reaches a hand out towards her shoulder but she shoves it away. 

“I’d rather die than spend another day trapped in this drafty old castle.” Daphne crosses her arms and looks at him defiantly. It’s the same facial expression Cadmus wears when he’s pouting and while he thinks she’s being a bit dramatic, he understands the sentiment.

Cadmus sighs, unsure how to console her. “One day when you’re the Comtess or when you’ve married some handsome duke you’ll be able to see the world, but for now it’s safest for you here. You just have to be patient.” 

“Now you sound like father. I thought you were on my side.” Daphne frowns and he notices a sudden mist of tears cloud her blue eyes.

It’s gone from a casual conversation to actual emotions, and though this is his little sister, the person he’s closest too in the world, Cadmus still has no idea how to handle tears. She watches him for a moment as a tear runs down her cheek and then turns away, hiding her face from him. He doesn’t know what to do but he doesn’t want her to hide things like he does, he doesn’t think he even has the ability to cry at this point.

“Daph,” Cadmus hesitates, then pulls her into a hug. She buries her head in his shoulder and though she’s silent, he can feel her shoulders shaking and the sleeve of his coat getting wet. 

“Come back, please,” Daphne pleads, her voice muffled against his coat.“You have to come back. Don’t leave me here.” 

Cadmus sighs, understanding her outburst more clearly now. It isn’t just being cooped up inside that’s bothering her, it’s him leaving. She doesn’t know exactly what he does when he’s gone on missions, but she knows it’s dangerous. He’s come back injured before, been left bed-ridden or worse for days, but she doesn’t know how close he’s been to dying.

“Don’t I always come back?” Cadmus says, trying to be comforting. Daphne pushes back from his shoulder to look at him, her eyes red from crying. 

“But what if you don’t,” She sniffles.

“I will, Daphne, I promise.” Cadmus doesn’t like to make promises he doesn’t know he can keep, but he’s always come back before. 

“I just know Alastor will be a terror while you’re gone.” She frowns, angrily wiping away tears. 

“He’s always a terror. Just threaten him with one of your embroidery needles, that’ll scare him off,” Cadmus jokes. Daphne gives him a hint of a smile and pulls back from the hug, reaching into her pocket to pull out a needle. 

“En garde!” She says, brandishing the needle forward towards Cadmus. He lets her tap his arm with the needle and then dramatically puts his hand to his heart. “Oh no! You got me!” He fake swoons, falling to the floor in a heap as Daphne bursts into laughter. After a moment she holds out her hand to help him up and Cadmus pulls her down instead, causing her to burst into giggles again. When they both calm down Daphne sits up, leaning against the wall as she looks at Cadmus.

“If you don’t come back I’ll track you down and kill you myself.” She looks at him very gravely, and though the words are humorous, he doesn’t doubt she’d try.

“You sound more like a Durand every day,” Cadmus laughs.

“And bring me back a present,” She says imperiously, with the tone of someone who has never been denied anything in her life. Which is pretty much the truth.

“Yep, definitely a Durand.” Cadmus reaches out to ruffle her hair and she pulls away with an annoyed noise. “I’ll bring you back a flower.” 

It’s tradition that he always brings her something new for her botanical journal. He picks the prettiest flower he can find on his journey, whichever flower he thinks she’d like the best. Daphne catalogues the pressed flowers in her journal. and each entry is complete with a drawing and a label. Sometimes he brings her duplicates on accident, but she’s always just as pleased. 

He gives her one last hug goodbye and then he’s off to find Agatha who is probably busy hunting mice. By the time his familiar’s been located the sun has begun to set and it’s time to leave. As he’s saddling his horse he looks up at the castle one last time. Silhouetted in the late afternoon light is his mother, standing in the window of the tallest tower.

Her private library and workshop are up there, it’s where he used to take magic lessons before she decided he was useless at it. He’s not allowed up there anymore, not that he minds. The tower also serves as a torture chamber for enemies unlucky enough to be brought in alive. Or for Durand sons who misbehave.

Cadmus turns away from the tower and his mother’s keen eyes and gets on his horse. There’s no use thinking about the past when he’s got the present to focus on.

—————————–

It’s a two day ride to Greythal through some of the ugliest landscape Cadmus has ever seen.

He likes the ocean views of Avronne, the way the cliff sides are both beautiful and deadly, covered in plants and trees which cling to life along their edges. The road to Greythal is all pasture and cows and manure. The city itself is on the coast, but the road there is anything but a trip to the seaside.

It rains the entire night, and when Cadmus stops to rest the next morning he’s thoroughly drenched and grateful for the weak sunlight coming through the clouds. He sleeps fitfully beneath a tree, his instincts on edge in case he’s seen from the road. He wishes he had someone here to take watch shifts, but working alone is safer. He’ll take sleep deprivation over a knife in the back from a traitorous partner.

Cadmus isn’t entirely alone at least. His horse Alecto is very dependable, and although Cadmus wouldn’t admit it- she’s a very good listener as well. He talks to her, and Agatha, as he rides. He tells them about the landscape, about his family, about how he sometimes wishes he could simply relax. Animals are good confidants, they can’t tell his secrets to anyone nor can they try to give him advice or lecture him like another person would. 

The trip passes quickly, the landscape blurring together from rain and boredom. When he reaches the outskirts of Greythal on the morning of the party he stops to disguise himself and his horse, enchanting his hair brunette and his white horse spotted brown. He doesn’t intend to be seen by anyone, but it's a necessary precaution. He rides as close as he can get to the castle then continues on foot.

Cadmus surveys the area, looking for a path through the woods so he can avoid the road when he makes his escape later. He finds a well worn path in the dirt and commits the spot to memory. When he returns to his horse he finds Agatha coiling around Alecto’s neck. The horse doesn’t seem to mind the fact that a very deadly snake is in close proximity, Agatha poses no threat unless Cadmus instructs her to bite. 

She’s his best tool of the trade, stealthier than he is despite her large size, and deadlier too. One bite from Agatha, or one drop of her venom which Cadmus keeps in a vial, can kill a person in under 15 minutes. He’s built up a tolerance to various poisons over the course of his training, hardly anything can kill him but a blade alone, yet Agatha’s poison would be too strong even for him.

Normally he doesn’t bring her along on his assignments. She’s nearly twelve feet long and isn’t exactly the easiest to travel with, but he’d had a gut feeling to bring her this time- and he always trusts his instincts. 

Right now his instincts are telling him to run a perimeter around the castle to see what he’s dealing with. So he does just that, creeping through the underbrush of the woods until he reaches the low stone wall surrounding the castle on the hill. It’s an imposing building, larger than his family's castle. Greythal is a wealthy kingdom while Avronne is a smaller, if more powerful, city state. 

Avronne is small but mighty, the seat of a power that reaches far beyond the city walls- that’s what the Comte says at least.

Agatha scouts ahead of him, her movements silent despite the loose brush she slithers through. If something is amiss she’ll alert him. Cadmus keeps his eyes turned towards the castle, watching for the movement of guards. He rounds east towards the back of the castle where he’ll find the princess’ window. Sure enough, a blackthorn tree sits beneath an illuminated window as Xiphos had said it would. 

Cadmus takes in the vines which cling to the stone walls, likely strong enough to help him climb up. He tries to calculate how quickly he thinks he can climb it, his guess is around a minute, maybe less if he can get good footholds.

He considers hopping over the stone wall to enter the grounds for a better look when Agatha hisses at him in alarm. He instantly looks up, seeing a small figure he hadn't noticed waving at him. The figure stands from the bench they’d been sitting on beneath the tree and approaches his spot behind the wall, he’s been spotted. 

“Fuck. Agatha, hide.” He uses the blade of his sword to inspect his reflection, satisfied that he doesn’t look like himself. Agatha slithers into the underbrush, close enough to defend Cadmus if need be. He considers running, but that would be even more suspicious, and as the figure approaches it’s clear that this is a child. He draws his dagger all the same, just in case.

“Who are you?” Calls the child, a young girl around his sister’s age. He takes in her clothing- expensive, perfectly clean, she must be a noble then. Cadmus doesn’t respond, waiting for the girl to explain herself instead. “Are you here for my birthday party?”

It’s then that he realizes the crown on her head, this is the princess. 

He really should run. Instead he stays, stuck to the spot as he takes in the information that he’s been sent here to kill a child. That’s new for him. He’d known she was young- but this girl can’t be older than sixteen. 

“My mother said there are lots of guests coming, are you a guest?” The princess asks. She’s blonde, and Cadmus has to blink hard to rid himself of the image of Daphne. She’s so trusting, so naive, so stupid to approach a stranger with no guards around to protect her.

Cadmus should kill her now while she’s all alone and he has the chance. He can kill her painlessly, so quickly that she’ll barely even feel it. 

Instead he asks, “What’s your name?” 

“You don’t know who I am?” She laughs, taking a step closer to the stone wall that separates them. Cadmus grips his weapon more tightly, but he still can’t make his hand move. “My name is Melia. What’s yours?”

He opens his mouth as if to answer but his body finally catches up to his brain. Cadmus runs. He doesn’t stop until he’s deep in the woods and as far from the girl as he can get. 

He certainly hadn’t planned for this.

[andythane]

HOLY WATER CANNOT HELP YOU NOW  I’VE COME TO BURN YOUR KINGDOM DOWN

MAY 19TH, 2021. OUTSIDE OF LAFAYETTE, LOUISIANA. notes & tw: this is literally all just bloody, brutal violence of every kind. andy, along side wes and wyatt, gets revenge on the rogue’s responsible for attacking rowan in february. italics are flashbacks, ps. tw for very graphic murder, lots of blood, violence, gore (eye, specifically), stabbing, decapitation/dismemberment,  tc ahead. please read at your own discretion, it’s a lot.

The first time he kills someone, he’s twenty years old. Four months after he’d been officially patched into the club, reconciled with Rowan, and started this new chapter of his life. He knew what the patch sewn to his cut meant -- He had grown up next to it, had seen his father come home at all hours of the night covered in blood with a smile on his face as he slapped his gun onto the kitchen table and happily declared he needed a beer. That being said, doing it yourself and hearing stories were so comically different it made his head spin. 

Most of the ride, he’s quiet, staring out the window of the Wyatt’s jeep as they drive through the backroads. There’s not much conversation to be had once they’ve gone over the plan, all three men knowing exactly what they’re going to this warehouse for. It’s roughly a two hour car ride, giving Andy enough time to go mentally go over the weapons he’s brought with him -- The gun tucked into his cut, one tucked into the waistband of his pants, one strapped to his ankle; The knife tucked in his boot strap, the other in the sheath of his belt. He’s nothing if not prepared. Andy goes over their placement for the thousandth, unneeded time, thinking through every what if scenario he could find himself in. It’s not often that his paranoid nature actually becomes a benefit. 

They know the layout of the building, where each of them will cover, and the amount of people that will be there -- But he likes to prepare for the worst and the best, knowing from experience that they’re likely going to meet a mixture of both. Andy’s planned and executed this kind of thing enough times to know how to go about it blindfolded. At this point, it’s just like riding a bike. 

He wonders what Wes is thinking, if his mind drifts back to Jace asleep at home, unaware of the violence going on around him; If Wyatt is imagining Iris in her hospital bed three months ago, scared of the oxygen mask strapped to her face. All Andy can think of is Rowan, sobbing in his arms while struggling not to move and potentially injure herself further, tearfully telling him why she hadn’t shown up to dinner.

It’s been a while since he’s found himself in this kind of mindset, having hung up his metaphoric hat when it comes to hitman jobs in the last few years. After his time in prison, Andy knew he had to lay low -- Being on parole, and having a daughter to raise changed his priorities. While the money from his ‘freelancing’ had been nice, he and Rowan had enough saved to last them a lifetime, especially with his cut of the guns the club sold, and her salary. There was no need for it now, not like when they were struggling to pay rent and put Rowan through school. Though, he couldn’t deny the high that came with planning a job was one Andy didn’t know he desperately missed. It used to scare him, how exciting he found this -- The rush that came from a stake out, figuring out each detail all the way down to the small possibility, the thrill of actually pulling his gun and breaking through the door. Now he welcomes it like an old friend. 

He always imagined it would be a fair fight -- Or at least, not like this. Whenever the thought came to mind, he pictured himself wrestling some bond villain looking guy, the two diving for the gun that had been cast aside. It was naive, childish even -- But he didn’t expect that he’d be pointing his gun at someone who couldn’t be much older than him, one who was sobbing through swollen eyes, pleading for his life. His father kept his hand’s firmly planted on the kid’s shoulder’s to keep him from squirming out of the rickety chair, acting like this was a prize for a job well done. This could easily have been me, Andy thinks. Had this job gone wrong, he has no doubt Cronus wouldn’t hesitate to put him into that chair, make an example out of his son. Only, it didn’t. It was nothing short of an absolute success. 

His father says something, but Andy doesn’t hear it. Jason is somewhere in the background cheering him on. Andy’s heart is pounding in his ears, both hands holding tightly to his gun, fighting to conceal the fact that they’re shaking. The gun is pointed directly at the poor kid’s head, Cronus’ steady hands keeping him from getting away from his obvious fate. Andy glances to his father for a moment, the wild look in the man’s surely meant to be read as adrenaline fueled pride. This is Andy’s first job after being patched in, and he had proved himself thus far. Now he just needed to finish this. Andy wishes he had the strength to lift his arms just that much higher, and put a bullet in his father’s head. 

In that moment, he thinks of Rowan; Part of him wishes he hadn’t, based on the way his jaw clenches and his chest constricts -- He doesn’t want her to ever know about the horrible things he’s going to do, the horrible thing he’s about to do. Rowan shouldn’t have to see him for what he really is, what he’ll grow up to be: A monster. The rational part of himself reminds him that she already knows, and she’s still waiting for him at home, ready to pull him into open arms once he passes through the front door. 

He pulls the trigger. 

The kid’s blood splatters across Andy’s face.

They move quietly, each taking different sections of the warehouse. Wes covers the open space where the guns lie, Wyatt takes the small offices turned into ‘bedrooms’, while Andy takes the conference turned war room. He knows this is only a piece of the Rogues puzzle, but it’s a step in the right direction. They don’t plan on leaving anyone behind to tell the others what happened -- The grizzly scene and blood splattered across the walls will paint the picture for them. 

His back remains against the wall, pulling his gun from his cut as he moves quietly, the three men in the conference room too distracted by their own conversation to notice Andy slipped into the dimly lit room. He makes presence known by firing a bullet into one man’s -- His name is Sam, based on the conversation Andy heard before entering -- knee, which creates a flurry of action as everyone tries to dive for the guns on the table. It’s the obvious move, one that Andy had anticipated. His hand reaches for the underside of the table between the four men seconds after his gun first fires, sending the flimsy plastic table over, their guns scattered and out of reach. 

Sam fits one of the descriptions Will gave him, of a shorter, stocky man, blacked out ink covering him aside from a poorly done mermaid tattoo covering his throat. The man across from Sam fits the bill, as well  -- Blonde, long hair, scar across his cheek, entire right arm covered in blacked out tattoos. Jack, Andy’s memory recalls. The man in question tries to make a run for one of the guns, but Andy stops him with a bullet to the stomach. Enough to knock him down, but not enough to immediately kill him. He wants them alive for this, to feel the same terror and pain Rowan did that night. They’re not going to be lucky enough to get a bullet to the head first. 

The third and final man is one Andy recognizes now that he’s face to face. His name is Danny, but he’d been called Tex during his time in the club. (The nickname was stupid then, and it’s stupid now, Andy thinks.) He had his ink blacked out and left town roughly ten years ago after screwing the club over. The surprise reunion is enough to catch Tex off guard, enough that he hesitates, eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene in front of them. Both Sam and Jack bleeding on the floor, the former clutching his leg and screaming to the third to Do something, you fucking idiot. So, he does. The man charges forward, managing to knock Andy to the ground given the fact that he’s got about a hundred pounds on him. 

They struggle as Tex tries to wrestle the gun away from Andy, before it gets thrown to the side in the fight. Punches are thrown on both ends, a ringing settling in Andy’s ears after a particular blow to the side of his head, though it doesn’t deter him. Andy manages to roll them over, holding the other man down with knee pressing down on his throat. Tex claws, scratches, and hits Andy in an attempt to get out from under him, but the cut off of oxygen makes it more difficult. He gets a few good blows in, though -- There’s blood dribbling down Andy’s arms from scratches, bruises that have already begun to form. He doesn’t notice, too focused on keeping the man under him from getting out of his grip. His hands move to hold Tex’s head, Andy’s thumbs digging into the inner corners of his eyes, gouging them as deeply as he can manage. 

He can’t help but wonder if the three men have realized this isn’t about killing them; It’s about watching them suffer. 

The fact that Tyson is still breathing is enough to send Andy into a tailspin. He had hoped the spineless piece of shit had fucked off somewhere, given that he hadn’t made an appearance in his and Rowan’s life in quite some time. Andy’s attempts at optimism always seem to be met with harsh reality, though, one that consistently proves the obvious: It’s childish to try and see the best out of a situation like this. He knows this as he throws the man off his front porch, knowing he has to take care of this problem himself -- Restraining orders and the local cops just aren’t going to cut it. Not when he and Rowan have a fragile six month old daughter sleeping in a crib down the hall.  

His downfall is the fact that he reacts, he doesn’t plan. Andy knows better. The reason he’s been so successful with the club is his commitment to discretion, detail, and planning. He analyzes that night over and over for the next three years from the comfort of his prison cell, imagining how he would have killed Tyson if he had taken the time to do it properly -- Instead of grabbing his baseball bat, and kicking the front door in. He would have made it last longer, Andy decided. Prolong his suffering, before letting him gain a shred of hope that he’d make it out alive — Before finally putting him in the ground. That being said, the satisfaction that comes from the look of pure fear on Tyson’s face the moment he sees Andy come through the door? Unmatched. 

The mental image is one that never fails to bring him a swell of pride. He can still hear the sound of his bat crushing bone, feel the way his heart skipped a beat with each and every hit. It didn’t matter if there was blood flying, covering him in the evidence; The fact that he hadn’t been quiet in his entrance; The sound of distant sirens headed their way, after a loud, shrill scream rang out. All that mattered was crushing Tyson’s skull, ending the iron grip he’s had on Rowan’s life for the better half of a decade. He didn’t care what happened next, as long as his wife and daughter were able to live in a world where Tyson Grant didn’t. 

He only regrets not being able to finish the job that night. 

It occurs to him, as his foot comes stomping down on Sam’s already shot knee, that he hasn’t done anything like this since prison. He’s gone on runs, jobs, the works -- Hell, he even threatened to brain Will in his own home. Everything pales in comparison, though. In prison, they had to be more creative; Breaking bones, cutting off fingers, slitting throats before the guards showed up. It was all quick and dirty, done by hand. There was no choice in the matter -- If he wanted to finish out his sentence, see his wife and daughter, even have a chance of making it to the end of the week at all, Andy had to get rid of the other guy. The protection that came with being a Primordial didn’t go as far as one would hope. There’s a reason they used to refer to him as the Grim Reaper. Years later, and he’s made it clear that he hasn’t lost his touch. 

This man doesn’t want to fucking die, though. The way he keeps clawing at Andy, yelling obscenities between each scream of pain. He makes proclamations about how he’s going to kill Andy, calling him every name in the book as he tries and fails to fight for his life. A hard kick to the head shuts him up for a moment, disorienting him enough before Sam musters up enough energy to stab Andy in the calf, almost successful in knocking him to the floor. Clearly, the man got a last surge of something, accompanied by a knife he hadn’t realized Sam had on him.  This only provokes an annoyed grunt and eye roll from Andy. He stumbles down onto one knee from the surprise of the movement, a stab to the man’s arm with the knife from his boot strap gets Sam to let go. He does, going limp as his knife is stuck in Andy’s calf. It doesn’t stop him from continuing the effort though, within a moment Andy’s on top of his unconscious victim, stabbing him in the chest over and over again like he’s in a cheap horror movie. 

In that moment, he loses himself  -- Something snaps, taking him back to the night he’d gotten a call that Rowan was in the hospital, the way he so desperately pushed down all of the anger and rage that came with knowing she’d been hurt at the hands of these assholes. Everything he’s fought to hold at bay for the sake of his wife, the kids, his sobriety, the club -- It all bubbles to the surface now, when he’s not worrying about keeping the kids safe and Rowan above water. When all there is is this room, and him, and the people that have to pay for the crimes they’ve committed. 

Every emotion he’s expertly avoided, every ounce of it boils over as he stabs the Rogue over and over until they’re both covered in blood. The need for vengeance for what they did, the way they turned Rowan’s life upside down and left her afraid to look over her shoulder; Guilt over the fact that Andy, yet again, couldn’t protect the person he holds so dearly; The power that comes with knowing these men are at his mercy, ready to beg for their lives in a last ditch effort to survive what’s coming next. It all hits him like a freight train, leaving him a little dizzy. Though, that may be from the hits he’s taken himself, blood he’s lost -- Andy doesn’t take the time to find out. Instead, he comes to once he realizes the man under him is long dead, having succumbed to the injuries inflicted after the first few stabs. 

The revelation stuns Andy momentarily, as he tries to catch his breath. If there was any witness to this, they’d see how frenzied the moment had become, that there was far more pent of emotion attached to this than Andy initially realized. Eyes glance to the two men left -- Tex, having passed out, and Jack slumped against a wall trying to stay conscious, a string of profanities passing his lips in a hoarse voice. His attention turns to his hands after that, steady but covered in a mixture of Sam’s blood and his own. A blood soaked piece of hair falls forward and onto his cheek as Andy wipes his hands off on his shirt, a wave of frustration running through him. Of fucking course he’d get blood in his hair, and now -- More on his face. He makes a mental note to book an appointment for a haircut. 

They cut the man’s fingers off one by one, moving slowly and deliberately. The man in question, Gerald, is tied to a chair in the kitchen of the prison, thanks to a guard that’s on the MC’s payroll. No one is going to give a second thought to the sound of muffled screams or a hacksaw from the locked up tool shed going missing for the night. Andy’s only been out of the hospital for a day at this point -- The guy he’s torturing, having been responsible for his brush with near-death.  Gerald felt bold enough to go after Andy with a homemade shank, trying to get even for some issue he held with Cronus. It was laughable to him, considering Andy hated his father just as much as this sorry bastard.

Andy had hoped to make it through his sentence by keeping his head down (for the most part, at least) doing what he needed, sticking with the right crowd -- Club members who were serving life sentences. His name gained him respect, plenty of other inmates happy to keep an eye on Cronus’ boy, but the revenge he’s getting tonight is what gains him his reputation. He becomes the go-to for these kinds of things, the one his fellow club members call on to take care of problems they have behind bars. Rowan’s words ring in his head -- Do what you have to do to stay alive. Come back to me. Playing executioner for the club wasn’t his first choice, but if it’s what kept him safe and gets him home, so fucking be it. Plus, killing the man who had tried to murder him in the showers brought Andy plenty of satisfaction. What kind of person would he be if he let some jaded idiot get away with almost killing him, right?

First the fingers, then his hands, and so on and so forth -- Dismemberment isn’t something new, Andy himself has had to cut up a few bodies so they can get rid of the evidence before. Though, typically speaking, the person isn’t still alive as they do it. Watching this guy suffer was just icing on the cake. Each time Gerald passes out, they cauterize the wound and pull out the smelling salts to give him a fake sense of safety -- That now they’re done, eye for an eye, the message is sent. Only each time he’s lulled into a half-dazed security, they stuff the rag back in his mouth and cut off another limb. It was going to be a long night.

He finds himself with a moment where he can tend to the wound he’s gotten — It's not a particularly deep stab, but it hurts like a bitch and that stupid knife looks fucking dull once he pulls it out and can actually get a good look at it. Not wasting anytime, and to  make sure he doesn’t lose too much blood, Andy works quickly. The last thing he needs is to pass out and run the risk of getting himself killed, or having to have Wes haul him out over his shoulder. He has to get creative for now, knowing they can’t exactly make a pit stop at the ER on the way back and he doesn’t want to call Rowan after, given the fact that they’re bringing one of the Rogues back with them to get information out of -- So he moves to rip off part of Sam’s torn pant leg so that he can get pressure on the wound. Using a piece of folded up denim, he holds it against his injury, tying a piece tightly around his calf to keep it in place. It’s not great, but it’ll do for now, until he can get to a proper first aid kit. Andy can practically hear Rowan in the back of his head, scolding him for getting hurt in the first place. Once she knows the context, he’d imagine she probably wouldn’t think much of the injury after. 

The sound of Tex’s screams pulled his attention, the man having regained consciousness and begun to panic -- The knee jerk reaction from Andy is to pull his gun back out, silencing Tex with a bullet to the chest. Andy unloads the rest of his clip into the man as he approaches, finding himself feeling lighter and lighter with each shot, despite the fact that he’s now limping. An unbearable amount of helplessness has weighed on him the last six months — Like all he can do is watch these terrible things happen from the sidelines, only able to help tend to the aftermath rather than keep his loved ones safe. What has left him lying awake at night as been the feeling that he’s constantly one step behind, always a minute too late — Whether it’s the shipment getting hijacked and Blake getting to him hours later, homes being burned down while he’s shooting up a warehouse, his own wife lying beaten and bloody in the middle of the street while he sits at a restaurant waiting for her. One thing after the other.

It’s unclear what kind of man it makes him to take such pleasure in revenge -- That he isn’t haunted at night by the people he’s killed or the homes he’s wrecked for the right amount of cash. Maybe it’s proof that he really is his father’s son, or that he’s just as heartless as people believe him to be. Andy’s not sure if it matters much at this point. The idea of knowing he is sending these assholes to an early grave gives him a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in a long time, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever know again after Valentine’s Day. This isn’t the end of the Rogues, but it’s retribution for what they’ve done, bringing him more clarity than ever before. Anyone who hurts the people he loves deserves to die screaming. 

Confusion finds him when the sound of a gun firing fills his ears with a familiar ringing, a bullet hitting the dead man on the ground in front of him rather than its intended target. Andy follows the direction it came from to find a wild eyed Jack, having managed to pull himself across the floor in a bloody heap, far enough to get to a gun, clearly struggling to hold himself up right even while propped against the turned over table. He had the element of surprise on his side, but Andy has the benefit of not having been shot in the stomach -- So he moves quickly across the small room, easily smacking the gun out of the man’s hand. It’s clear Jack is running on pure adrenaline and spite, though now that he got his one shot in, it’s running out. Fists colliding with the man’s jaw only speed up the process, though before he finally gives up and slumps over to side and lands on the floor -- He spits blood back at Andy, clearly trying to get in one last fuck you before he dies. Jack doesn’t get much of a reaction out of Andy, instead he stands up fully, giving the half-conscious man a good look before the heel of his boot meets his head over and over until he is long dead and unrecognizable. 

[scarlet-it-was]

Aftershocks

Tags up top: #world of warcraft #sylvanduin #sylvanas x anduin #older woman younger man

Set immediately post-Kingsmourne cinematic. Hastily written because it has been gnawing on my brain like Tred’ova. No betas, we die like warriors. The explicit version of this can be found here on AO3, just skip to chapter 2.

She watches his face; she can see the slightest twitch at the corner of his eye as he fights exhaustively to surface, but it’s of no use. The Jailer extracts the key from the Kingsmourne and Sylvanas is tasked with “putting away” the vessel until it is ready to be used again. Her head nods once, curtly, and her face remains unchanged as she takes over Anduin’s mind with her own banshee magic. Electric blue fades and shifts to a neon violet before she walks him from the balcony. He’s steered along several of the twisting corridors, bypassing his own prison and is taken to another. 

The lair of the Dark Lady, inasmuch as she has laid claim to in this unearthly realm, is modestly sized. Unsurprisingly, many of her personal effects are twisted and gruesome. Skulls from every race known to Azeroth and the outer realms hang on the wall in a morbid gallery. Of the items that aren’t nightmare inducing, none of them look particularly sentimental or personal, likely left on Azeroth for safe keeping. The aesthetic here is carefully and intentionally curated.

She locks the door and proceeds to remove the sword and then unclamp the heavy armor while he wobbles in place and she whispers the necessary magic to keep him under her spell. Beneath the heavily spiked pauldrons and chest plate, Anduin is still a large man, larger than she would have expected from the man she’d goaded as the ‘boy king’ for the last several years, but his presence feels far smaller. Deft hands remove the final pieces of his armor as she lets the echo of her voice trail off, allowing him to come back to himself when he is clad only in tight black pants designed to keep the leather from chafing, and a loose black shirt that served the same purpose.

As the ocean blue of his eyes returns, he gasps in a panic, and the first thing he sees is her. Anger, white hot, burning righteous fury. If he’d had enough strength to call down the light, he would have smote her where she stood. Instead, he lunges at her, and it becomes apparent why she’s taken the time to relieve him of his weapons and armaments. It’s the exact reaction she expects, and while she is confident he’ll never catch up to her to land a punch, she’s not interested in taking chances after pride had won her a new scar at the hands of Saurfang. Sylvanas dodges his strikes, and sidesteps his advances for a few tense moments before his anger turns to something he can catch.

Her face remains passive as he smashes each of the skulls that hung on the wall, demanding answers after each is splintered in a thousand shards, practically reciting everything she’d done in his memory. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have answers to give him that will satisfy the depth of the ache he feels. Sylvanas begins the process of removing her own armor while he rants and destroys her room. “You know, I will just get more to replace them, and if they aren’t available readily, I can create them myself,” she warns, but doesn’t expect it to stop the destruction.

“STOP. UNDRESSING,” he booms at her, in equal parts anger and exasperation. He’s never seen her so...undergeared. It feels too private, and entirely too intimate for the emotions swirling through him. He wins only a narrowing of her eyes as she unfastens the heavy leather strap that holds the guards for her hips and thighs. He’s nearly hysterical; it’s hard the first time, and he doesn’t have the boon of being dead to numb his emotions. No, the Jailer needs him as a living mortal within the Shadowlands. 

“Why?” he demands, as if he’s going to get a better answer than he has up until now.

Anduin rounds on her again and his face is flushed and streaked with tears. Careful, they’ll burn themselves onto your face, she can feel the chiding remark on her tongue, but for once she swallows it. She has no defense against his litany of her crimes. “Answer me, Sylvanas!”

His gaze is at once accusatory and pleading and it cuts her like the mourneblade all over again. Her memory hasn’t faded--she can feel his hurt and betrayal because she owns the same ones. Time hasn’t healed those wounds, it has only grown them into the anger and hatred she wears like armor around herself. It unpleasantly occurs to her that while he has been but a brief annoyance in her own long life, she has been a constant source of misery in his own. From the time he was young, so much has been taken. His peace, his father, his home, and now his free will; and she’s played a part in so many of those moments. Suddenly she’s finding it uncomfortable to maintain eye contact, and she lets her gaze drop.

She’s already got one foot braced and turns around in time to catch the charging Anduin solidly against her front. Sylvanas grunts when her back hits the wall, fangs bared, but she doesn’t strike back. This isn’t a man who wants more violence. She wraps her arms around him instead. “Shhh,” she hisses against his ear, holding him tightly against her while he flails to get free. He pushes at her, tries to pull away, but the attempts are half-hearted at best.

Eventually, he stops fighting and his arms go limp at his sides. Sylvanas feels him surrender, and her hold becomes less severe. She thinks back to the days her Little Moon would fling herself into Sylvanas’s arms and cry over whatever latest injustice had besieged her heart. Her memory marked them as petty endeavors compared to the broken boy she held now, but the muscle memory, at least, was helpful. His weight pressed against her made it easy to balance herself as she slid down the wall, pulling him down as well. He gave no fight, just crumbled to the ground with her, and his arms went around her waist. For a moment, she freezes and looks down at the mess of blonde hair. His head rests against her chest, which does not rise or fall, nor offer the comfort of a steady breath or heartbeat. She settles in once again, this time keeping an arm around his back while the other tugs loose the tie from his hair so she can thread her fingers through it. No words are offered--any she could say felt hollow, and certainly untrue.

Until the Maw, Sylvanas was the coldest place he’d ever known, but here, she feels like a respite--the smallest and most fragile of fires in a night that promised death from the howling wind. There isn’t much hope in it, but he clings to it nonetheless. He doesn’t expect to find himself on the floor of her room, wrapped up in the mysterious and infuriating elf, but the moment she offered him shelter instead of slaughter, he fell apart. Her fingers twine through his hair and it’s a small comfort. His eyes still burn, and so does his throat, but eventually he is able to pull himself together, in no small part due to the solid presence he rested against. He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and she pauses her ministrations to allow him to do such. Her hand hovers for a moment before falling to the side when she realizes he won’t be putting his head back down.

He looks at her in earnest then. He’s never seen her out of her martial attire; she remains only in leather pants and a soft black under shirt. Sylvanas’s hair spills over her shoulders, flat from hiding beneath a hood. He’s always found her hauntingly beautiful, but nothing compared to her stripped of her war vestments and staring at him like...It wasn’t exactly compassion he saw in her eyes so much as understanding. Anduin had gained a new perspective as well--hers. 

The fact that she chose to bring him here and comfort him rather than locking him back inside his circular prison speaks volumes, but that was never enough for him, because Sylvanas is never what she seems. “Why have you brought me here?” he asks, since it certainly isn’t to apologize. She hasn’t expressed remorse, or regret.

Sylvanas lets her head drop to the side so that she’s looking at him without her head leaving the support of the wall. “Because I can not give you peace, Young Wrynn, but I can at least make sure you sleep comfortably, and dreamlessly, if you so desire,” she drawls. Afterall, she has no use for her bed, she doesn’t require sleep and when she does sleep, it’s more out of habit or boredom. As she speaks, he feels her brace her feet and she lifts both of them, though this time with his help. She leads him to the bed and eases him down as though he is a broken thing.*

She sees him start to speak again, and she knows the question before it comes out. She stops it by pressing two cold fingers against his lips. “Shh, there is nothing to be done about it,” she tells him matter of factly. “Not yet. Be patient, little lion. The threads of fate are frayed and unravelling. Soon we will weave our own.” Sylvanas doesn’t remove her fingers from his lips, but rests her forehead against his with her eyes closed. “And no one will ever control us again,” she says, trying to convince him as much as she is trying to convince herself. Her fingertips and head lift at the same time and she leans forward to press a kiss on his brow, imbuing him with an irresistible urge to sleep. “Rest now,” she murmurs, settling him in the throng of pillows as he slowly blinks, trying and failing to stay awake. Her hand smooths over his forehead once more, pushing slightly faded gold locks out of his face in a tender gesture he won’t remember by the time he wakes. “It won’t get any easier from here.”

[zuffer-weird-girl]

I bet you probably got this ask before but what about a scenario where kin brings her boyfriend to meet her parents and brother for the first time?

Im gonna make Kai suffer. Is Kin's destiny to be with someone just as equal as Kai 🤣 (poor baby)

"Birdy?" You called, snickering at his eye twitch whiel he let go of his papers.

"I thought this nickname was dead woman." He sighed in irritation while standing up with a huff.

"Sorry. Never gets old seing that expression of yours" you giggled before whinjng at his pinch on both of your cheeks "Fine fine! I take it back! I take it back!"

He scoffed while letting go of your cheeks, smirking a bit at the way you whined and rubbed then with a pout.

"Spill it out. You cane here for something, right?" He asked sarcastically while crossing his arms and staring you down.

"Yeah, I did." You stopped rubbing on your cheek and looked up at him "Forst you have to promise that you're not going to freak out okay?"

"Who do you take me for?" He asked in irritation while lifting one of his eyebrows up.

"Just promise. Please." You pleaded and he only rolled his eyes at your qords, but still hesitantly followed them. "Ok. Kai, our daughter is with 15..."

"No shit. I thought she had one year." You deadpanned at his monotonous sarcastic comment before you frowned and piked your tongue out at him.

"Anyway smartass." He pinched your waist for that, makimg you yelp but shortly after continue the topic "She was... interested on someone lasy year and he sounds like a good bo-"

You already let out a hopeless sign at seing his muscles tensed and his glove was already gone while his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Anyway, she has a boyfriend now sweety."

Silence. You absolutely hated it when he got silent. It showed you the absolute storm that was passing through his brain, and you could see the hints of it by seing the hives appearing on his face and the way his eyes seemed to emit flames of rage.

"Kai.. you promised you were not-"

"Where?"

"Huh?"

"Who and where is that kid?" He growled, making even you shiver a bit.

"Kai what the hell you're planning to do?" You asked a biit hesitantly, already praying for the poor soul and your daughter when you heard his answer.

"I just want to talk."

~

"Sure! He even accepted it!" Your daughter answered while showing her phone, the boy had simply writed a 'K, will be here in a couple of minutes'

You made a worried face while your daughter laughed a bit.

"Geez mom relax! Is not like dad is going to kill him!"

"... do you even know your father?" Kin just simply snickered and got up from her caahir to walk along sides you.

"Mom, chill! Trust me, I got a lot of tastes from you, besides... I thinki it will be fun if dad tasted his own venom for once?" You arched a eyebrow at the way ger golden eyes shined a bit but the devilish smirk was still there.

"What do you mean by that missy?" She merely looked at you and shrugged her shoulders with a smile, greeting with a sweet wave at Mimic passing through.

Oh god, if mimic discovered this you were having TWO killing machines.

For your luck at least your older son was with his girlfriend on somewhere else...

Although when you saw Kin getting smiley and giddly at seing at THAT boy getting out of the car, you looked at her in astonishment and let out a laugh along with her.

The boy had raven hair with the undercut style, had one blue eye while the other was brow as the wood of a tree and by god that stoic face he carried was equivalent to your husband and your sons!. He was wearing the typical black jacket and some boots with jeans as he got out of the the passenger seat, smilling for a fraction of seconds at seing Kin greeting him.

"Ya are the girl's mom miss?" The man ridding the car asked with a cigarate on his mouth, the boy already glared daggers at him.

"Sure am." You giggled while getting closer "Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"No one in special, just that midget's older brother. Wanted to see that cutie of his. Got a good fabric huh?"

"Shut your damn mouth pig." The boy spoked blantly while Kin hushed him a bit.

Oh fuck that was so nostalgic and gave you so many memories of you and Kai your heart did flips.

"I take it ya from the yakusa? Badass as hell since you don't look like the type, but i respect your husband." The man took the cigarette out of his mouth to threw in a nearby trash can "Im going to pick that shrimp later, if he does something wrong I will beat him up."

"P-Please dont do that." You smiled in worry while the man let out a laughter and got out without any words left.

"Mom, this is Naoko. The one I've been gushing about it!" She smiled while the boy scoffed, his skin dusting with the pink blush.

"Apologies for that fucker Daisou. He has no fucking manners." He stoicly said after without a care, widening a bit his eyes when you let out a laugh at his boldness.

Oh god this was going to be so fun.

"Is a pleasure meeting the boy that has got my daughter's attention and love sweety." You bowed before holding his hand, which btw were covered in bruised what the hell child? And gave hin one of your warmest smiles.

"Ny name is Chisaki (Y/n). Call me whatever you feel confortable okay? Welcome to the Shie Hassaikai."

Kin stiffled her giggle at the way Naoko's eyes widened in surprise before he muffled a cough behing one of his bandages fists, muttering a 'thanks' in return.

You were walking a bit until you giggled at the boy's gruff whisper to his girlfriend.

"So is from her that you got all that lovey dovey shit type?"

Yep. This was going to be fun.

~

Kai and Naoko immediately changed threating glares at each other the moment the boy placed his boots at side and looked at the older man face.

"My dad, Chisaki Kai. Dad, Naoko." Kin got between the two, showing with her hand at both of them.

Both only nodded and continued their glares exchange... until you just interrupted with a offer of tea for the guest.

Naoko's gasp got stucked on his throat before he brought a hand to rub the back of his head.

"Is not necessary mrs. But th-"

"Normally is considered rudeness refusing such a offer." Chisaki's eyes narrowed at the raven haired boy "Got no manners?"

"More less." He sighed in irritation before placing his hand on his pocket before glaring uo at him again "Guess we are on the same boat."

Kai's eye twitched a bit at that and his glove was already gone while he tried to not lose his temper.

Luckily for that midget his wife carresed a bit his back doscretly making him calm down. Pure fucking luck.

"I heard you are quite a troublesome young man Naoko." You cooed while handing him a cup "My daughter said you beated up someone just last week."

"Quite a example for you Kin. Im shocked that your choices were so poorly." Kjn glared at her father while Naoko merely scoffed and stared back at you, a hint of gratitude on his stoic different color eyes.

"Sure. Little shits wouldn't stop bitching about Kin not having a fucking quirk so I beated their asses." He said nonchantly before sipping on his cup.

Chisaki's eyebrow lifted up a bit, both disgust at his poor vocabulary but soon interested on why exactly he beated those kids.

"Kin, I thiught that whenever thise things happened you need to come talk with me and your mother or even Chrono and Mimic." Jai muttered at her while she shrugged.

"I didn't told anyone. Wasn't going to waste mh or others time with a bunch of filth." Naoko znickered at that, still with his lips touching the cup.

Chisaki merely sighed and thanked you through his gaze for giving him a cup of tea and for sitting next to him.

"Your actions remind me of someone I know very well Naoko." You said sweetly, giggling a bit at the way Chisaki glared at you.

Dont compare him with a brat.

"Sure." The boy replied while putting his cup on the coffe table "But I gotta tell. Kin still can kick some ass."

"Vocabulary is quite poor of yours." Chisaki spoked with a eyebrow lifted up while Naoko did the exact same thing.

"My way of speaking. Is just like that, not going to change either." He sighed before looking at Kin with a glare "Little shit beated me up on a match when I met her."

Kin laughed while Kai's jaw tighten in hate at the way Naoko called his daughter.

"Match? Does the school still does that?" You asked, remembering at all teh times you got called to "control your son" because whenever those happened your Kaito always sended one or three to the infirmary.

"Shitty teachers say is because we have to improve our quirks, and told me to go easy on her... although I wasn't going to go easy, this brat knocked me out." He stated simply, smirling at Kin's laugh.

"You were distracted! Is not my fault." She sayed in protest.

"I see that thise training were worth it for something." Kai sighed before glaring at Naoko "So you do have a quirk?" He asked, disgust completely visible on his voice.

"A shitty one, but yeah." He smirked at Kin, more love showed in his eyes "But at least is useful for something."

"He can summon whatever weapon he wants in just one snap of fingers! Kin sayed in enthusiasm "It last for at least fifteen minutes, but is so cool!"

"Is not much, stop gushing about me in front of your parents idiot." She smirked at him before he messed with her dark brow hair affectionately.

You and Kin were just gone for a few minutes, she went to talk to you and gush even more about her boyfriend; leaving both man staring at each other.

Chisaki had to admit that this brat was a brave soul, because he didn't even once flinched at his glares or even got scared or sad from his comments.

"Spill it out. What do you think of daughter?" He growled threateningly, Naoko simply stared at him for a few minutes before the kid closed his hands together with a sigh, laying his elbows on his legs as he lowered his head for the first time that day.

"She is just too good for this world." He sighed a bit as he glared at the coofe table "She gets so fucking teased and bullied for being from here, yet she doesn't mistreat anyone on that cursed place..."

He arched one of his eyebrows... Kin indeed was a oure soul that it was even difficult to believe that she was his daughter...

"Not only that but I came from a shitty family as well. Yet she didn't even looked down at me once, despite her status and all of that shit. Kindness... is something rare in this god for saken world."

He was having fucking chills of his own past and didn't liked that one bit. But he still kept his posture and continued with his judgmental stare at the boy.

"She is just..." he let out a bitter chuckle "Too fucking pure for this world..." he looked up at Chisaki with narrowing blue and brow eyes "I want to protect her and make her happy, and honestly I could give two rat ass about you not accepting me or whatever shit. But I want to make your daughter happy and safe... and I have a feeling that you did the same with your wife somehow."

He made a amusement face before sogji g and crossing his arms, looking at the direction of where his daughter went along with his wife.

"My wife is the purest thing in this world. She is not sick like many I came to know of..." he looked at Naoko "If you wish to protect and make my daughter happy, then I womt stop you... But-" his eyes went murderous as his voice lowered "Dare. Even dare to make one single tear fall from her eyes, that i will give you a punishment equivalent to what we do here with traitors of the yakusa."

"Trust me, if I ever make her cry I will come here asking for you to beat me up."

Chisaki couldn't help but smirk underneath his mask after that.

"I still dont trust you. But my daughter seems to enjoy your presence, so I will tolerate. But change your vocabulary, is disgusting."

"Only by my fucking dead cold body."

Ok this kid is surely going to get on his nerves a lot.

Kin made a happy squeal as she looked at the scene discretly with you.

"He let it mom! My Naoko is the best!"

"Sure. You passed the big boss my bee. But now you got to have lucky with both of your brothers and Iri aka remember?"

Her face fell into a stoic one before looking at you with a face equivalent to her father

"Way to ruin the moment mom." You snickered before she chuckled along.

[lovingxreader]

Is It Because I’m A Woman

Chapter Two: Fight Me

Rated M

Word Count: 1.8K

WARNING!!!! This chapter includes strong language and heavy abuse.

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE!!! I hope everyone is having a lovely day! I was so surprised by how many people liked the first chapter, so here is the second one! Don’t worry I’m already in the process of writing chapter three so look forward to the next update! Feel free to like and comment and I can add you to the tag list at the bottom! Anyway enjoy.

“No, No, No you two can’t be here.” I spoke as I put down the hammer and dashed over to them. “Out, now.” My voice wavered as I spoke.

“Who are you? Why are you here? Where is the fat shop owner?” The one with the lute questioned. I placed my calloused hands on his chest as I gently tried to push them back out of the door. “ wait are you the one who actually does the forging?” He spoke in surprise. He continued to ask spit fire questions as he pushed back against me.

“Stop it!” I raised my voice as I pleaded with them once again. The cloaked man in the armor grab the loot player’s shoulder pulling him back and away from me.

“Jaskier, stop.” The cloaked man said as he held Jaskier away from me, his voice being deep and gravely.

“Please leave now. He’ll see you; it’ll end badly for both of us if he catches you two here.” I begged as I became more frustrated at them seemingly ignoring my warnings.

“Geralt…” Jaskier spoke as he looked at me with pity filled gaze. “Just look at her...can’t you see them too?” Geralt caught my stare once more before quickly shutting the door behind them. He held Jaskier by the collar and dragged him behind a large pile of scrap metal right before the door swung open once more. Father entered aggressively as I yelped. He grabbed a fist full of my hair using it to hold me still before landing his fist into my face. I tasted the familiar iron taste of blood in my mouth as I felt my lip bust open and began to bleed. I knew better than to cry when it came to the beatings, but there it began. As tears ran down my cheeks as he dropped me to the ground. Father put his mud covered boot against my face as he held my head down against the ash covered wood flooring.

“I was just enjoying some drinks down at the inn when a buddy of mine came up to me. Do you want to know what he said to me [y/n]?” Father asked before lifting his food and kicking me in the stomach. “He said; Fredrick what are you doing here? I thought I heard you pounding away at the shop. Was that ugly bastard of a witcher there with you too? I thought I saw him walk in.” Father said before he slammed his foot into my ribcage. You could hear the Audible crack of my ribs breaking from the force. Kneeling his obese body down to my level he used my hair to lift my crying face up to look at him. “Oh honey what’s the matter? Why are you crying?” Papa is sorry, he didn’t mean to hurt you.” he spoke in a sweet tone. “Is it because you’re scared cause you’re hiding something from me?” His tone began to take a more sinister tone. I shook my head frantically my mouth opening and closing like a fish as I tried to figure out what words to say. He leaned in closer to my face; I could smell the cheap ale on his breath. He growled before speaking once more, “Tell me where you are hiding them whore!”

“I don’t know where they are father, I swear.” I said, my voice cracking as I try to hold in another sob. Father let go of my hair before rising to his full height. He gathered up mucus before spitting it onto me. Turning swiftly on his heels he walked out the door, slamming it behind him. I laid there for a moment quietly sobbing before I heard shuffling of the men coming out of their hiding spot. They slowly approached me. AS they stood over me, I looked up at them. My eye beginning to swell shut as a dark ring of bruise began to take shape around it. “You did this...now please fucking leave.” I spoke as my voice wavered with emotions of anger, sadness, and pain. I sat up slowly, wincing as I could feel the freshly broken ribs screaming at me to stop moving. Pulling my knees to my chest I hid my face under my hair. Suddenly I felt an arm slide up under my knees and against my lower back before gently lifting me. I flinched away from him at the first initial touch; I opened my watery eyes to see Geralt carrying me over to an empty table before setting me down. He gently brushed my bangs away from my face before softly grabbing my chin turning my head from side to side, assessing the extent of the damage. I avoided his gaze I swatted his hand off before wiping my tears away. He let out a soft grunt before stepping away from me. Jaskier stepped forward and gave a look of apology as he reached out to hold my hand. Pulling my hand away from him I held it to my chest as I avoided their gaze. “Will you listen to me now?” I asked sternly before lifting my gaze slowly before glaring at the two.

“We just wanted to see how much longer on his sword… Your father said it would be done before the shop closed. We went back to go get it and the door was locked.” Jaskier spoke taking a step away from me. Glancing over at Geralt I met his eyes once more before inhaling, wincing at the pain before sighing. Gently sliding myself off the table I began to put weight on my legs. Suddenly as I put weight onto them my legs gave out from under me. Before I could go crashing to the floor, Jaskier grabbed ahold of my waist to stabilize me. Yelping I pulled his hands off before I made my way over to the anvil using the tongs to place the now cooled blade back into the white coals of the fire.

“Not long.”

------

I worked in silence as the two took a seat on the same table they had set me down on, the only sound in the shop being the sound of the fire and the rhythmic banging of my hammer shaping the scorching metal. Keeping my back to them I reassembled the blade wrapping new leather straps around the handle as a finishing touch. Turning to them I held the sword in my hand. Jaskier gave me a look of astonishment as he looked at me holding the heavy blade in one hand. “Why do you look at me like that? Is it because I’m a woman, you think I’m not capable to forge a blade?” I asked plainly before walking over to them.

“We were just expecting your father. It’s him the people around the continent speak of for his fine craftsmanship not...you.” Jaskier spoke softly as if his words could hurt me.

“Sorry to disappoint.” I commented as I watched Geralt stand from the table, take the blade from my hands gently before looking over the finished weapon with an impressed look. “Assuming by the damage of the blade when it first came to me, I’m just going to make the assumption that you’re adventures. Yet you two seem unlikely to travel together. Are you lovers?” I teased as I walked back to sit on the warm anvil. Geralt gave a sideways glare at me as Jaskier gasps loudly and dramatically at the comment.

“You’re Certainly full of fire.” Jaskier said as he crossed his arms in a pout.

“What’s a witcher by the way? I hear people saying there is a witcher in town.” I asked curiously. The men looked at each other before Jaskier looked back at over at me before speaking,

“You don’t know what a witcher is?”

“Does it look like I go outside?”

“You certainly looked fine this morning hiding in that alley.” Geralt spoke from where he was now sheathing his blade before leaning against the wall by the door. Glancing back at the golden eyed man before looking towards the fire I spoke again,

“You know people say witchers are monsters playing dress up as humans...am I right?” I glanced down at my feet before looking up seeing Geralt approaching me. The man stood in front of me before handing me a small cotton pouch, the clinking of coins rang as he dropped it into my hand.

“Use this and get yourself out of here.” He spoke, his deep voice sent chills across my skin. He turned to Jaskier nodding his head motioning for him to follow his leave. Standing up I grabbed ahold of Geralt’s hand before giving me the same pouch back.

“I haven’t earned this; He’ll kill me anyway if I tried to leave.” I spoke softly before letting go of his wrist. Turning back towards me he grunted before putting the coin purse back into my hand. We stood in silence as Geralt and I glared into each other’s eyes. Jaskier cleared his throat breaking up our fiery glares at each other before I turned to look at him.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Jaskier asked as he put his hands on his hips.

“No, I didn’t want you coming with me in the first place; I don’t need another lost puppy coming with me too.” Geralt spoke harshly as he made his way back towards the door. Rolling my eyes I put the coin bag that he had slipped back into my hand into my apron pocket. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm pulling him to the side before he could walk out the door, and began speaking in a hushed tone. The witcher grunted deeply at Jaskier. He looked me over from my swollen cheek, black eye, busted lip, down my bruised arms and my sorry excuse for clothing and dirty bare feet. “She can’t even use a sword, it’s already hard enough to make sure you don’t do something stupid and get in my way. I don’t need her on my plate either.” He growled.

“I don’t need you two. Also don’t speak about me like I’m not right here.” I spoke up before they could start yelling at each other. “I can handle my own with a blade. You don’t think I wouldn’t know how to use the weapons I make. That makes you more of a boorish man than I thought.” I said harshly as I continued, “I don’t need some wannabe jester and his lap dog protecting me.” My voice rose as I surprised myself at my boldness.

“Oh really? Then how about a wager.” Jaskier budded in. He stepped forward between Geralt and myself before speaking once more, “if you can beat Geralt in a sparring match, you can come with us. If you lose, you take the money and find another way to get out of here and away from you father. Does that work for the both of you?” Looking from Jaskier to Geralt I nodded my head gently in agreement. Geralt sighed before whispering under his breath.

“Fuck.”

Tag list: @queenblueoffire @fandomsfanman @geraltsadventures

[lokihzra]

My Heart’s On Fire For Your Love

Chapter 3

Thor falls to his knees in front of his brother, his heartbeat picking up with every sharp inhale Loki takes. “Loki hey look at me” Thor demands through the lump in his throat as he gently lifts Loki’s face to look at him “you’re okay, we’re in New York” he says as soft as he can, keeping his touch gentle and pleading, hoping Loki can see the worry and pain in his eyes.

“no I-I” Loki stops and gulps to try and ease the lump in his throat attempting to suffocate him “I don’t know what’s happening” he mumbles and tries to look back down at the floor.

Thor pulls his head back up and Loki couldn’t tell if he wanted to pull away or lean into Thor’s touch “breathe Loki, keep your eyes on me”

“I can’t-“ he breaks off into sharp gasps and leans forward until his head hits Thor’s shoulder “make it stop” the gasps burned his lungs but his head hurt more.

worthless, useless, nothing, a monster. Who can love a monster?

Especially a fallen jotun runt.

“Loki please breathe” Thor begs, tears welling up in his own eyes. Helpless, the weight in his heart screams at him to do something but he can’t. Thor isn’t skilled with a Seidr so no matter how bad he wanted to, he couldn’t help his brother.

“Please make it stop” Loki sobs and his stomach drops as he remembers the darkness, the endless silence “Thor please” he begs, pressing his face farther into thor’s shoulder, his hands gripping Thors sweater so hard that Loki swears he feels one of his nails crack.

Thor starts softly shushing him and Loki feels his hand rubbing his back gently, his other hand playing with his hair and he only notices that it calms him down near ten minutes later when his lungs stopped burning and that dull throbbing started pounding at the back of his eyes.

“what do you need?” Thor asks quietly, not moving to pull away.

Loki gulps, trying to ignore the embarrassment as he pulls back “I don’t know why that-“

“you want to rest? you look like you need it” Thor smiles softly making Loki’s nose sting.

“okay”

“Sir, Mr. Rhodes was already on his way here”

Tony sighs but it just gets caught in his throat “wher-where is he?” he says quickly.

“he’s just parked”

“he has a damn suit-oh god” Tony falls back on his ass and brings his knees up to his chin.

“he’s in the elevator”

Tony nods to himself as he grips the table and pulls himself up to his feet. He stumbles and hits his hip against the table so hard he knows there will be a bruise but he doesn’t care because he hears the door slide open.

He turns around to see Rhodey rushing over to him and Tony stumbles over to him, Rhodey catching him before he could trip over his own foot. “Hey man what happened?” Rhodey asks softly as he lowers them to the ground.

“Loki-I-” Tony buries his face in Rhodeys shoulder, his hands holding onto Rhodeys jacket like his life depended on it “me and Loki-“

“You and Loki what? fought?” he asks quietly as he rubs Tony’s back, drawing patterns and words into it.

“no-we-opposite”

“you guys hooked up?” Rhodey nearly yells.

“no-he’s my-“

“okay Tony calm down just breathe, copy my breathing” Rhodey demands and he doesn’t breathe louder on purpose, It helped Tony a lot more when he had to strain to focus, when he blocked everything out to focus on one thing.

And it worked. The pounding in his head got quieter as he strained to listen to Rhodeys even breaths and mimic them. Tony loved Rhodey with all his damn heart, if it wasn’t for Rhodey, Tony probably would have died by 22 and Tony never ever expresses how much Rhodey means to him and he hates it because he got it from Howard.

“you okay now?” Rhodey breaks him from his thoughts, the hand on his back slowing to a halt.

“I love you, you know that?”

“shut up”

“No i really do Rhodes, I would die for you man”

“you’ll die for anyone Tony”

“not true”

“well if you love me so much tell me what happened”

“um” Tony pauses to try and think of how the hell he tells his best friend that soulmates are real and he knows because his soulmate is upstairs right now and it just so happens to be the man who attacked the very city they’re in at the moment “maybe another time buddy”

Tony starts to get up but Rhodey pulls him back down to the floor “I’m your best friend douche bag, tell me”

“do you believe in soulmates?”

“sometimes” Rhodey says with a shrug but continues when Tony raises a brow “I thought you and Pepper were soulmates”

“yeah well she’s not and my soulmate is a guy”

Rhodeys face falls but he quickly breaks off into a quiet laugh “you’re telling me soulmates are real?”

“the city was attacked by aliens five days ago and this, you don’t believe?”

“okay fine keep talking” Rhodey demands as he focuses his attention on Tony.

“nevermind I shouldn’t-“

“Tony tony I’m listening so tell me please” Rhodey nearly begs.

Tony rambles to hopefully avoid the subject but Rhodey knows him. Rhodey knows that this is what he does.“apparently soulmates are rare. Like extinct rare and I don’t really know the purpose but-“

Rhodey interrupts him “Tony”

Tony stops with a huff and as he opened his mouth to say the words, he suddenly couldn’t. “Tony?” he sighs before lifting his sleeve and revealing the L on his wrist, the black marking standing out against his tan skin like an emo at Disney land.

Tony watches as Rhodey frowns at it before his face drops “am I being punk’d?”

“fuck” Tony says harshly as he pulls his sleeve back down “see?” he quickly gets up and walks over to his desk “this is why I don’t want to tell anybody”

“do you love him?” Rhodey asks and Tony stops abruptly.

“no” he says without missing a beat and he turns around to face Rhodey in case the latter doesn’t believe him.

“well then you’ll be okay” Rhodey says reassuringly.

It doesn’t work thought because Rhodey can’t hide his concern from Tony, not after 12 years of being bestfriends. “Thor said something about a bond becoming complete-the fuck does that mean Rhodey?” Tony asks quickly, his heart beating faster than his tongue moves.

“Call Loki down here”

“what? no-“

“I can’t answer your questions only he can”

“Sir it seems that Mr. Odinson is not functional enough to come down here”

He groans before mumbling “and why not?” secretly hoping that JARVIS never heard.

“he’s suffering from a migraine ” JARVIS informs him and Tony sighs in relief before something catches his attention.

“Aliens can get headaches?”

“technically sir he is Asgardian, A god, not an alien, they have the same physiology but they’re only denser so yes Asgardians can get headaches”

“diseases?”

“no sir, their density makes it near impossible for diseases to survive off of their body, it would take nearly a million years for any disease to affect them”

“hm” Tony shrugs “won’t have to use a condom.

“Tony!” Rhodey scolds as he watches Tony walk to the door.

“i’m kidding sourpatch”

May 9th, 2012

“we ordered supper, it’s on the counter” Natasha nods towards the several takeout plates on the counter.

“didn’t know what you guys wanted so I just ordered almost everything” Tony says through a mouthful of food.

Loki frowns down at the meat and vegetables mixed together, with rice or noodles, a bowl of soup and small balls covered in a red sauce. “what is this?”

“Chinese food” Clint says through his mouthful of food

“Why are you here and why are you all dirty?”

“While you guys were destroying the training room we were out cleaning your mess” Steve states

Loki frowns and it disappears before anyone could even notice it. His eyebrows are furrowed and his fists clenched together as he walks over to the giant windows. Thor and Tony silently watching as Loki scans the wreck of the city below him.

Suddenly Tony’s throat closes up, his eyes filling with tears and the weight in his heart makes him literally stop breathing for a moment. He freezes before harshly putting his plate down and watching as Loki is staring down at the city.

Loki's fists are clenched so tight that his arms tremble along with his tense jaw, shaking, trying to form words as he scans the debris littering the streets and buildings. Broken windows and signs, craters from explosions and some buildings had holes in them that was at least 4 stories big.

He blinks quickly to make the tears go away before he holds his palms out, parallel to the window in front of him and his guilt doesn’t fade as the warmth travels through his veins. The warm green light of his magic absorbing the mess; garbage, debris, glass and metal all disappearing from the streets and buildings. He couldn’t fix the buildings or signs, not until he got more of his strength back but this was enough for now.

He couldn't fix broken families and give children their parents back.

He’ll do better.

He’ll make up for it, somehow.

“how many people?” he asks quietly, staying in his spot “how many people did I kill?”

“one hundred and ninety three” Steve states and Loki couldn’t hold in his shaky exhale.

He was about to say something but Clints cold tone made his brain short circuit “cleaning up the mess won’t do anything”

Lokis guilt completely fades morphing into anger as he scans the avengers in the living room. “I accept you all for who you are even when you can’t find even a shred of humanity to accept me. Natasha’s ledger is worse than mine, Thor waged war on Jötunheim out of anger, he wasn’t mind controlled, tortured and forced like I was ” Loki snarls but he continues before Thor can ask questions “Clint you had a secret family, Bruce killed his abusive alcoholic father” Loki stops quickly, his gaze softening as he looks at the tense scientist “I’m not judging you for that I would have done the same thing. Tony is an alcoholic who made weapons and Steve claims to be a self-sacrificing hero yet he has 90 years to prove that”

The room is silent as every word sinks into their bones. Every word was true and none of them could deny that not even to themselves, Tony never ever denied who he was but that doesn’t stop the anger from boiling his blood and organs.

“I’m not the only one with mistakes or a past, I’m not the only one who lies about who I am and I know that, so degrade me all you want but don’t throw it in my face” Loki deadpans “because I promise you Barton, I will win at that game every time” he says lowly.

“shut the fuck up”

“pardon?” Loki glares and Tony feels another wave of that hot red rage setting in his bones.

“shut the fuck up, you’re pissing me off”

Loki scoffs, folding his arms and barking out a laugh “I’m pissing you-“ he stops abruptly, his face dropping as he suddenly marches into the elevator, leaving everyone shocked.

Except for Tony, as fast as the anger came it transformed into fear as soon as-

As soon as Loki wasn't angry anymore.

[margoshansons]

Desperate Measures: 4/?

Bellamy Blake x Reader

Summary: After the death of one of her best friends, Y/N’s feud with Murphy gets out of hand and Charlotte betrays her.

Warnings: death, violence, gore, swearing, hanging, suicidal thoughts, suicide

Notes: buckle in, because this is a rough chapter, my dudes. Based on 1x04 “Murphy’s Law”

Wells was dead.

She had done nothing but ignore him since they landed on the ground, and now he was dead. Gone. Forever.

She would never get to see him again.

Never get to play chess with him again.

She couldn’t even remember the last thing she had said to him. 

She couldn’t even feel the grief that ran through her body. She was numb, sprinkling dirt on the mound that represented his burial site. 

The mound that represented all seventeen years of his life.

“May we meet again.” Y/N whispered, a small tear streaking down her grimy face. She stood up, turning around to see Bellamy standing there, arms crossed, his gaze soft.

“I’m sorry” He murmured, trying to reach out to her.

Y/N swallowed, gulping down her grief into her gut, pushing past the soldier and heading for the dropship, a head of blonde hair collapsing into her shoulder before she could enter. She wrapped her arms around Clarke’s mourning figure, the two girls silent as their emotions transferred over to each other, relishing in the comfort they gave each other.

“It wasn’t him” She whispered, pulling away and wiping the tears from her face. “Wells didn’t turn us in. My mom did.”

Her heart continued to rip, the numbness spreading further as Y/N offered her sympathies, “Clarke, I’m so sorry.”

The girl bit her lip, her voice thick with anger, “My own mother killed my father. How does someone do that?”

Y/N knew exactly how. “They see no other choice.”

“There’s always another choice.” Clarke’s anger radiated from her, mixing with grief over losing her best friend. She held her head high as she walked away, encouraging the others to continue building the wall. Y/N threw a look around, watching as the camp began to devolve into chaos. Octavia mostly sat with her thoughts, sharpening the makeshift weapons, while Murphy continued his tyrannical reign, abusing Connor as he struggled to lift a log. 

Y/N exhaled, resigning to her circumstances as she joined Monty in the dropship, helping create a form of interspacial morse code. 

She picked apart Octavia’s fried wristband, examining for any components that could help the two of them. 

“Y/N” Monty called, stretching his way across the workbench, “Can you hand me those tacks?”

“Yeah” she responded, leaving her tools at her work station as she went to meet Monty’s demand, handing him the small bolts leftover from the crash. “How are you doing?” She asked, hovering as she watched him push the small tack through the hole he had created, trying to forget about the events of the morning.

“I should be asking you that question.” Monty responded, “But I’m doing okay, would be better if I could find some way to keep the bracelets alive for longer than five seconds.”

Y/N chuckled, the first smile that day. “I’ll keep checking my book and Octavia’s bracelet for anything we need. I’d love it if we could find some kind of solar transmitter.”

“On the ground where the biggest technology is spears?” Monty brought up, twiddling with Clarke’s freshly removed wristband, “Not likely.”

Another chuckle escaped her, turning around as she heard boots clang against the metal floor, meeting Bellamy’s cold gaze. The stoic leader was back. “How’s the radio coming?” He asked, hands on his hips.

“It’s coming.” Y/N responded coldly, crossing her arms. She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now. “What did you need?”

“You” He spoke, catching her off guard. She stumbled backward at the news. “Jasper and Octavia found something, they wanna brief us in Clarke’s tent.”

Y/N nodded, grasping her jacket and slipping her arms through it as she passed Bellamy. 

“Franco, wait--” He called, running after her so they were walking side by side. 

“What do you want Blake?” She returned the favor, since he refused to call her by her first name. At this point, she’d honestly prefer the nickname, but he hadn’t used that since their fiasco in the cave.

“I wanted to say sorry” That stopped her in her tracks, his big brown eyes softening as he gazed down at her, fiddling with his thumbs. “For the cave, for Wells. For everything really.”

Warmth stirred in her chest, the gesture meaning more than she expected it to. Her stomach flopped, the hairs on the back of her neck stirring.

“Thanks” She choked out before heading into Clarke’s tent where Octavia and Jasper stood holding a knife.

Clarke’s eyes flickered as Y/N entered the room, grief still present in both girls as she examined the silver and yellow weapon.

“This knife..” Clarke realized, her blue eyes widening. “It was made of material from the dropship.”

“And that means?”

Y/N inhaled, insides threatening to collapse. “Someone in the camp killed Wells.” There was a traitor among them. A killer. 

They had been sent down with a murderer unafraid of the consequences.

“We need to keep this quiet,” Bellamy responded.

“Why?” anger laced Y/N’s voice, something dark swirling in her chest at the thought of Wells’ killer going unpunished. 

“So we’re just going to let a killer walk among us? Without punishment?” Clarke echoed Y/N’s sentiment, desiring the same thing she was.

Bellamy stared at the two women, eyes growing wide in fear as he caught the madness stirring behind both of their eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying Clarke,” He defended, “Believe it or not, letting the others think the grounders killed Wells is good for us. The fear of grounders is building that wall. It’s keeping us safe.” He let out a sigh, “besides there’s no way  we can even tell who did it.”

“I can” Clarke bragged, holding the knife at an angle so the initials carved into them shone in the natural light. 

JM. John Murphy.

“The people have a right to know.”

Clarke pushed past Bellamy’s protests, straight toward Murphy, brandishing his knife, accusing him of killing Wells. Y/N shot a look at Bellamy before following after her, desperate to gain some kind of closure for her friend.

“I didn’t kill Wells, the grounders did.” Murphy protested, trademark sneer written all across his face. 

“Liar” Y/N called, unable to stop the visceral reaction pouring out of her. “You’ve hated him since he first stepped foot in this camp.”

“Yeah, a lot of people did Franco,” Murphy continued, defiance written across his face.

Octavia spoke up in her defense, “He tried to kill Jasper too!”

“What?” the younger kid traded a stare with Y/N, who shrugged before Jasper gulped down his nerves and faced his almost killer.

Murphy scoffed. “I don’t have to answer to any of you.” He spun to face the rest of the group, “I don’t have to answer to anyone!”

“Come again?” Bellamy asked, crossing his arms. Murphy met his gaze and a fearful look crossed his face. The first time any of them had seen Murphy so anxious since walking into this camp.

“Bellamy, please, you have to believe that I didn’t do this.”

Y/N watched as Bellamy refused to submit, uncertainty flashing in his eyes as he let out an exhale. 

“Do you all want to live in a society with no rules?” Clarke asked, pleading to the people’s ethos, “Where people can kill without consequences? Where the guilty can go unpunished?”

“I say we float him!” Connor called, murder in his eyes. 

Y/N moved forward, “We are not the Ark.” She reminded him. Even if Murphy did kill Wells that didn’t mean they had the right to choose who lived and who died.

“It’s justice!” he called, rallying the crowd behind him.

“It's not justice it’s vengeance!” Clarke announced.

By the time she voiced her protest, the crowd was already atop Murphy and Y/N became a bystander, breath hitching, chest heaving as they dragged his body through the mud, his face unrecognizable. 

The numbness persisted, only replaced by anger as she imagined Murphy’s hands on Wells’ throat, the blood pouring over his hands while he sneered, Wells taking his last breath with Murphy’s victorious face looming over him. Suddenly, she couldn’t find a shred of sympathy remaining in her. 

Her eyes met Murphy’s helpless ones, darkness spreading through her as the noose tightened.

“Bellamy should do it!” Connor called, ushering the leader forward, the crowd chanting his name, Clarke trying to appeal to the softer part of him. His gaze locked with Y/N’s. He was waiting for her approval.

She nodded, the same thought existing in their mind.

Attachment is death.

He turned around to face the accused, rushing forward and pushing the crate from underneath his feet. No hesitation. No attachment. 

They would survive.

“What the hell are you doing?” Finn called from the treeline, moving forward to cut the rope, stopped by the mob underneath them. The madness continued, camp devolving until there was nothing but anarchy left in its wake. 

He deserved this, she told herself. 

He killed Wells.

He tried to kill Jasper.

He wanted to kill her.

“Stop it!” A small voice called, pulling her from her thoughts. A voice she recognized. “Murphy didn’t kill Wells!” 

The crowd went silent. 

“I did” Charlotte’s confession hung in the air, the pointed edge of the emotional dagger slipping deeper into Y/N’s heart as she struggled to look at this girl--this killer, with the same eyes she did only days before. 

Bellamy brought her into the tent, asking the question on everyone’s mind. “Charlotte, how could you do this?”

“I was just slaying my demons, like you told me.” She defended. 

Y/N spun to face Bellamy. What had he told her? What had happened in that cave while she was asleep? What could he have said to make her a murderer?

“She misunderstood” Bellamy explained, breath quickening. “Charlotte that is not what I meant.”

The girl shook where she stood. “Please don’t let them kill me.”

“We won’t,” Clarke promised, underlying anger lacing her voice, “But you need to understand. You killed someone Charlotte! Ended his life!” Charlotte met Y/N’s gaze, pleading with the woman she had grown so close to. “Please.”

“I told you to talk to someone!” Y/N scolded, disbelief coursing through her, “I told you Wells was there for you and instead you killed him!” She shook her head, stepping away from the younger girl, “This is your mistake Charlotte. You have to deal with the consequences.”

“Charlotte!” Murphy’s voice rang out, “Come on out here! I just wanna talk.”

Bullshit, Y/N rolled her eyes, storming out with Bellamy to face the tyrant, their presence comforting each other as a smirk drew itself on Murphy’s face. 

Even if Charlotte had killed Wells, did that mean she deserved to die? Murphy did, she knew. But Charlotte was twelve, a child. Couldn’t they offer her mercy?

“Looks like the king and queen have decided to grace us with their presence,” Murphy quipped sarcastically, “I hope you’re not expecting me to bow down.”

“Go float yourself, Murphy” Y/N shot back, anger fading to the familiar emptiness she had been feeling all day. 

“You already did that, remember?” His sneer was gone, replaced by the darkness Y/N had seen earlier. “Who’s gonna hang me this time?”

“I was just giving the people what they want” Bellamy justified, his own words tasting like ash in his mouth. 

Murphy chuckled darkly. “Right, let’s see what the people want then.” He turned around, facing the group as he yelled out, “Who wants to see the real Murderer Hang?!”

Silence. 

He chuckled again, “I see, so all of you are ready to string up me for nothing? But when this bitch confesses, you want to let her free?”

The fight that broke out hit Y/N by surprise. She brandished her knife, swiping at the people who approached her, her hand reaching around before lodging the blade deep into one of Murphy’s cronies, pulling the weapon from his thigh as he screamed, collapsing to the ground. 

Her foot slammed into his face, knocking him out cold. 

“Bellamy?” She asked worried, shaking the leader until he woke, promising her that they were going after Charlotte. His eyes fluttered open and Octavia helped pull him to his feet and Bellamy turned toward Y/N’s worrying figure. 

“We’ll go after her,” He told her, “I promise.”

She nodded and the two grasped their pack, following Murphy’s tracks deep into the forest.

The trees offered no comfort this time, knowing Murphy was using it as cover from the others, and Charlotte was trapped with Clarke and Finn somewhere they couldn’t find her.

She had done this.

She had blown up at the girl.

She had hanged Murphy.

“Hey,” Bellamy grasped her arm bringing Y/N back to reality, “We’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”

She nodded, her response cut off by a scream.

They sprinted.

By the time they found Charlotte again, the girl was feeling self-sacrificial and Murphy had found them.

“MURPHY!” Charlotte yelled over Bellamy’s shoulder, “I’m here!”

Y/N gave an apprehensive look back, “He’s gaining” She warned, picking up the pace.

They broke through the tree line, the threesome skidding to a stop before the edge of a cliff, the ravine stretching into the depths below. Her chest heaved up and down and she twirled her knife in her hand, spinning around as Murphy broke into the clearing.

“Give me the girl Bellamy,” Murphy ordered, a sick smile across his face.

Y/N stepped forward, placing herself between the two men, ready to protect Bellamy and Charlotte from his wrath. “She’s a child.”

Murphy's eyes flashed red, “So was I.”

In a flash his arm was around her neck, the sharp blade of the knife held against her throat. The trees rustled, Clarke and Finn breaking through, horror widening their eyes as they gazed upon the scene in front of them. 

“Hand over the girl, or Sparky here dies.” He gestured toward her, the knife digging further. 

“No!” Charlotte called, sobs awakening, “Please don’t hurt her.”

Bellamy scanned the situation before him, grip still tight on Charlotte’s arm. Clarke stepped forward. 

“Murphy, come on, we can talk this through” She pleaded, not wanting to lose another one of her friends. 

“I’m done hearing you talk.” He tightened his grip, knife breaking through the layer of skin, “Ten seconds.”

“Bellamy don’t!” Y/N called desperately, clawing at her throat.

“Ten” Murphy threatened. 

Bellamy’s pulse quickened, breathing shallow as he began to loosen his grip. He couldn’t lose her too. Not now. 

“Nine.”

“I’m not worth it.” Y/N choked out, her windpipe close to getting crushed.

“Eight.”

“Please don’t!” Charlotte pleaded, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, please I’ll come with you just let her go!”

“No!” Y/N urged, “Charlotte don’t. It’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be okay.” 

The little girl shook her head, tears streaming down her face as Murphy continued the countdown.

“Seven.”

Charlotte paused, “I can’t let anyone else get hurt because of me.”

“Six”

A breath.

“Five”

A beat.

“Four”

Charlotte ripped herself from Bellamy’s arms, throwing herself off the edge of the cliff, body plummeting into the ravine below. Murphy released Y/N in surprise. 

“NO!” Bellamy called down as Y/N fell beside him, staring down into the abyss.

“Charlotte!” Y/N called down, grief shooting her through the chest, cutting through her endless numbness and setting her body aflame. 

Her mom. Atom. Wells. Charlotte. 

She was a bomb, lying in wait until someone came too close and then...boom.

Clarke sobbed beside her, Bellamy staring down in shock. 

Her mouth grew slack, eyes unable to tear themselves away from the ravine until Bellamy stood, the sound of skin against skin pulling her upward. The soldier was atop Murphy, his fists pummeling into the delinquent's face, his screams ringing through the air. 

“Bellamy stop!” Y/N called, reaching out.

Finn reached him first, pulling the older boy off of Murphy, “You’ll kill him.”

“He deserves to die!” Bellamy raged, anger ablaze in his eyes, face alight with an untapped rage that Y/N had never seen.

“No!” Clarke reprimanded, “We don’t decide who lives and dies. Not down here!”

“I swear to god if you say the people--”

“No” Clarke shook her head, “I was wrong. But we need rules! We can’t just live by whatever the hell we want.”

Bellamy snarled, “Oh yeah, and who makes those rules? You?” He threw a pointed look their way. 

“From now on we will.” Y/N offered, calmly stepping forward. “All three of us.”

“So what?” Bellamy asked, still seething, “We just let him back into camp? After everything he’s done?”

“No--” 

“Then what?!”

Y/N stared at Murphy, bloodied and covered in mud, barely able to stand. “We banish him.” She replied, catching the arguing leaders by surprise. 

“And if he refuses to leave?” Bellamy’s pessimistic attitude was really starting to get to her again.

“Then we kill him.” Clarke offered, sending a cold look toward Murphy. Bellamy sniffed, his eyes latching onto the fresh cut on Y/N’s neck, the newly drawn blood sending him flying toward Murphy, dragging him by the collar to the edge of the ravine. 

“I see you anywhere near here, and you’re dead.” He snarled, pressing his knife deep into his neck before throwing him headfirst into the ground, storming away. 

Y/N shot a pitiful look his way, throwing her blunt knife to the ground, giving him more than one weapon. 

His hoarse voice called after her, “You’re not like us. I saw your blood, you can’t hide your secret forever.”

She leaned down, hand squeezing a clump of his hair as she responded darkly, “I’ve kept this safe for eighteen years. If I get any ideas about you even thinking about breaking that streak, then I’ll hang you myself.”

She pushed his face deep into the mud, striding back to camp.

***

“You wanna do the honors?” Monty asked the newly recovered Jasper, a smile on both of their faces. The radio was finished. The would soon be able to contact the Ark. Some good had come out of this day after all. Y/N watched eagerly as Jasper plugged the cord into the port.

The device sparked, drawing electricity as the wristband fell dark. 

A jolt of pain distracted her and she watched as her wristband clanged against the metal of the dropship. 

Dark.

She leaned down, hands gingerly clenching the silver device, blocking out all sound as she retreated into her tent, the wind howling outside. What was she going to do now? Her family was up there. Her friends were up there. How many of them would follow down if they thought she was dead?

Her hand ran itself through her hair, a visceral scream exiting her mouth as she threw the useless piece of metal against the ground, hanging her head in her hands. It didn’t matter anymore. Her survival didn’t matter anymore.

She should’ve let Murphy kill her back there. What else did she have to live for?

Saltwater burned her skin as the tears fell.

The dam was broken. Her wall was being torn apart piece by piece. 

“Hey Franco, Miller’s--” Bellamy stopped when he saw the state she was in, “--looking for you.”

Y/N turned away, trying to wipe away the tears as they came. “Go away Bellamy” She requested, not wanting to see anyone at all. 

He didn’t move, hesitating instead. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.” He advised, settling in next to her. “No one expects you to.”

She laughed mirthlessly, “Everyone expects me to.” She breathed, voice hoarse, “It’s why I wanted Murphy to kill me back by the cliff.”

Whoops, there it was. Her secret was out. 

“I’m a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any minute” She explained, the numbness returning as she stared ahead. “People would be better off if I just...disappeared.”

Bellamy gulped, “That’s not true. You had the option to float yourself and you didn’t” He reminded her, catching the engineer by surprise, “You chose Earth. Something in you wants to live Franco, and it’s time you listened to it.”

She smiled at the encouraging speech, the newfound warmth pushing back the emptiness as she watched Bellamy stand, his hand lingering on her shoulder before making his exit. 

Her wall crumbled.

We getting some quality time! The pairing is coming together my people.

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[ourkarlanicoleuniverse]

Sweet Nothing (MHA Staff AU Fanfiction)

Chapter 7

Warnings: None, swf. 

Hope you enjoy!

I stared at the little green haired boy as he looked at me with pleading eyes. What exactly does he want me to tell me about how I know all the All Might and All For One-One For All debacle?

"Well, I can't really explain how All Might was as a mentor. All I can say is that he was like a father figure for me while I worked with him. A lot of my older interviews actually asked me how it was working under him and I explained it better then." I moved my hair behind my ear as I averted my eyes from his. "But I was wondering if you had extra information about his quirk that others might not know." He clenched his fists harder.

"I only know as much as you do, Midoriya. Well, actually no. Did All Might mention that I can't use his quirk?" I looked at the student, noticing he looked clueless about the whole thing. I sighed, "I guess not. Well, now you know. So if you need me to train you or give you tips on how to use One For All that Toshinori isn't telling you, I can't be the person for it."

"Why can't your quirk work on him?" His eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't know. I assume it's because how it can only be transferred through DNA and consent. I would be taking it solely through touching and without Toshinori wanting me too." Should I tell him about the time I met Toshinori? Nah, I'll let Toshinori tell that story. "But it doesn't really matter since my quirk works like his anyway." I shrugged.

"Could you maybe help me find a way to not injure myself when I use One For All? Especially with the Sports Festival coming up." His face was written in worry.

"Doesn't Toshinori tell you how much of your quirk you should be using?" He nodded yes, "Do you listen to him?" He nodded no. "Well, maybe start with that. And maybe if that doesn't work while you prepare for the festival, come find me and I'll train with you." I gave him a warm smile and put a hand on his shoulder. "Toshinori chose you for a reason, I have to trust that. Plus, Aizawa and I have talked about how much potential you hold. So, I don't mind helping you."

The boy's face brightened with glee and he hugged me, "Thank you so much, Ms. Montoya."

I chuckled, "I'm happy to help. Please don't push yourself too hard. Just because you're the new holder on One For All doesn't mean you have to stress yourself out too much. Now get back to class before Ms. Midnight gets worried." The boy quickly nodded and bowed and rushed back to class. I'm glad I didn't have to go into my whole backstory with All Might to him, that could wait until it becomes important.

I made my way back to the lounge to finish my work as Aizawa limped out. I gave him a quick wave and told him to be careful as he grunted and nodded back. Love how he can be a teddy bear when we're alone in the hospital or when we're at his apartment but when at work he's back to being a rude butthead. As I got into my desk I noticed Snipe was already gone, and Iris was waiting patiently for me with her lunch.

Her and I exchanged smiles, "Oh so now it's time to get you to myself?"

"What? I've been busy teaching young heroes, you know?" She held her hands up in defense, "To be fair, though, these kids aren't taking World Hero History that serious." She pouted. " I finally got to catch up with Aizawa for a little bit before he left. Should I be worried that he's working instead of resting?"

I groaned, "Don't get me started. I was telling Hound Dog that we argued nonstop about it. Clearly, I lost the argument." I sat down next to her and grabbed a gyoza from her plate, "He's so stubborn. Remember when he wasn't? Like if I showed some concern, he used to actually consider it."

"He's not a lovesick sixteen-year-old anymore, that's why." She looked at me, amused, "But I can tell that he still takes your input into consideration about other things."

"Like what? The students? He kind of has to." I gave a whole hearted laugh. "And I know that he's not like how he was at sixteen. We all kind of changed since then. He just grew worse since then."

She picked at her lunch, "I don't think so. You guys just have to be patient with each other. Especially right now since he's probably all grumpy about his injuries." She gave me a small smile, "You guys are both stubborn and independent. It's hard to adjust to having people look after you."

I huffed, "Here I am, the counselor being counseled."

She let out a chuckle, "Well, even therapists have their own therapists."

"I just wished it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable to be working with him. But I guess it's what we get for having unresolved issues."

"Over time, I'm sure you both will be okay. Like I said, be patient."

"Patience. Not either of our virtues." I finished typing and emailed it to the copying department. "Done. Now, on to a quick lunch and then stop by the class to talk about the Sports Festival." I proudly smiled.

"I really like your class. Lily's aren't as interesting. Except for Monoma." Iris took a sip of her water and handed me my bag with my lunch in it.

"Oh yeah, she and Vlad told me about him. Both had very different ways to word out their opinions though." I laughed, "Lily was telling me if he was going to become a villain that his origin story would be not being able to beat Class 1-A at being better students and future heroes."

"And Vlad?"

"He said that Monoma was a very determined student, but that he needed to find a different way to motivate himself." I smirked.

Iris scrunched her nose up before laughing, "Of course that's what he said."

I stuffed my chicken caesar salad in my face, "So far, all the other teachers pretty much said that he's likeable when he doesn't open his mouth. I kind of feel bad that he got stuck with Lily and vice versa."

"Same here. Have you gotten any update on your license?" Iris asked.

"No, not really. So far, information from the case hasn't broken out either. The U.S really only focused on the allegations and how my side of the case lost. Aside from that, the court, the agency, even Gemini, have all kept their mouths shut about the case." I let out a small sigh, "I'm actually pretty relieved about that."

"I don't get why it matters, you already have your license suspended."

"I just don't want the American people to turn on me because of the evidence used against my testimony. If that happens, then there's no chance I'll get my suspension lifted." I looked down. I wasn't ashamed of the events, I just didn't want it all to be twisted in front of citizens, in front of my students. It was already hard enough to be shamed in court. I didn't need a whole country to do it.

I felt a hand on my knee. Iris looked at me with her ocean eyes, "I don't think the news would try and twist it around and make that man look like a victim. The American press loves you. And so do the American people. You and your coworkers were speaking out. They would see that if anything came out."

I gave her a solemn look, "I forget you read minds."

"It's because my quirk is record-keeping for the most part. It makes people forget how I can get my information." She gave my knee a little squeeze. "Does anyone else know about the details of the case?"

"The staff just know the general information. But I kept it mostly vague, anyone who knows details about it is just Lily mainly. Nezu and All Might know of course. Aizawa also knows, but that's because I told him one of the times my agency had to work with his years ago." I brushed through the information.

"Why did you tell him if you guys weren't talking during that time?" She scrunched her eyebrows.

"It's complicated. Things happened during the mission that I had to explain what happened. It was the mission after Captain Celebrity got his license back and Marga, Aaron, and Gemini had to assist him with a case he was on." I said taking another bite.

"The same mission where you had to deal with not only the mafia in Japan but their allies back in the U.S.?" I nodded a yes in response. "Ohhhhh, yeah, I remember you telling me how that mission was. Now it makes sense why it might've came up between you two."

"Why are you letting someone lower than you talk down to you?" His hair grew longer and flew in the wind as we were standing by the ocean. He was still wearing his hero suit but without his capture weapon. Personally, to me, the moonlight cascaded on his features beautifully, as if the moon wanted him to look like an angel. It was pissing me off.

"Why do you care?" I snapped, "You haven't spoken to me in seven years. I've tried texting, email, even calling when I knew it was a reasonable time in Japan. But you never answered. Never replied. After a while, a girl gets a hint that her friend doesn't care about her anymore." I folded my arm hugging the white cardigan I changed into closer to my body as the breeze blew colder air.

"I did... I do care. It was just a hard time for me to talk to you during the first year you were gone." He averted his grey eyes away from my brown ones. There was a tint of blush on his cheeks. And his eyes were filled with regret. "I wasn't really in the right state of mind, I didn't want that to be a burden."

I glared at him, "Burden? When have you ever been a burden for me? Did you think I was perfectly okay during that year? Why else would I have tried to stay in contact with you?" I stood taller, feeling tears brim my eyes, "I needed a little piece of home while I was away, whether it be you venting to me about your problems or talking about cats. When I needed you, you weren't there, and now you're judging me for the way I act with my colleagues when you don't even know why."

There was a pause. He looked back at me and searched my face. His eyes were red, but it wasn't from his dry eye. Tears were threatening to fall from both of our eyes. We just stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity until Aizawa's venomous tone pierced through it. "What did that bastard do to you?"

I blinked a little coming back into my thoughts, "Yeah, so he knows. But when I told him I told him to not bother trying to patch things up between us because he felt bad. If we were meant to be friends again, I wanted it to be organic, not out of pity and regret. Which is why we barely talked afterwards and was a little awkward between us." I grinned, "But we're getting there as you said."

Iris just hummed and nodded in response. "That would explain why he thinks more highly of you." She commented as she gathered up her mess and threw it away in the trash. I just looked at her confused mainly. I'm not surprised if Aizawa thought highly of me, just surprised that he would so freely voice it out. Maybe it was because it was Iris. We were all very open to her since high school. She smiled back at me, "I have to get going, I have to teach Class 1-B now that they're done with Mic's class. I'm happy to see you and Aizawa managed to start patching things up, it looks like you both needed it."

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

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[shipersanonymous]

One Hit West

By: ShipersAnonymous

Chapters: 1/?

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis:

Danger at every turn, a darkness threatening to consume her, a secret she's trying to keep, a life she's trying to protect.

Iris West is the best at what she does. She knows her way around the shadows and is unstoppable with a gun. But when her old flame, Barry Allen, suddenly makes his way into her family's hit list she's forced to go against her nature to save the man she once loved. The man she still loves.

When you kill for a living, death is bound to follow where you go but how do you fight against the one thing you've been trained to do?

How do you keep yourself from being tempted by the past?

How do you protect the ones you love when the greatest danger in their lives is you?

Author's Note:

OK I'm so sorry this is so late (my time atleast) but this took a little figuring out 😅.

IT'S FINALLY HERE! My first tumblr fan fic! I'm beyond excited! Hope you all like it! Feel free to let me know what you think and share your theories!

XOXO

************ Cliffhanger Warning *************

Chapter 1

[Iris]

Bang!

The loud and familiar sound of the gun going off echoes through the abandoned warehouse and the, now, dead man’s blood splatters onto her black leather coat. She stares down at him unmoved, her face set in an expression of cold indifference. A heavy silence ensues as she simply looks into her victims cold blue eyes, a piece of her own dwindling humanity slipping out of her with every passing second. The lifeless orbs stare back at her, frozen with that special brand of fear that she’s seen on many a hit. The fear that consumes each soul at the very last second, just before she pulls her trigger. The realisation that those are the last breaths they’ll ever take, that hers are the last eyes they’ll ever see.

Satisfied that her job has been done, Iris lifts her booted foot from the corpse’s neck. The lifeless head bobs to the side and blood trickles from the bullet wound in the center like a spot of dark red paint on a fleshy canvas. She replaces her gun in its holster as she walks away from the cooling body.

“Seriously?” Eddie asks as she steps outside the abandoned building into the brisk night air. She turns her head towards him and disdainfully regards his cool stance. With his back and a foot propped against the wall and his arms casually crossed over his chest he oozes a carelessness that has become a Hitfamily trademark. She doesn’t validate his remark with the expected ‘what?’, but instead stares him down and waits for the elaboration that, she has no doubt, will follow.

“You could have put a silencer on that thing.” He explains and she simply rolls her eyes and huffs out exasperated. With a turn of her heel she begins her walk back up to her car, her unwanted partner following closely behind her.

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna ignore me? You know just cause you’re the bosses daughter Iri-”

The click of the gun engaging shuts him up and before he can blink he’s staring down the barrel of her still warm weapon.

“Listen Thawne, this was a one woman hit that I could have done in my sleep and the only reason why you’re here is cause between dealing with you and dealing with my dad you’re easier to kill. That being said…”

She steps closer to him and pulls him to her by his collar. Her gun rests beneath his raised chin and she can practically smell the fright rolling off him in tiny beads of sweat.

“… If you ever try to tell me how to do my job again, I’ll make it a point to show you just how well I know what I’m doing and the last thing you’ll see on this earth is how good I am at pulling the trigger. Incase you haven’t heard, I never miss. You get the picture?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the fearful lump forming in his throat and he nods, too afraid of saying the wrong thing and ending up like the corpse that lies bleeding in the warehouse a few feet away.

“Good. And when we’re out on a hit, it’s West. Now get out of my sight before I have to call two bodies in. I don’t need the extra paper work.” She spits shoving him away as she let’s go.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He shakes out before, scrambling to his feet and making a hasty retreat. She disengages her gun and replaces it in her holster as she tries to push down her annoyance. You’d think that with a success rate as high as hers her father would stop trying to send her out with baby sitters. Alas she’s done this tango long enough to know that there’s no use fighting with Father West. All she can hope for is a co-hitman that doesn’t actually have a thirst for blood and let’s her do her own thing. A wind blows through her tensed body, swaying her coat and ponytail synchronically in the air. A dog barks in the distance, the only sign of life in the dark and deserted place. Iris takes a moment to breathe as she feels the adrenaline begin to leave her body.

It’s time to go.

She walks the rest of the steep way up to her black car, stopping briefly to relieve herself of her stained coat and dispensing it in the trunk before stepping into the drivers seat.

With a push of the start button, the machine roars to life. Iris buckles up and takes off, speeding away in the direction of the city. One hand holds the steering wheel and the other’s fingers dance over the keypad from the monitor in the dashboard with a ritualistic ease. She calls the main office and waits for the prerecorded prompt. Instead of a robotic voice, a chime cries through the speakers, announcing that she has an incoming call.

She glances at the screen for a moment, the number is unlisted. Suspiciously she reaches up to her Bluetooth ear piece and answers.

“Hello?”

“Iris it’s me,” her brothers voice responds on the other end and an annoyance creases her brow.

“Wallace what the hell?” she demands, her eyes never leaving the road, her voice never faltering despite the nervous hammering of her heart.

“Listen you can scold me later but there’s no time for that now. You need to get to the Golden Gate Casino pronto,” the urgency in his voice is unmistakable and Iris feels herself begin to worry.

“Why?”

“Dad got a request for a hit an hour ago and you need to stop him,” he whispers.

“Wait dad’s actually going on a hit himself. Boy must be some important client,” she observes, still confused as to why her brother would send her on a literal suicide mission.

“It’s not the client that’s important, it’s the target. He has a, uh, personal score to even out.”

“Now I know you’re joking. That’s against our oath, and dad would never do that. No matter how much a person pisse-”

“It’s Barry.” Wally blurts out and the shock is enough to make her skied to a stop.

“What?” she asks feeling her lungs begin to collapse.

“The target is Barry Allen.” He clarifies.

Her skin irrupts in goosebumps at the mention of his name. It’s been so long since she last heard it said out loud, six years to be exact. A thin layer of tears gloss over her wide eyes and the sound of angered hoots is drowned out by the roar of her heart beat as memories flood her mind.

“Why Iris? Just, just tell me why? Did I do something wrong?” he begged, his voice tremulous from the effort of holding in his sobs.

“No Barry, you were perfect in every way it’s just-”

“Then why are you doing this? Don’t…” he paused, trying to find the stomach to ask what he was about to ask.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” the question came out as a whisper but Barry couldn’t bare to wait for the answer. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and she allowed herself a moment of weakness, savoring the warmth of his arms one last time.

“Don’t do this to us. Don’t- don’t do this to me.” He pleaded. She pulled away enough to look up into his saddened gaze, trying her best to hold back her own tears.

She couldn’t cry. She didn’t deserve to cry. Not with all the heartache she was no doubt causing him.

“I can’t lose you,” he begged tightening his hold on her as if he could just trap her there and keep her in his embrace forever.

“It’s for the best Barry. You, have to let me go.” She said softly though it mostly seemed like she was trying to convince herself of that.

“Iris,” he whispered her name like a cry of agony, the longing hanging from each syllable. Hurt punctuating every letter. Without thinking she kissed him, long and hard, expressing in that moment her own pain. Her own love. Her goodbye.

They broke apart and she connected her forehead to his. She kept her eyes closed but she could feel his tears dripping onto her hand like rain on a pavement.

“I love you Barry. And… a part of me knows that I always will. But I can’t be with you any longer. This- this is goodbye.” She whispered and before she gave in to her wailing heart she pushed out of his embrace and ran. She ran and never looked back. Not when he screamed out her name like he was being torn apart limb for limb the further away she got from him. Not when his footsteps no longer echoed behind her. Not when she got home and finally let herself cry. Not ever. She would never stop running. She couldn’t ever stop.

“Iris!” her brother cuts through her thoughts and she comes to, her cheeks wet with tears she thought she’d never shed again. She dabs away at them quickly and closes her eyes, shifting her mindset back to the present.

“How close is he?” Her voice was firm like a concrete wall.

“I’m not sure I had to sneak out of the office to give you the heads up but judging by the time dad left he should be there in the next 45 minutes.” He informs. Mechanically, Iris starts up the car, both her hands gripping the wheel with such force that her knuckles pale.

“I’m closer, I can make it in twenty. Get rid of your burner and be careful when you sneak back in.” She warns her foot flattening against the gass as she passes her third red light.

“I’ll be fine don’t worry. Keep me posted.” He responds.

“Wally wait!” She calls out before he hangs up.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Could you call Nissa for me? Let her know what happened and check that everything’s OK? If you can’t reach her try Jen. She usually sleeps over on weekends,” Iris asks.

“Sure thing sis. Consider it done.” He says sternly and Iris breathes a momentary sigh of relief.

“Thanks Wally,” She says softly, shedding her murderous demeanour for just a second.

“Anytime. Oh and sis?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“Always.”

**********************************************

Iris comes to a violent stop in one of the parking slots towards the outskirts of the parking lot where no one ever parks. A brief glance at her watch tells her she has 25 minutes to get in, find him and get him out. With no time to lose she grabs her duffle bag from the trunk and squeezes into her back seat for a quick change of outfits. This will go a lot smoother if she can draw as little attention to herself as possible. Thanking her organised nature for keeping a classy yet flexible short jumpsuit in her car she slips on her heels, touches up her make up and walks towards the entrance with 15 minutes to spare. Her high ponytail sways with her hips as she clicks her way up the stairs, her senses on high alert.

To get to the gaming lounge she needs to pass through the metal detectors but the Golden Gate has been the setting for many a rendezvous with targets and clients so she barely breaks a sweat as she reaches the front of the line. Calmly, she removes the red emerald ring that rests on her ring finger, a symbol of who she is, and places it on a tray along with her clutch and her earrings. Upon seeing the ring the security guard nods his head in understanding and discreetly brushes his pass over the scanner embedded into the metal detector. It flashes green and she walks in with out a single beep. She nods back in appreciation and retrieves her belongings before stepping into a broad, red-carpeted hallway. Her pistol safely hidden in her clutch.

A clock on the wall tells her she lost five minutes in the line so she picks up her pace. As she nears the top of the stairs that will lead her down to the gambling area she forces all thoughts away from her mind and tries to prepare herself to see him again.

The only man she’s ever loved. The worst heartbreak she’s ever caused.

At the top of the stairway she scans the room, looking from any remote sign of familiarity and there, in the corner, seated at one of the roulette tables, she finds him.

For a second her heart stops and she forgets how to breathe. His back is to her but just the sight of his glistening brown-black hair, strands that once upon a lifetime she used to contently comb her fingers through, was enough to spike her nerve levels. Memories try to push their way back into her mind but she forces them down, fully aware that time is not on their side.

My side.

She scolds herself.

There is no “us”.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself she hurries down the stairs, without drawing any attention to herself, and worms her way to him. Just before she reaches him she takes a second to straighten out her outfit and plasters on her most seductive expression.

“Mind if I join you Mr. Allen?” She whispers into his ear and the chip that he had been nervously fiddling with slips from his finger, clattering on to the table.