#splinter: damn how did I ever get so lucky | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ducknotinarow · 1 year ago

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03 Raph Don - Fatal Blow Meme

Don felt it before he saw what happened; it was like a burn that engulfed him in seconds. His head snapped to the side, eyes widening when he saw Raph. His blood ran cold.

Donatello wasn't thinking himself as he ran, and near collapsed at Raphael's side,

"Raph! Raph are you okay!"

He knew they weren't, what a stupid thing to say.

Sliding his Bo Staff back onto his shell, Donatello carefully started getting Raph to leave onto him. He didn't care that the foot were still around, that one of them would notice those two, and go after them over Leo and Mikey. Donatello didn't care about it at all.

All he wanted to do was get Raphael back home,

"Come on Raph, the lair isn't far; I'll take care of you okay...?" Don told him, "Yanno, I was thinking of doing some upgrades to your bike soon, I'll need you anyone to tell me if you like it or not..."

Maybe he could bargain, keep them awake,

"Heh, maybe see if I can finally make it Raph proof..."

Anything to just try and keep them awake, so he can take care of them.

| My character takes a fatal blow intended for your character. How does your character react?

Never failed did it? They would just always seem to have to deal with the foot. Ever since they took out the Shredder, Karai had been dead set on taking them out in return. Raphael always knew they couldn't trust her. Despite claims of leaving them alone they were nothing but lies. Makes sense considering her so called father was the same way like when he tried to trick Leo before. If Leo would have just ended it when he had the chance they wouldn't be in this situation again. Raphael thought as he gripped the back of the driver seat of the turtle tank. His gaze shifting to the left to look at the scared shell of his older brother. Sometimes he wished Leo hadn't gotten better least when he was on that kick he took thing more serious and wasn't such a damn push over. Karai nearly killed them all once before, it took everything Raph could think to keep them all safe. Making them split apart by luck they all manged to slip away.

Raph wasn't sure they would get as lucky again. All he knew was he needed to keep them safe, least with Leo around he didn't have to worry about leading. That did take a weight off his shoulders. It meant he could act a bit more reckless. Meaning he could get the job done.

His family all in the tank together this time, Leo always preached they were stronger together. But right now? Raph felt them grouping up like this would only paint the target bigger. Karai had all her forces aimed on to them. It wasn't settling well on his nerves right now. But he would stay put for now, even as claws dug into the fabric of the driver seat. He's sure Don can tell the storm coming over his mind as they focused on getting to the base of the foot clan. Raphael felt the car pick up speed. Looking in the rear view mirror to catch the gaze of his twin. All either of them ever needed was a single look. Raphael lowered his gaze but made the corner of his beak lift a bit. To tell Donnie he would be fine, he was just anxious. They had so many people to be worried about. April and Casey were with them as well. Everyone that meant anything to them was in this car and they were driving toward the home base of their worst enemy. And every second it took to get there only made it worse.

Finally the Car pulled to a stop and Leo took a few of them out right away the plan was to to drop them off and have Don park somewhere safe for April and Splinter to lay low at for the time being. As they were trying to get out though, something hard hit the car. All Raphael recalled was falling forward and a bright flash. There was some scrambling after that, he heard different voices all panicking ad trying to move. It’s not till his eyes seem to make out the purple mask around Donnie’s eyes. There was a buzzing pain to the back of his head but he could just tell what Donnie was saying to him, before the words even left his beak. Raphael moved to sit up trying to gather his bearings and see what was going on. Leo and Mikey were still making way to the building, Leo ordering Don and Raph to follow most likely. His arm slung over Don’s shoulders as he lifted up to his feet. Raph eyed April and Casey was near her. They didn’t have to worry she would be fine with Casey he wouldn’t let anyone harm her let alone get a inch close to her. Don drew his Bo staff as foot solders made their way to the pair, trying to keep them apart from Leo and Mikey. Spread them out weaken them somehow. Tough luck on that Raph and Don were a great match up, he grabbed for his sai and took a stance shell to shell with Don. Before spotting the turned over vehicle maybe he could draw some attention away.

“I got a plan” Was all he said to his twin as he grabbed on to Don’s bow letting himself be lifted back, he pressed his weight back towards Donnie as they bent down waiting for first set of foot ninja to make their way over to him. Near about lunching out thanks to Don, when they pushed back he let go of the Bo staff and planted his feet firmly on to their shoulders. turning them in to a spring board as he kept off, taking them down in the process left a smile on his face as he landed on top of the busted van. “Man we spent week gettin' the parts for this thing” Raph complained over for a moment before he jumped in.

Raphael made his way towards the back smiling when he found his shellcycle he stood it up and hopped on. Giving the engine a few revs making sure no damage was taken. Before he floored it and shoot out the back doors like he would so many times before. Skidding to a stop once again he worked to scan and look around what all was going on, he did gain some attention by doing what he had but not enough. Leo and Mikey had made it closer to the building busy trying to get in to the tower. He swore Leo better not back out again this time around. It seemed like April and Casey had managed to break away as well. That mainly left Donnie, who was at the worst of it all. Surrounded but doing his best to make use of his bo staff. Long as they didn't try that dumb ass trick again. Raphael revved the engine of his bike as he could just see Donnie slowly seemingly getting engulfed in the crowd around his twin. It was bad enough they dragged Casey and April into their mess..again. He wasn't losing anyone today, especially not Donatello.

He loved all his brothers, his heart was one of four after all but even Raphael could admit he was the closet to his twin brother. So close they shared a connection unmatched with the other two. Sure he and Leo always had their own bond and he even shared one with Mikey. But the one with Donatello? was deeper, able to communicate with so little, Donnie could space out a bit in a fight because he knew Raphael would be there to have his back. "Stay away from him!" Raphael near bellowed as he twisted the handles tighter leg lifted from the ground. Moving like he was going to pop the bike on to the back wheel. When in truth he was just building up the speed on his bike. When he normally would lift and force all the weight of his bike onto the back wheel he drove forward instead. Using the built up speed to send himself flying towards the crowd around Donatello. "Move it brainiac!"

Was the only real warning Raphael gave before he slammed hard on the gas and sent himself flying into towards the crowd. Bulldozing through them like a knife in warmed butter. It took all he could to least give his twin some breathing room. Raphael could feel like something in the bike just locked up from that but he still skidded again so to turn around faster, repeating what he had before. Before he went fly forward once again. The speed wasn't as fast, the front wheel had locked up. he might have been wrong about it being in perfect condition. Eyes narrowed seeing Donnie still in a pinch, they always had a blind spot it seemed when it came to the back. Eyeing one of the foot creeps he knocked down getting up sword in hand as they were ready to rush at Don. Raphael, gripped the handles tighter despite the locking issue and forced the bike to build up the momentum. The timing just a bit off but he did get between Don and the foot ninja in time. Throwing one had out to push Don forward somewhat, feeling something burn against the unprotected part of his exposed side. Gritting his teeth he manged to reach for one of his sai and tossed it at the foot solider on his other side. Grabbing back on to the handle bars only made that burning feel on his side worse. But he couldn't worry about it. The bike started to sway, fish tailing even as he forced both hands to hold to the handles it wasn't enough. The front wheel finally jammed.

Raphael did his best to try and keep the bike stable but control was fully lost as the bolts on the back wheel seemed to blow right off the wheel loosened and the whole bike seemed to be pull back with the force. Next thing Raphael knew he was rolling off the bike, and that sharp burn to his side became a far more pricing stab to his side. As something was forced further into his side. He hadn't noticed it was lodged into him till that moment. He could hear something snap, metal breaking as he continued to roll and roll till his body slammed into pole finally stopping him. Raphael was seeing stars as he tried to keep conscious best he could all things considered. Groaning in nothing but pain he tried to feel at his side able to just feel the jagged end of the blade. He took hold of it best he could and tried to pull it out. But there just wasn't enough to hold on to.

"Raph! Raph are you okay!"

He slightly breath out around the pain and looked to Donnie, more relieved they seemed untouched still. Good. They both knew the question as stupid he just didn't offer the usual snark in response. Meaning it really was bad. He tried to breath in but it wasn't easy, so he torn his helmet off hoping the get some air, why did it feel so thin? Something isn't right he knows it's not right. He watched Donatello put his Bo staff back to place on their own shell before he moved in close to Raph's side. He muster enough movement to throw his arm over their shoulder. Needing to push all his weight toward them just to get up to his feet. All that hollering must have dried out his mouth as he smacked his beak trying to build up spit to satisfy the need for water.

"Come on Raph, the lair isn't far; I'll take care of you okay...?"

Raphael leaned on Don more as they tried walking together, his eyes manged to catch the sight of his bike. It looked like a real wreck even the body was damaged. That would take a lot to fix up. "..m'sorry" Raph managed to speak despite the pain. "Busted up the bike again." Was all he could think to say, Donnie might be often mistaken as weak but Raphael knew they could easily support his weight no issue as he let one foot drag across the pavement of the street.

"Yanno, I was thinking of doing some upgrades to your bike soon, I'll need you anyone to tell me if you like it or not..."

Was that Donnie's way of tell him not to worry about the bike? seemed weird he just couldn't tell. Even with the helmet on he must have hit the ground hard. He was feel sick with each step they took, trying to retreat to the lair and leave the rest to the others to handle. Soon as they got back to the lair he would have Splinter look after him so Don could return to the fight.

"Heh, maybe see if I can finally make it Raph proof..."

Raphael couldn't stay up any longer, despite how much he was trying, "heh..think I'll still find a way to-" his body started to go limp as he slid out from Donatello's hold. Falling on to the street once again. Something isn't right he knows it isn't right. He can hardly keep his eyes open right now even with trying to keep the conversation with Donnie going. Once again he's meant with that look Donnie gave him. So much said through a single stare from the eyes above him. Even if he could see the red and green flakes sprinkled in them. Raphael knew what Donnie was worrying over. Raphael knows hes not making it back to the lair. Raphael wanted so much to tell Donnie to just go, help the others. Instead he reached for Donnie and held on to his brothers forearm. Knowing they were fretting trying to think of answers a solution to fix this. "Always thought..I go out 'his way" One of them had to admit to reality in this moment.

"...stay wit' me" Was a request not even Raphael thought he ever make. Maybe it just because Don was with him he doesn't know. He doesn't have the luxury of time to care either. Each shaky breath he lets out could be the last one. It's odd he feels like Donnie the one slipping away here not so much himself, like whatever it was that always kept them in sync was fading. Don had to feel it as well. Why he couldn't let go of them physically. As he used what ever strength he had in him to simply curl his fingers in tighter around Don's arm. A silent plead to his twin. To not leave him, he's sure they are trying to tell him to fight to stick through, let him find a way to get him back to the lair even. But all he can feel despite how hard he grips on to his twin. Id them slipping through his fingers.

"stay..please stay." is all he can voice, before his eyes finally closed.

#muse| hamato raphael #madamkezzie #aflockoffeathers #[ you think first i hit first -aflockoffeathers]#[03 verse]#fatal blow meme #meme answers #meme reply #ic reply #((I just really wanted to focus on the twin connection uwu))#tw: death mentioned

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

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First Kiss - Carl Grimes

Request: Hi so I’ve seen you take requests for TWD, so I was wondering if you can do Carl x reader. I was thinking you can do something that takes place in season 8 where the reader and Carl are talking about the war and the reader is all worried that Carl will die because he’s her best friend and the only one she has left, so maybe ti reassure her Carl kisses her and confesses that he loves her and maybe they become a couple, I thought it would be cute

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

There were a lot of things to know about Carl. He was headstrong, unbreakable in his loyalty to people he deemed family, constantly searching for his dad’s favor, and, most of all, really damn lucky. You’d met Carl the only real way to meet a person in a post-apocalyptic world, when he opened a shipping container and saved you from becoming another person’s dinner. Rick had told you, even as you stood there in the middle of the woods, shivering and bloody and caked in mud, that you would have to pull your own weight if you wanted to stay. 

“Don’t worry,” Carl had reassured you in a whisper as his dad walked away, “you’ll be fine.” 

In the months that followed Carl hadn’t only become your best friend but also your buffer to the outside world. If Alexandria had put a wall up around itself to block out the ugly parts of life than so had you, though yours just happened to be Carl Grimes. 

Sometimes though, you wished you could be that same wall of protection for him. At least long enough to prevent him from doing something stupid. “Everyone’s luck runs out eventually Carl, all it takes is one stray bullet or walker you weren’t expecting and bam!” You clapped your hands together with finality, “you’re dinner.” 

“I have to do something,” he stressed. 

Negan had incited something in Carl that was very different from his father’s exhausted submission. He didn’t want to bid time and when the war seemed to reach a crescendo, he was itching to get involved. Rick told him to stand down more times than you could count, trying desperately to give his son any kind of responsibility that would keep him alive but Carl had played with fire before and you were beginning to realize that he had an uncanny way of coming out unscathed. 

The eye was hard to miss but you’d seen the scar on his stomach from being shot too. The scars from the group they’d run into after their prison stronghold had fallen. You’d watched more times than you could count as Carl seemed to escape bad situations unscathed. 

“Stay here.” It seemed like the simplest option. He could stay here with you while you helped keep Aexandria standing and made sure nothing bad happened to Judith. “If everyone goes off to fight and no one stays…who protects the community?” 

“You’ll be here, you know how to shoot.” Carl reasoned, as if your months of practice with a gun had made you an expert. 

You had your own fair share of luck too. You’d made it this far after all, almost entirely alone. Both of your parents had died in the beginning, when reports were just coming in about people getting infected. They’d been some of the first. You’d bounced around communities after that, finding places that had kids that you could blend into…this new world demanded quick thinking and uncanny survival skills. 

“I’m one person Carl! Your dad put you in charge-“ 

“My dad doesn’t know what he’s doing!” Carl snapped, the mention of Rick always managing to put him on edge. 

He loved his dad, emulated him to a sometimes terrifying degree, but you knew better than anyone that adoration turned to anger and disappointment. When Rick didn’t live up to the unmeetable standards that Carl set for him in his mind, it only led to a further splinter in their relationship.

“No one knows what they're doing,” you argued, “we’ve never been put in this sort of position before...I mean, Negan is-” you trailed off. You’d heard stories of the group before they reached Terminus, and while that community had been terrifying, there was something more to Negan that scared you.

“He’s just a person.”

“So then stay here and trust that your dad is making good decisions.” You replied.

“I can’t.” He moved toward the door like he was planning on leaving, ending the conversation there in the middle of the argument with no resolution. Before he could reach the door, he turned back around, “I don’t wanna fight about this with you every day.”

“I don’t wanna fight with you either Carl...you’re my best friend. I just want you to be safe and not get yourself killed doing something stupid.” You admitted. You didn’t know what you expected to happen, you just wanted Carl to come back to you and to Alexandria every night. You’d seen enough death in the time since the world fell apart, you didn’t want to lose Carl too.

“You’re mine too...” Carl said, taking his hat off and setting it down on the table. He came over to you and placed his hands on your upper arms a bit awkwardly. Being in an apocalypse didn’t exactly lend a lot of time for flirting or even dating and traveling with a group of people so much older than him hadn’t given Carl too many moments to be with someone. But he tried to act instinctively, leaning forward and placing a rather awkward but delicate kiss on your lips before pulling away. “More than that. I love you and I need you to be safe, I need to know that I did everything possible to make sure that nothing happens to you.”

“Carl-”

“I mean it. I love you.” He repeated, “you’re more than just my best friend. Ever since Terminus...it’s like, I just want to be around you and knowing you’re okay, that’s all I care about.”

You nodded, taking the chance to talk once he’d stopped, “I feel the same way...I love you too.” You confessed, smiling at him.

The war was certainly far from over, as was the discussion about him fighting, but at least he had told you how he felt and knowing you felt the same made him happier than he’d been in a long time.

#carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fanfic #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes fic #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #Carl grimes x you #twd fic #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd imagine #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #collecting stories imagine

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pitterpatterpot · 4 years ago

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Can you please write a prompt when Aedion and Fenrys do something stupid but Gavriel and Vaughan catch them doing it, or shortly after with 114, 115, 116, 148 and 152?

Ah. When a family has the reckless members and the tired members.

114. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

115. “I mean, it could be worse.”

116. “This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

148. “Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to.”

152. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

From a similar ask:

214. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

217. “H-How long have you been standing there?”

~~~

“This is, by far, the best and worse idea you’ve ever had,” Fenrys grumbles, looking down from their perch on the snow-slicked roof of Vaughan’s mountain holiday home.

“I’m a general, I’ve commanded an army,” Aedion reminds him, calculating the distance between them and the ground. “I think some of those decisions were pretty good and bad.”

“If Gavriel finds out about this, we’re dead.”

“Gavriel worries too much.”

“About you? Yes. About me? Only how he’ll kill me when he finds out I went along with this.”

“You bought the sled!”

“For the mountain! To go sledding down the mountain! Not the damn roof!”

And there they are, perched right before the slope of Aelin’s roof, Aedion on the from of the sled with Fenrys on the back. Fresh snow from the night before layers the roof and the ground below.

“I’m telling you, Aelin and I did this as kids. We were always fine. Her father would cheer.”

“I’m taking your word for it.” Fenrys huffs. “We have until the others get back from their hike.”

“You can pretend you’re against this all you want,” Aedion shuffles the sled closer to the slope, “but you were still the one who spent an hour looking for a way to fit the sled through the manhole.”

“I have to at least pretend to be against this,” Fenrys grumbles as a smile tries to fight it’s way through. “I’m supposed to be the elder here. Did you shovel extra snow at the bottom?”

“No, I’m an idiot who wants our bones to break,” Aedion huffs. “Yes, there’s extra snow at the bottom.”

They shuffle close together on the sled, a smaller model meant for winter fun. They stare down at the end of the roof, both grinning maniacally as they contemplate the small drop. Nothing compared to facing an army. Fenrys wraps his arms around Aedion, the younger of the two braced at the front. With one precarious movement the front of the sled is tipping forward.

And they’re off.

They both release a cheer as they fly over the icy surface of the roof, Aedion pulling up on the reins when they reach the edge as to avoid a complete nose dive. Yet the back of the sled catches on gutter, causing both of them to yelp as they fly off the sled in different directions. Both bodies land in the snow, a deafening crack sounding out.

“Aedion?” Fenrys gasps as he hauls himself up, looking in the direction of the sound.

He unwinds at the view of Aedion groaning just next to him. Then he freezes, eyes fixating on where the porch guardrail is cracked and ripped apart. And even worse, the scent of blood perpetuates the air.

“I mean,” Aedion mumbles from beside him, “this could be worse.”

Fenrys says nothing.

“Things don’t always turn out the way you want them to,” Aedion groans, rolling onto his back. “At least, not the first time. We can try again later.”

“Aedion-“

“What?”

“You have a shard of wood sticking out of your leg.”

Aedion looks down where he, indeed, has a wedge of the rail pierced through his calf muscle. He hums.

“Well,” Aedion sits up, “this wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“Gavriel is going to kill me,” Fenrys hisses, shifting to his knees and immedtaleaning over the injured leg. “Fucking hell, he is going to slaughter me. I can’t heal this! I’m not as good at healing as he is!”

“Just try and we won’t have to tell Gavriel!”

Without warning Fenrys grabs a pile of snow and shives it on top of Aedion’s leg, causing him to hiss and jerk in irritation. Fenrys ensures the small puddle of blood is covered in record time, grateful that the snow helps muffle the scent. Aedion stares at Fenrys in disbelief, annoyance dripping off him in waves.

“What the hell-“

“Aedion! Fenrys!”

Aedion stiffens, turning to see Gavriel and Vaughanwalk towards them from the forest clearing.

“Gavriel! Vaughan,” Aedion clears his throat. “H-How long have you been standing there?”

“We headed back early from the hike,” his father explains, making his way over to them. “By the way, I thought I heard you say you had something to tell me? I heard you as I was arriving.”

“Fae hearing!” Fenrys declares loudly, laughing and sending Aedion a warning glance. “We sure can hear from far away!”

Vaughan and Gavriel share a befuddled look.

“I know? Fenrys, what’s going on, are you- my gods!” Gavriel’s expression turns to one of shock. “The railing! What did-“ he glances at the sleigh, then the roof, his expression turning thunderous.

Both Aedion and Fenrys shrink under his gaze as he turns back to them, golden eyes on fire.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Gavriel asks, voice low and slow.

“Shit,” Vaughan mutters, wincing at Gavriel’s growl, turning away examine the broken rail.

Both males swallow at the gaze and tone. They share a look, silently fighting between themselves as to who will speak.

“Please, don’t rush,” Gavriel crosses his arms. “After all, we can just stay here until someone confesses.”

Fenrys winces and his eyes twitch towards Aedion’s leg. Gavriel catches the action.

“Aedion,” Gavriel says, “stand up.”

“Ah,” Aedion pats his thighs. “I would, but I’m quite comfortable.”

“Really? You’re comfortable?”

“That’s right.”

“Sitting in the snow?”

“Reminds me of my childhood.”

Gavriel inhales a large breath, closing his eyes to steady and calm himself. After counting to three he turns to Fenrys, pinning the younger male with a look. Fenrys begins to squirm. Aedion grits his teeth and sends him a warning glare. Gavriel narrows his eyes. Aedion does the same. Fenrys avoids looking them both in the eye the best he can, sweat gathering on the back of his neck and father and son both send him equally threatening looks.

“Why is Aedion pale?” Gavriel questions Fenrys.

“I’m cold,” Aedion interjects.

“Lies. You were raised in this climate,” Gavriel barks, then turns back to Fenrys. “I want an answer from you.”

Fenrys bites his lip.

“I will call Aelin back,” Gavriel lowers his voice further, “and she will wonder what happened to Aedion. Are you willing to withhold that information from her?”

Fenrys swallows.

“Just tell him,” Vaughan advices from the porch, looking up to where the gutter is cracked.

“And what about me?” Gavriel continues. “I trained you. Will you deny me information of my only precious child?”

“Oh, gods above!” Aedion chokes, reaching out to grasp Fenrys’s shoulder. “We’re fine! There’s a reasonable explanation for all of this! You can stop with the guilt tripping crap.”

Gavriel ignores his son. Instead, he continues to focus on Fenrys.

“Seriously, Gavriel, we’re fi-“

“Aedion and I sled off the roof but tipped forward too much and broke the railing and Aedion has a piece of wood stabbed through his leg!” Fenrys pauses and heaves in a deep breath, finally relaxing from the strain.

“You what?!”

“Well, fuck.”

“You bastard.”

Gavriel whirls on Aedion, immediately crouching and removing the snow on his leg. Aedion grunts as his father accidentally nudges the shard in his leg. Gavriel swears when he sees it.

“I’m fine,” Aedion drawls as Gavriel examines the wound. “If I can handle being stabbed I can handle a bit of wood.”

“You’re lucky this was so thoroughly polished and varnished,” Gavriel braces Aedion leg with a hand on his knee. “Otherwise you’d have to worry about splinters. Take a breath.”

In a swift movement Gavriel yanks the wood free of Aedion’s flesh, his son barking a curse at the splitting pain before Gavriel’s warm magic seeps through him, his father’s cedar and sage scent potent with anger. Aedion goes to thank him but freezes with the way Gavriel’s eyes are already pinned on him, dark with anger and his jaw twitching.

“You’re pissed,” Aedion sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Gavriel says nothing, focusing on the leg. Aedion squirms at the lack of response, Fenrys looking away and choosing to walk up to Vaughan, the two of them awkwardly standing to the side. The last of Aedion’s skin stitches together and Gavriel turns away, picking up the largest section of broken railing and setting it against the wall of the holiday house. He then commences in picking up smaller shards, ensuring they’re all out of the snow and settled on the porch. Fenrys and Aedion watch him do this, the earlier helping the later to his feet.

“Inside,” Gavriel says, not looking at them as he enters the cabin.

They follow after him, standing awkwardly to the side as Gavriel fills the main fireplace with wood and begins striking the flints. Vaughan drags in the sled behind them, scowling as he does so.He jerks his head towards the couch, clearly indicating for Fenrys and Aedion to sit. They both do so.

Once the fire seems steady Gavriel makes his way over to them. He sits on the low table in front of the couch, examining the two of them. Vaughan leans against the fireplace, dark eyes simmering as he takes everything in.

“So,” Gavriel begins, anger still thick, “who wants to explain what happened?”

“It was my idea,” Aedion immediately interjects, ignoring Fenrys’s frantic look. “Aelin and I used to sled off the roof of her old holiday house as kids. I didn’t factor in the issue that this house has a guardrail to avoid or that Fenrys and I would be heavy.”

Silence stretches between them. Fenrys cringes at the way Gavriel pins them both under his stare. Aedion shifts at the silence.

“What I’m thinking,” Gavriel begins slowly, “is that you two must have the combined maturity of two children to have ever thought sledding off the roof would be a good idea.”

Aedion and Fenrys share a concerned look. Gavriel narrows his eyes as they look away.

“Do not,” he growls lowly, “look away from me as I am speaking to you.”

Aedion’s eyes widen, turning back to his father. Fenrys seems less shocked at the severity of the anger and more apprehensive of it.

“Not only did you engage in a completely ridiculous and childish task,” Gavriel begins, “but you damaged the house and Aedion injured himself in the process.”

“I’m fine,” Aedion scowls. “You healed me and there isn’t even a scar.”

Gavriel narrows his eyes. Fenrys winces.

“That is not the point,” Gavriel begins. “And the fact that you don’t realise that isn’t the point is even worse. You shouldn’t put your own health and safety at risk and you, Fenrys, should be mature enough after all these centuries to automatically know that sledding off a roof is a bad idea!”

“You’re right,” Fenrys agrees, sitting straight. “I apologise for indulging in such an immature act.”

Satisfied, Gavriel turns to Aedion.

“I’m sorry for endangering myself,” Aedion admits. “Especially over something so stupid.”

“Good,” Gavriel huffs. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Trust me, it’s not on the list,” Aedion promises.

Gavriel nods. “While you two may be grown males and I can’t ground you, I candemand that you help me with cutting and moving more lumber tomorrow.”

With that Gavriel stands and stalks his way to his room, the door closing decisively behind him. Both males relax at the sound of the click, Fenrys releasing an audible breath.

“My gods,” Fenrys groans, sliding down the couch and rubbing at his face, “I thought for sure he was going to kill us. Cutting up timber is nothing, becoming a father must have softened him.”

Aedion nods. But they both stiffen at a barked laugh, snapping to attention as Vaughan stalks toward them. The look on his face suggests he knows they forgot about him and will regret it.

“He’s not giving you a harsher punishment because he knows you’re going to be working your asses off all night helping me fix this railing,” Vaughan narrows his eyes, jerking a hand towards the door. “I worked hard on this house. Now get off your asses and get ready for some woodwork. Be outside in five minutes.”

Vaughan slams the front door behind him as he exits the house, Aedion and Fenrys still able to hear him grumbling as he trudges his way through the snow to a shed with supplies. They turn at the squeaking of hinges, Gavriel sticking his head out of his bedroom.

“He’s a perfectionist,” Gavriel dryly informs them. “Get ready to redo the whole porch railing.”

With that he closes the door once again, leaving the two males to wince and wilt, dreading the night of work ahead of them.

#tog fic #cadre #family feels #aedion #tog #fenrys moonbeam #vaughan #gavriel

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neutron-stars-collision · 4 years ago

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 23 - So Far From Who I Was

Masterlist; Chapter 22

Summary: As plans for operation in Stalsk-12 are underway, you and Neil can’t seem to find a common ground. His selfish plans overturn everything...

Warnings: Even more angst (sorry!!! swear it will be over very soon); swearing; some slightly dubious thoughts appearing in the reader’s minds but it’s nothing too serious.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I’m really sorry for the 10.8k, but it once again shows that I’m incapable of writing short things. This one is a wild ride and it was fun to write even if painful at times... I hope you’ll ‘enjoy’! Let me know how you liked it... and I promise... fun is near :)))

From that morning, when the precious intel magically appeared for you all to use, the metaphorical dice were cast. The last stage of the plan was officially on, and there was not much time to waste. After two days of chaotic talks, interrupted by training and trying to make sense of living aboard the icebreaker, you were told to meet with everyone else on the bridge for the official confab. Your war council consisted of TP, Neil, Ives, Wheeler, and yourself. And you were the first to admit that you had no clue what your job was supposed to be there. However, ignoring the deepening sleep deprivation, pounding headache, and weariness that has made home in your heart, you made it to the destination with time to spare. That morning the sky over the Barents Sea was overcast with heavy, grey clouds, increasing your internal melancholia and tiredness. Basically, life was hard. And you still contemplated joining the seals. Probably more often than any sane person should. But then you never really considered yourself rational. Sighing, for the umpteenth time this morning, you sat down on the sofa and relished in the solitude. In moments like this, without the oxygen mask making you feel close to suffocation, or the looming danger of losing your control around certain individuals, you were almost at peace. They never lasted long.

“Morning sunshine,” Ives marched into the room with a grin on his face.

He was one of the people you could tolerate. Still.

“Hi,” you cracked a smile of your own in his direction.

He took off the mask and opened up the laptop, preparing for the meeting. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ives groaned, stretching his limbs exaggeratedly.

“The bloody bunkbeds are a pain in the arse,” you snickered at the comment.

“My condolences,” offering him a mournful expression, you stood up.

Wandering over to the panoramic windows, you took a moment to stare at a seagull diving on the horizon. Well, technically it was springing up from the sea, but you preferred to imagine the traditional way of things. Just to maintain a functioning brain.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a Prince Charming looking out for their comfort you know” the casual remark made you look up at Ives.

Sure as hell, he was grinning smugly, satisfied by how he has managed to catch you off guard. But that was not the most outraging bit…

“Prince Charming?” you repeated with a deepening frown, “Spare me please, I’d rather forget he exists” conversation was ruined.

Prince Charming, my ass. Unless those tended to be lying bastards that never knew what they wanted. Or terrifyingly beautiful idiots that should never be trusted. Well… fuck.

“Good luck with that” Ives patted you on the shoulder.

You knew that despite the nonchalance, he was someone you could count on. For a second, you contemplated asking him to punch Neil next time he shows up. However, all train of thought disappeared when the man himself walked into the room the very next minute. That same neutral smile on his face, blocking off any attempts to read his mood. His gaze slipped over you. A shadow of a frown as though your presence was not a pleasant discovery. Just brilliant.

“Good morning” Neil nodded in your direction.

You could see Ives hesitate as though wondering how much could have been overheard. You found that you did not care. Ever since your blunder in the kitchen, you came to a decision that you need not hold back. Neil never did, after all.

“Morning mate” Ives squeezed his shoulder in a greeting.

Before either of you were forced to initiate small talk, TP marched in, with Wheeler following at his heels. With the whole team on board, you could skip the awkwardness and begin. You took your seat on the side of the table and placed the dossier with plans right in front. That way, you could have an easy escape should it be needed. These days you could never know for sure. The first surprise of the meeting took place when you heard a scrape of the chair on your side, followed by someone sitting down. One look was needed to ascertain that it was the blonde bastard. Fab. You refused to give him any satisfaction of being caught staring and so you focused on the documents, reading the same set of instructions for the hundredth time.

“Do you want coffee?” his question took you by surprise.

Looking up into his blue eyes always felt too startling. Especially considering your history. But that did not seem to matter whenever your gazes met. That same jolt of electricity heightening your senses. Until you would look away again, Neil was everything you could focus on. On the periphery of your attention, you could see Wheeler prepare cups of the beverage in the small kitchenette. Right…

“Yes, please,” perplexed by his helpfulness, you gave him the tiniest of smiles.

In response, Neil only nodded and got up, joining Wheeler at the counter. That was surprising. Somehow you assumed that he would do everything not to interact with you like that. And yet he was willing to get you coffee, knowing full well how dependent on it you were. When Neil sat down again five minutes later and handed you the mug, you muttered:

“Thanks” your hands brushed for a millisecond, causing a minor heart palpitation.

Nothing new. He met your gaze again, smiling lightly. It was in the moments like this that you felt completely at a loss for words. The tenderness and attention felt like the old days, as though nothing happened. But it did. And it made no sense.

“Hope I got it right” breaking the silence, Neil gestured towards the coffee steaming underneath your nose.

He used to know your coffee order well. Unable to deny yourself the curiosity, you took a sip of the beverage under his watchful gaze. Of course, it was perfect, a spark igniting your body with energy. Ignoring the idiocy of the situation, you grinned at Neil over the brim of the mug. Conveying gratitude more than any words could. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he understood.

“Attention, please,” Ives’s annoyed voice brought you back to reality “You’ll flirt later,” you blushed furiously at the comment.

Shooting daggers at the squad leader, you focused all of the attention on the dossier again. Yeah…no.

The next hour was spent trying to make sense of the plans you all had been weaving since the intel came. The obvious parts were the facts: a deserted city in the middle of the Siberian steppe, the dead-drop in the cavern underneath the ridge, three ways in, and a lock, that was the crux of it all. The instructions from TP were ominous enough: no guaranteed way out for whoever would open the door. And that fact was the needed spark that day…

“So, temporal pincer” Ives summarized the last few minutes of the discussion, writing the words on the whiteboard “One team normal, the other inverted and they deal with the mercs. A splinter unit goes into the dead-drop and extracts the algorithm before the timer goes off” he added.

That was the obvious bit. You finished the coffee in one swig, feeling Neil’s knee bump into yours under the table. It was like this for the past hour. Sudden touches, making you wonder whether it was all intentional. Another form of elaborate torture. Or whether it was just Neil unable to control his long limbs as per usual.

“Kat is the backstop?” you asked the question, distracting yourself from the mess in your head.

“Yep,” jotting down the note, listening in to the squad leader, “That’s the simple stuff. What we need to figure out is how do we deal with that lock, and what about the splinter unit”

Fun. You skipped through the information again, hoping to find any source of inspiration in the materials.

“What do you mean?” TP asked, and you glanced up at him.

With the arms folded on the table and face frozen in a permanent frown, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“They shouldn’t leave the field” Ives shrugged upon an inquisitive glare from the boss “It’s safer that way” the cold steel look in his eyes was foreign.

It was a terrifying realization that he was right. If you were to succeed, you had to make sure that it could not happen again. At least not in the linear sense. Looking around the people sat at the table, your heart sank. It could as well be that you were not coming out of this alive. Not all of you. TP had to survive if the story was to follow as it should. But for the rest of you, nothing was guaranteed. Enough to make the anxiety worse.

“Right,” TP’s sombre nod made you focus back on the moment “I don’t think we need to decide on who that will be this early,” he added, his gaze slipping over all of your faces.

Looking at the companions, you could see that everyone else was deep in thought. Mortality was never something you paid much attention to, preferring to stay sane by taking every day as it is and then moving onto the next. When you finished the university and started getting used to the idea that your future will be spent behind the desk of one of the governmental buildings in Whitehall, you stopped giving it much thought. Death would come when it had to, and that was it. But apparently not. Perks of choosing an unusual occupation. Feeling the stress levels elevate, you got hold of the passing thought. The damned lock that has been at the forefront of your mind since the news first came. Maybe now was time to voice the vague plans…

“When it comes to the lock… I’ve been thinking-”

“It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Neil’s interruption made you look up at him sharply.

What? You did not like the enigmatic smile gracing his features. As though you have missed something glaringly self-evident, and he was waiting for you to catch up. Impatiently, at that.

“Neil… elaborate please,” TP’s plea was dripping with tiredness.

Relatable.

“I’m the best locksmith out there” he shrugged smugly, ignoring your stare.

You did not like where this was going. Before you could find any words of response, Ives’s dry chuckle pierced the silence.

“Smooth, mate,” he added when Neil turned to stare at him.

“It should be me,” the blonde man pressed, annoyance seeping into his words, “Ives, you know that. Stop looking at me like that” he waved his hand at the squad leader.

The pieces clicked in your head. Fuck. He sounded too sure. As though he has already made up his mind. But…

“The person who opens the lock doesn’t have a guaranteed way out” Wheeler looked weary, as though she was scared about the direction of the conversation.

Exactly. The heart was hammering in your chest, slowly absorbing the reality. Figuring out the implications. No. You could not allow that. Even the mere idea was enough to make you nauseous. It was one thing to wish you did not have to deal with Neil, the other to consider that he would volunteer for something like that.

“So?” the nonchalance in his voice was terrifying.

He was still refusing to meet your gaze, but you persistently kept your eyes fixed on him. Urging him to give in. To be able to check this was actually happening. Because once Neil would lock his eyes with yours, you had a chance of getting to him. Until he said it to your face, you did not want to believe it.

“That could be a one-way trip,” TP voiced your thoughts, eyeing Neil warily.

You could see that he was surprised and concerned. Ever since they were stuck in the container for a week, a comradery has formed. Finally resembling what you were used to from them. But now Neil was willing to destroy it all. One-way trip. The ultimate sacrifice. No.

“Evidently,” another shrug.

That was the needed signal for your brain to kick back into action. To fight. Point out the insanity of the situation.

“Surely there’s a different way of dealing with this. We could send the locksmith before the splinter unit and-” your rant got interrupted with a sudden creak of chair to your right. Impatience.

“Why complicate something simple? I go in and open the door. That’s it” Neil flayed his hands around as though compensating for the tension permeating the room.

Wishing to dissolve it by fake excitement. Not on your watch. Urging your body to stop trembling, you garnered the strength to voice the obvious question. The one everyone seemed to skirt around for the past ten minutes.

“You don’t want to come back?” your voice wavered, betraying the nerves.

That was exactly what Neil needed to finally look you in the eye. With reluctance, he turned to you. When your gazes met, he flinched. Barely perceptible and yet there. Great.

“This isn’t about what I want or don’t want” you could tell Neil was just about keeping himself cool.

This could go either way. You found yourself on the tipping point, tiptoeing the edge. The fall never seemed so inviting. Almost as good as letting yourself drown in his eyes. Anything to ignore the reality.

“As if you knew what you want,” you muttered, aware he will catch on to the implications.

Neil clenched his jaw as his hand gripping the mug tightened. You have hit the mark. Top job. It took him a moment to respond. You could feel the gazes of everyone else fixed on you two. Their breaths were held as though afraid anything could set off the explosion. They were probably right.

“…Maybe you haven’t gotten the memo yet, but this isn’t about us anymore. If the task requires sacrifice, then be it” Neil finished the sentence with a hard look in his eyes.

Us? The emphasis he placed on the word made you blink in shock. On its own accord, your mind drifted back to the conversation in Tallinn. We’re just us. Me and you, was what he said back then. Only now, it was not that simple. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you swallowed hard, trying to find any traces of reason.

“But-” it was not meant to be.

Before you could add another word, Neil took hold of your hand, making you shut up. Shocked, you met his eyes, only to be paralyzed by the harshness of his expression. Your protests were not welcome. He has made up his mind.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern. However-” his tone was dripping with condescension.

The nickname felt like a slap. You tugged at the hand he still had in his grasp, cutting in sharply:

“How very patronizing of you” giving him the fakest of smiles, you added, “I had the illusion that you’re better than this… but well, as with most things I was wrong” a shrug to complete the insult “I still think there must be a way around it. There’s a reason why we got this warning” ending the torture of prolonged eye contact, you glanced around the table.

A silent cry for help. TP met your gaze, rapidly catching on to the desperation pouring out of your eyes. If anyone should get it, it’s him.

“Okay, hold on. Let’s suppose we do it as you say-” the boss interjected, putting all of the charisma into the sentence.

For nothing.

“Maybe the reason was that you need time to get used to the idea. Clearly, you’re the only one who opposes it this strongly” Neil was still looking at you only.

Cold blue eyes and lips twisted into a cruel smirk. That was the same man that fought with you on the highway in Tallinn. Terrible beauty. And yet, you could not look away, drawn by the gravitational pull that kept you tied to his side.

“What are you trying to say?” your voice sounded small.

The confidence was gone. The gloves were off. That was it. The explosion everyone feared. Judging by the way Neil leaned in closer, it was all part of the plan. Calculated and measured for the greatest impact. His knee bumped into your thigh. You froze as his nose brushed over your ear. Too close.

“That you lied to me a few days back. That you still l-” blood froze in your veins as you took in the meaning.

Before he could say the word, you hissed and lurched back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the curse ripped apart the tense silence.

The pain was unimaginable. You felt close to screaming. Helpless. Alone. Desperate. In love. All for nothing.

“As I said, sometimes feelings need to be put aside. Whatever they might be,” you heard his voice as though from afar.

Enough. Releasing a long exhale, you closed the folder and stood up. That was enough. He did not deserve the sight of your tears.

“Now, let’s assume I go, open the door for the splinter unit, and… What are you doing?” Neil noticed your movement a second too late.

The confusion on his face was almost laughable. Pity.

“What does it look like?” you scoffed, pushing the chair back onto its place “I’ve had enough of this sacrificial bullshit and personal insults” addressing the room at large, you added, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the range”

You noticed Wheeler’s sympathetic nod breaking in through the concern on her face. Ives looked pissed off, and you could not blame him for it. You have made quite the show. Again. TP just glanced at you, utterly perplexed. There was no logical explanation for any of this.

“You can’t just-” attempting protest, Neil took hold of your hand again.

You knew the purpose behind that. If everything else failed, he was well aware that touch was your weakest point. That previously it always worked. Not anymore. You met his eyes, encountering nothing but annoyance and frustration.

“Neil” Wheeler’s warning was a welcomed addition “Let her go,”

That was all he needed. Letting go of your hand, he gave you a final look. Something shifted for a split second. But you found that you did not care. Without a second thought, you bolted out of the room. The very last thing you heard felt like the final blow:

“She’s being ridiculous,” Neil muttered dejectedly.

She. Just that. With shaking hands, you closed the zip lock.

“And you’re stupid. Sit the fuck down,” Ives’s command rung out in the air behind your back.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you ran down the corridor. Fuck.

*** That day you have successfully managed to hide from everyone. Wheeler came to check up on you in the evening to, as she put it, make sure you have not taken the shooting practice a little too seriously. You could only offer her your tear-streaked cheeks and reddened eyes as you assured her that this would be the worst state she was likely to see you in. Was that a lie? Maybe. To put it bluntly, after the morning nightmare of a confab, death sounded like an interesting option. Certainly better than another week of Neil offering to get himself killed just because. You chose 2 am that night to finally emerge from the cabin in the search of food. Without bothering to touch up your bedraggled appearance, you tiptoed down the corridor, taking one extra look at the door of Neil’s room. Why? Fuck knows. The silence was encouraging. However, that confidence was to be your ultimate downfall.

The moment you dealt with the airlock leading to the galley, you knew that you were not alone. Neil was there, chatting to one of the squad members you vaguely remembered from the days spent in inversion. Dominic, or something. Briefly, you considered turning back around and leaving as though you were never even there. But when the men turned, and your eyes met, it was too late. Luck was never on your side.

“Hi,” you gave them both a nod and opened the fridge before either could take a longer look at you.

“Evening” Neil cleared his throat awkwardly.

After a pause, the men picked up their conversation in hushed tones while finishing sandwiches. Mindlessly you stared at the contains of the fridge, hoping to appear occupied. To be forgotten. But to no avail. You could feel someone’s gaze burning into the side of your head. Somehow you knew that if you dared look up, the blue eyes would be there. Ready to analyze you. To find weaknesses and strike when appropriate. You could only hope he would not do it with Dominic present.

Fridge held no answers. You closed it quietly and took hold of the granola bar from the cupboard. Only tea left now… easy. They were still talking. From what you could hear, it had something to do with the inverted weaponry and the training you were all forced to recap before Stalsk. You thanked the gods for the presence of the buffer, as you not so patiently waited for the water to boil. The false sense of security shattered seconds later:

“Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?” Dominic rinsed the plate quickly and started to put on the mask.

What is worse, Neil was not doing the same. Instead, he was still sitting at the table, smiling at the colleague.

“Yep. Can’t wait,” the fake enthusiasm radiating from him in waves.

But it seemed like only you could see it. Another observation for nothing. Your pulse quickened as you realised that it was only a matter of seconds till you were alone again. And the fucking water was still boiling.

“Goodnight, Y/N” Dominic smiled at you before moving to open the airlock.

“Night night,” your response came out too breathlessly.

Crap. Just like that, he was gone. It was you and Neil, staring at each other like two animals locked up in a cage. He quickly assessed your appearance, taking in the puffed-up eyes, tangled hair, and shaking hands. You wanted to ask him whether he was satisfied with his work. But that would mean admitting how much it hurt. And your pride was in the way. The kettle switched off. Neil’s taxing gaze stopped as his eyes widened.

“Is that-” that is when you realised.

Fuck. When leaving the cabin, you have not changed. That meant you were still wearing the only article of clothing that brought some comfort. Neil’s burgundy sweater. And he most certainly recognized it.

“Neil I-” his name was the only answer as you struggled for words.

Neil stood up and pounced, closing the distance. The malicious look in his eyes was terrifying. And inspiring.

“Why do you have my sweater?” to emphasize the point, he took hold of the material, drawing you near in progress, “I didn’t take you for a thief,” delivered with a cruel smirk.

With Neil that close and acting ridiculously, you realised that above all, you were tired. And had enough of this. Of him.

“I used the opportunity and went into your apartment,” a tight-lipped smile thrown in before he could interject, “Yes, I know, don’t worry, I haven’t stolen anything else,” you added, enjoying the surprise flashing in his eyes.

He forgot about the keys. Or did not think you would use them after everything. And now, when he realised how much you knew, it was hard to accept. That was encouraging. You waited for Neil to bite back, letting yourself stare at him without shame. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes lit up. There we go…

“You know that you’re not making any sense?” he blurted out the question and tugged at the sweater “You just- You’re telling me that it’s all over and yet here you are, wearing my clothes” another tug, bringing you just as close as the last time “I mean that’s one way of confusing me further” he finished on a whisper.

It took you a moment to recover. To realise that once again, you were too close. When that clicked, you took a step back and met Neil’s gaze. Too satisfied. His pupils were darker than usual, and that was worryingly enticing. Focus. Anger was the answer.

“Confusing you?” a sudden idea struck, “Fucking hell, you know what?” another step back, “Just take it, and let’s end this discussion” you started taking the garment over your head.

“What- Why are you...” much to Neil’s shock.

Good. The cold air hit your body as you took off the sweater and threw it in his face. You were eternally grateful to your morning self for putting on that tank top. Not much, but still preventing you from the walk back in only the bra. As Neil scrambled to pick up the garment that fell onto the floor, you added:

“I’ll give you back the keys tomorrow” you met his wide-eyed stare with pleasure, “There’s no need to stare. You’ve seen it before,”

Yet, the way his gaze roamed over your body was fascinating. There was nothing to see there, but still, he seemed transfixed. You took that as your chance to strike.

“Hell, you’ve even had your hand down my pants. Twice” Neil flinched, and you smirked, “Talking about wrong life choices and all that” it was nice to see him hurt.

For once. Even if it was another lie. He looked lost, unable to find a response to something like that.

“I-” a pathetic attempt at god knows what.

You took a final glance at him there. Clutching the cashmere sweater in his hand. Hair falling into his eyes. Shoulder sagged. Defeated. Confused. Finally.

“Goodbye,” you grabbed the mug and left before Neil had a chance of recovery.

The walk back to the room was cold. But probably worth the pain.

*** Sighing with happiness for the first time that day, you closed the door to the cabin and collapsed onto the bed. For the past three hours, you have been occupied with training that Ives made mandatory for all the mission participants, and you were exhausted. The only encouragement was the fact that the squad leader made sure your shift was different from that of Neil. What was even better, he did that without you needing to ask first. Just like that. And you were very grateful. Moments like those last two encounters in the kitchen were best avoided at all costs. Any contact was ideally off the books. Even when it hurt.

With the sweater gone, you had no more things to hold on to. Well, apart from all those memories and the ability to read him like an open book. Utterly useless skills like algebra or functions at this point. You have changed into the comfiest set of sweatpants and a hoodie, hoping to spend the next few hours marinating in your misery. But long before you could even think of the first reason to cry, a knock made you jump up. Who the hell…. Grudgingly, you got up and opened the door.

“Hey…” you did not expect him.

Despite everything, your heart was naive enough to stumble upon the sight of Neil. And his stupid hair. And the repentant look in his eyes. What even.

“What do you want?” you decided to cut the bullshit, meeting his gaze coldly.

The visit was certainly unexpected. As was the fact that he seemed apologetic. Meek, even. Neil shifted nervously before answering:

“Here’s the sweater. You can keep it” he handed you the garment with a tiny smile, “It smells more like you than me now, but…” trailing off, he shrugged.

The implications of that statement were too much to handle. As was the fact that he gave you back the sweater. You gaped at him, speechless. It made no sense. But the silence stretched too long, and Neil looked even more uncomfortable.

“Okay…” you accepted the gift, making sure your hands have not brushed.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday it wasn’t reasonable,” he added, with that contrite tone you were not used to.

Unreasonable? That was one way of describing what happened the previous night. You did not know whether it was the glaring lack of confidence radiating from him or as something as simple as the fact that you missed him. But you could feel the resolve crumble.

“I’d say nothing you do is reasonable… thanks though” mustering a weak smile, you stepped away from the door, “You can come in if you want,”

Risky. And something Neil did not expect either, judging by the way he hesitated before entering the cabin and closing the door. You sat down on the edge of the bed and observed his awkward movement. A look around the small space. His eyes slipping over the few personal items you had. The sparring gear you have carelessly thrown onto the floor. And the bin full of used tissues. How humiliating. Then he perched on the chair and met your gaze wearily. Without you even needing to ask the question, he answered:

“I guess it surprised me to see that you’re using something of mine after everything” the honesty was strangely comforting.

For the first time since the disastrous mission in Tallinn, you could tell that he was genuine. Open for you to read and interpret however you fancy. That was intriguing. Enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your features, you leaned back on the bed. Relaxed. Sincere. You could try that.

“It surprises me too,” shrugging, you pursed your lips, staring thoughtfully at the window.

You did not have to look at him to imagine the expression on his face. A little concerned, extremely curious.

“How do you mean?” the soft tone made you glance back.

Sure enough, the furrowed eyebrows and sparkling eyes were there. Neil crossed his legs, studying you intently. You could tell that he wanted to know. That this was probably the closest you would ever come to a normal conversation with him. Might as well use it.

“Well, the heart knows best,” offering him a sad smile, you laced your hands in your lap.

Here’s to hoping he won’t turn it on you. But when you dared look up at Neil again, you were surprised to see him stunned by what you revealed. After a beat, he found the words:

“I thought you don’t-”

Of course. Unable to stop the irritation gnawing at your heart, you scoffed, preventing him from saying something so wrong.

“I never said that,” you explained upon his wide-eyed stare, “But that’s beyond the point, isn’t it?” you sighed, hoping to make him drop the topic before it would drift somewhere dangerous “Why are you here?”

You took a longer look at him then. Taking in the denial painted on his face. He wanted to press on, to get you to explain things. Not today. Then, returning your taxing gaze, Neil offered you his wistful smile.

“I suppose I’ve missed you” the sincerity of the statement was terrifying.

You felt a painful pang in your chest, as though the heart itself was awaiting the tragic end to this conversation. Courage. For a second, you wanted to cross that meter of space. To… Yeah, what exactly? One memory of what he said in the kitchen a few nights back was enough to sober up. You had to be careful.

“...right” the next words were a result of annoyance, pure and simple “Are you sure there isn’t anyone better? Because I bet there are at least five people aboard this ship who would give you everything. Without questions asked. Maybe you should talk to them” once you were done with the rant, you faced Neil again.

He was gaping, speechless. It seemed like his sharp wit was missing. That was only good news for you. A myriad of feelings passed in his eyes. You could discern shock, offense, heartbreak, and most surprisingly, something darker. Contradicting the very next thing he said:

“If I was looking for that, I’d never come to you. Because I value you more. But I don’t expect you to believe me” the defeat in Neil’s eyes was confusing.

But not any less than you were at that moment. More than what? A cheap fuck? One could hope so. But at the same time, considering the multitude of instances when he seemed desperate to get too close, it felt like a lie.

“I don’t, so you got something right,” you admitted, hoping to keep the emotions in check.

His blue eyes were fixed on you with intensity, trying to read all that you were not saying. After a minute of excessive staring, you were the first one to give up. The last thing you saw was a smirk forming on Neil’s lips. As though he knew that you were close to breaking. Close to potentially doing something stupid. Jumping up, you paced to the window. Nothing but sea and sky. And the damned birds. But even that was better than being faced with what you have lost. After a few days on board the icebreaker, you got used to the casual outfits he sported. What was worse is that they did nothing to make this any easier. It only proved the theory that Neil looked good in anything. Well, fuck him. Only not literally.

With the silence stretching well past the point of awkwardness, you grasped onto the first passing thought, turning to Neil again:

“You’ve talked about… me with TP, haven’t you?” it was a strange change of topic, but also something that has been on your mind for a while “Because suddenly he seems to trust me and I’m not sure what the fuck happened” throwing in the expletive, you sat down on the floor with your back against the wall.

Neil eyed you curiously. He was strangely quiet, and you wondered why that could be. Whether it meant that for once, he did not know what to say. Or maybe because he already regretted coming to see you. Yeah, probably that second option.

“Yes, I’ve explained a few things on the way to Oslo” the diplomatic tone was mildly annoying.

He leaned back in the chair, making sure to face you in the new dynamic. Only the nervous foot-tapping was a sign that he did not like the direction of the conversation. Interesting.

“Such as?” pressing on, you took a moment to observe him.

These days he gave up on styling the hair as the wind outside would always blow it in his eyes. That was rather adorable. He unzipped the pullover, shifting in the seat. Tension spilling out in weaves as Neil waved his hand dismissively.

“It doesn’t really matter,” another remorseful smile.

So, he must have said much more than just the basics. Could he have admitted to things even you were not allowed to know?

“Well, you must’ve said some crucial bits if he’s now so eager to take my side” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze purposefully.

Hoping he will catch on. Just like the matter of whatever it was between you, the battle plans were a clear no-go in this conversation. But that did not mean you could not hint at it. He had to understand that you were not going to give in so easily. That his suicidal mission was not getting a green light from you. The bait worked. Kind of.

“I said things that you and I should probably explain to each other one day” Neil’s grin did not reach his eyes.

Oh. He must have read the shock from your face, for his eyes glimmered dangerously as he relaxed on the chair. Your brain froze. Things? As in what? You both did and did not want to ask. Instead, you chose to attack.

“We won’t have time if you sacrifice yourself” simply put with a merciless stare.

Neil frowned, not expecting that kind of a dig. Before you could taste the satisfaction, his weary expression caught you off guard. Could that really hurt him? The cold of the wall was digging into your back.

“Let’s leave that for the meeting tomorrow,” a silent plea in the blue eyes “I don’t want to argue,”

He meant it. The tiredness etched onto his face told you as much. You were used to seeing the same kind of exhaustion every morning in the mirror. You could let him off.

“Okay…” a solemn nod before you got up and picked up the pacing again.

It was a strange feeling to be with him alone and yet not close. You realised that this was likely the first time since the early days when you were together somewhere private and were not even touching. It felt wrong.

“How did you like my place?” Neil’s question was like a much-needed grounding.

Swallowing down the discomfort, you turned back to him. The innocence was just a façade that he has put on for your sake. He expected an answer, and you did not know where to start. And then… the way his hair caught rays of sunlight was an inspiration.

“It was… enlightening,” you relished in the curiosity reflected at you, “For starters, I never realised that this is all fake” crossing the space in one leap, you ran your fingers through his hair.

Just like the old times. Only then, Neil would not shudder upon the initial contact. It took him a longer moment to recover. You smirked seeing his stunned face and resumed the movement, separating the strands slowly. You had no clue why this was the fact you latched onto. Blonde or not, he was a sight. But the idea that he dyed his hair would not leave your mind like the worst of brain worms.

“Ah, you’ve seen the photos” when he finally found the words again, his voice was hoarse.

As though whatever you were doing had some sort of an effect. A spark of confidence. You tugged at a strand sharply, the gasp making you bite your lip hard. A dangerous game. The words you have been biting back begun to spill from your mouth:

“It fascinates me because you act oh so confident all the time, and yet you’re pretending you’re someone you’re not” glancing down, you noticed the closed eyes and pursed lips.

It was definitely working. Whatever you even wanted to achieve. It was nice to hold power for once. To call him out on the bullshit you had to deal with every day.

“That’s just hair,” Neil protested weakly, grabbing onto your free hand and encircling the wrist.

Unable to stop the emotions bubbling under the surface, you scoffed:

“It really isn’t. I mean, why? It’s not like you have to scrape for attention” his eyes met yours with defiance, “Unless you’re compensating for something. In which case, that’s just ridiculous” the hit came with a visible flinch from Neil “And ever so manly” you perfected the punchline with a final tug on his golden strands.

That turned out to be a step too far. Before you could sense a change in the mood, Neil used the hold over your hand to bring you down. More accurately, to make you sit in his lap. Your brain caught up too late. Suddenly he was too close, with hands settling on your hips, securing you in place. Fuck. You opened your eyes, cursing the moment of weakness. Neil was staring right back, his eyes unreadable and dark. You messed up.

“What are you doing?” too breathless.

He caught onto that, rubbing circles onto your thigh, focused on you. It would be easy to get up and throw him out, ending this madness. But you found that you did not want to.

“I’m not sure. Say a word, and I’ll leave. But...” he trailed off, searching your eyes for something.

A protest, most likely. A clear-cut rejection. When he found nothing, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. So close. Slowly your willpower was waning. You placed your palm over his heart to feel the warmth.

“Neil, why...” unable to find the words, you stared at him with questions multiplying in your head.

What was this? Was it why he came? And why, despite the hurt he inflicted, you could not tell him to stop?

“Because you’re here. It’s all I need to start feeling like...” another open-ended response.

Adding on to the confusion. His heart was beating fast, breaths coming out shallow. With fingers still tangled in his hair, you urged him to keep eye contact. That was the only chance of telling whether he was honest.

“Like what? Like you could want me?” the words were hard to say out loud.

For a moment, you felt like this was Tallinn all over again. Like you were losing sanity just for the sake of getting something from him. The ever-present yearning getting the best of you. The only difference was that this time Neil was the desperate one. His hands roamed over your hips and thighs, causing worrying jolts of electricity. It shouldn’t be that easy.

“You know that I do,” a whisper, eyes overfilled with determination.

Did you? Now – maybe. Any other day – hell knows.

“Maybe once I did. But recently... I don’t think you know what you want. You’re just...” you offered him the honesty, absentmindedly running your fingertips over his temple.

Exploring all that was familiar yet missed so much. The creases on his forehead deepened.

“What?” Neil leaned in once again, nuzzling the skin on your neck.

The shaky exhale felt like a defeat. It was increasingly hard to think, let alone give him coherent answers.

“You’re not making any sense” that had to do.

Only it was whispered breathlessly. Not convincing.

“Maybe this will make sense...”

Before you could contemplate the meaning of his words, Neil kissed your neck, drawing out a shudder. One of his hands wandered underneath the hoodie. His fingers ghosted the skin. You have not realised how much you’ve missed it until you got it. As he got braver in his ministrations, teeth grazing over your pulse point, hands stroking your bare back, you felt intoxicated. Unable to do anything but pull him closer and let your hands venture underneath his black t-shirt. It made no sense. But as soon as a reasonable thought would come up, Neil would do something to make you forget. It could be a kiss right under your ear or fingers getting too close to your sports bra. Christ. No logic, just Neil being the sole reason for insanity. The heat travelling up your veins was getting too evident to be ignored. As he gave you a particularly forceful mark by sucking on the skin in the crook of your neck, you could not hold back a moan. It pierced the silence accompanied only by your shallow breaths. Neil froze as though he was not expecting a reaction that strong. His breath causing goosebumps all along your neck. For a second, you wanted to pull him even closer, to give permission to take everything he desires. Even without a promise that it would mean something to him. He raised his head, meeting your wild gaze with the darkened pupils of his own. The proximity was suffocating. Unable to make sense of your thoughts, you leaned in, hoping to get lost in a kiss. To buy some time before you would have to make up your mind. That is when Neil did something unexpected – he pulled back, with a strangely remorseful look in his eyes. Fuck. Alarm bells started ringing out in your head, harshly reminding you about the reality of the situation. As though nothing happened, Neil’s hands went back to the meticulous caress of your upper body. But you could not ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if this wouldn’t mean a thing? Suddenly it seemed like the worst mistake you could make. The previous frenzy was quickly replaced with dread. Not meant to be. You retracted your hands from underneath Neil’s shirt and pushed him back. It took all the strength available to deliver the next sentence with necessary firmness:

“I think you should leave,” you hoped to hide the pain behind the schooled features.

If he was surprised, he was very good at pretending. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he let go of you. His touch was already missed.

“If that’s what you want,” Neil’s voice revealed remains of passion as he nonchalantly smoothed the hair you have tangled.

That was the cue to get up. With cheeks burning, you turned away from him, doing your best to cool off and keep the scraps of dignity you had still left. Before you could risk a dangerous spiral, Neil’s voice brought you back to the moment:

“Too close, wasn’t it?” you frowned at the casual tone.

He was zipping up the pullover, staring at you with startling composure. As though the past minutes have not happened. As though he has not marked you as his for the umpteenth time. It was terrifying.

“What?” you gaped, trying to collect the thoughts and keep calm.

“We got too close. And you’re worried because for a moment you wanted more than you should” Neil shrugged upon your quiet gasp.

He could read you too well.

“Don’t do that,” a pathetic attempt at a plea.

But it must have worked for his expression softened. A small smile split his face as Neil pressed the door handle:

“Just thought you should know that I don’t mind. I don’t have much left to lose,” a parting remark, and then he was gone.

You covered your face with your hands, falling onto the knees when the remains of strength gave out. What a fucking mess.

*** What you did not expect to be the hardest feat of all before the meeting the next morning was making sure that all the bruises were covered up. You did not need to add questions and human curiosity to the list of your problems. After all, it would have been obvious to anyone with a brain. You fucked up, and Neil was the reason why and how that happened. As usual. That was best avoided since everyone on your war council knew enough already when it came to your relationship. Or whatever the fuck it was.

As you walked in, everyone else was already on the bridge, spreading the materials and preparing the whiteboard. Wheeler gave you a welcoming smile which at that moment was worth more than it should. Any expression of kindness was at a premium. You sat down, and before you could process much of what was going on, a mug of coffee appeared before your eyes. Just so. A second later, Neil took the seat next to you without acknowledging your existence. Cool. Perplexed, you looked around the room, locking eyes with TP. He shrugged as though exactly aware of your issues yet unable to help. That much was enough to make you feel a tiny bit better. After a beat, the boss spoke up:

“Before we begin… Y/N?” his question interrupted the first experimental sip of the coffee.

Perfect. Again.

“Yes?” you ignored the annoying spike of anxiety upon being the centre of attention.

“Is Mahir going back to meet Kat in Vietnam on the 14th?”

Ah, that. The little side quest that you have been given ages ago with close to no information towards its purpose. Thankfully, Mahir cooperated. No questions were asked as you arranged for him to invert in London and travel to Vietnam to be Kat’s aide. That kind of smooth operation was a welcomed change.

“Yep, as ordered,” you offered the dark-eyed man a small smile, “Turns out I am capable of not fucking up some things…” that addition was a product of spite.

It was rewarding to see Ives and Wheeler crack a grin at your comment. It made you feel less alienated, as though it was only the man on your right that had issues. And he might as well be ignored. Neil was being helpful in his silence too, moodily staring at the papers in front, refusing to lay his eyes on you. It was painful, especially considering the previous day, but it also meant you felt more at ease.

“It would be great if we could agree upon a few things finally,” TP interrupted the silence, looking at you all expectantly.

“Can’t promise you that, chief” you shrugged, aware of the way Neil shifted in his seat.

His knee bumped into your leg, starting the irritating dance you thought you had moved past. But, supposedly, laying his hands all over your body yesterday was not enough for him.

“I know. But let’s try” you focused all the attention back on the boss “Splinter unit,” the phrase fell between you all like a death sentence “Who and how?”

“The tunnel” you picked up the map and showed it to him, “That’s what the intel said” taking the sip of coffee, you added, “As towards who…”

One of the sleepless nights has been spent wondering whether you should not volunteer for that. The logic was that there was a reason why TP chose you as his link with everyone else. It meant his future version trusted you enough. But it also meant you were important. In those hopeless moments, it felt like maybe that was the purpose. And if it would mean no coming back? So be it. Death for the means of saving the world did not sound half that bad. Before you could express the thoughts, TP spoke up again:

“It should be me” his voice was emotionless.

“Why-” Neil’s voice rang out in the room.

You glanced at him, noticing the tension and worry radiating from him. It was a strange situation; everyone could see that. You all knew that TP had to survive. After all, how could you be at this point if he did not? He had to set up Tenet, hire Neil, Ives and everyone else, prepare the ground for the operation to unfold just like this. But then, considering everything you have been told about temporal paradoxes… could it be that simple? Or was Neil wrong, and what’s happened could also unhappen, so to speak? Too much. Your head began to pound.

“I’m the protagonist of this whole operation. The reason why you’re all here” that was convincing.

And in any other situation, you would have laughed at the prophetic overtone of the statement. But now other emotions were more prominent…

“Mmmm, I’m here because of him,” you retorted, pointedly staring at Neil,

“Only, he doesn’t care” that is when the man turned to look at you for the first time that morning.

Irritated. Fed up with your bullshit. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes glimmering dangerously. Nothing new.

“What are you-” the sharp edge to his voice was satisfying.

Any kind of reaction meant you succeeded at pissing him off. Somehow back then, it was the best thing that could happen.

“Just being salty. Don’t mind me” you shrugged, making sure to pat his shoulder quickly.

Another tiny stab. Neil’s eyes flicked to your hand in a flash and then back to meet your eyes. You could only give him a deliberate smirk.

“Anyways… The splinter unit will be two people” Ives brought back the topic with palpable annoyance, “I’ve got an obvious choice on my mind, but I’ll discuss that later with some of you” the definitive tone would have made anyone shut up.

Not you though. Not when there was nothing to lose, and you decided that you might as well have fun with this mess.

“Why so mysterious, huh?” another quip, all to make Ives look up at you with surprise.

He rolled his eyes, showing you exactly what he thought of your new approach to things.

“We’ve got a more pressing topic to deal with” nothing to play with there.

What a shame. Mouthing an apology at the squad leader, you could feel the tension surge. The more trivial topics have been already mentioned and moved past. Now it was the time for big guns. For another clash of the titans.

“Precisely,” Neil jumped at the chance and spoke “The elephant in the room is rather obvious” his eyes scanned the space with a predatory gleam, settling on you, “I mean, look at her… she’s barely staying quiet,” a mocking smirk to compliment the statement.

Presumptuous fuck. Despite the anger reaching a boiling point in your veins, you refused to give him the satisfaction. To show how much it hurt.

“Her?” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze defiantly “Neil, that’s a low blow. Even for you” a passing flinch on his face giving the power to keep going “But yes, I’d love to know whether you’ve changed your mind regarding some important matters” you addressed the room at large, searching for support.

That concerned look Wheeler shot you was helpful. As was the way TP hunched in the chair, burdened with terrifying possibilities of Neil’s stubbornness. Maybe you won’t have to be alone in this.

“I’m going in,” the blonde man shrugged nonchalantly, staring you down, “The only thing you can do is help us plan how to make it work,”

The strategy was to alienate you. Make it sound like you were the only one protesting against his idiotic plan. Well, not on your watch. Now was the time to put all those sleepless nights to use.

“How to make what work? Your suicide?” you scoffed, taking pleasure in how he frowned at the word, “If you let me speak for once, I’ve got an idea” finishing the lukewarm coffee, you gathered needed strength.

“Go ahead, sunshine,” a sarcastic half-smile, begging to be wiped off his face with a slap.

Maybe another time.

“What if two people went first to take care of the lock?” your voice cut through the tension permeating the room, “You rarely send anyone out without a cover. Because it’s unreasonable. So why this time it should be different?” that was logical.

The most sensible of plans you could come up with. Two on the splinter unit; two to deal with the lock. More likely to find an exit or, simply, survive whatever was waiting by the dead-drop. You also had ideas when it came to who should accompany Neil. But those were best kept a secret.

“Because losing two is worse than one. Even you can do the maths” the unnecessary dig made you roll your eyes.

He was ridiculous. In moments like this, you wished you had never fallen for him. But there was no point in crying over the spilt milk.

“Two have greater chances of survival,” you counterattacked, stating the obvious.

The truth he was so gladly ignoring for his purposes.

“You’ve got a point,” Wheeler chimed in, making you both turn to her.

“Thanks,” you offered the brightest grin you could muster and searched for more backing on the faces of the fellow companions.

Before you could analyse the grave expressions on TP and Ives’s faces, Neil spoke up again:

“You’re also rather emotional…” another insult.

Fuck. It was getting increasingly hard to stay calm. But that was the only thing to do. Another scene before the whole team was certainly not desired. You took a deep breath, fighting to maintain composure.

“Neil, stop” Ives was your saviour of the hour, interrupting with the non-bullshit attitude, “I think this idea is worth going over. It’s not like we’ve got anything better,”

You vowed to send Ives a bouquet of roses if you were still alive after all this. Or better, take him out to a pub. Nothing was settled upon during that meeting. The chaos of you all trying to convince Neil to listen to your arguments was only interrupted with him throwing more offences at you. Apart from emotional, you learned you were also delusional. And a potential loose cannon that was best kept away from making crucial decisions. You debated putting all of those on your CV and asking him to provide the references. After all, Neil was the expert when it came to your skillset. After half hour of barely held-together discussion, Ives told you all to calm down and fuck off for the time being. At least until you could decide on something without jumping to your throats. You doubted that was even possible. You were resolved to drive your plan forward. And so was Neil.

When the meeting was over, you were the first one to leave, hoping to slip out before anyone could stop you. You made it as far as the corridor leading to the bridge when you felt someone grab your arm, making you turn around. Of course. Neil’s steel-blue eyes were staring at you coldly. He was getting ready to attack, and you did not want to let him. Before either of you could break the silence, someone stopped in the corridor, and the familiar voice spoke:

“You two should fuck each other already,” you scowled at Ives’s choice of words, “Or break-up. I don’t care, only don’t do this again” he gave you a long taxing look, with annoyance brewing underneath.

You could not blame him. Only that kind of comment was too much right now. With cheeks burning, you desperately searched for words. Neil found them for you:

“We’re not together” dead simple with a tinge of anger to it.

You took a look at Neil, noticing the frown set on his face. And the fact that he was still holding on to you. Fingers wrapped around your bicep, just enough force to make it seem questionable.

“Could’ve fooled me” the squad leader shrugged and walked off before either of you could react.

Great start. Yanking your arm free, you asked:

“What do you want?” you made sure to make him hear the irritation.

That was against the plan, and you doubted your ability to survive yet another confrontation. From the look in his eyes, you could also guess where this was going.

“I know what you’re doing. All I’ve got to say is don’t,” Neil stared you down, keen on intimidation, “I won’t let it happen” no room for discussion there.

Well, maybe with any other idiot. You knew it would come to it. The moment when you would have to admit that your plan involved going with Neil. And there would be no debate about it. It had to be you. Reasons? Inexplicable.

“Tough luck because I’m not letting you get killed,” you counterattacked, meeting his intense gaze without reluctance, “Or go in there alone,” a pointed emphasis, to show him you meant it.

You felt like you could win this one. Maybe even walk away without the tears in your eyes. Just this once. But then Neil did what he does best – changed the topic.

“If this is about what happened-” he reached out to you again, fingers curling around your wrist.

There we go. You were surprised it took him that long to mention the previous afternoon. His touch and the bruises were hard to forget, but so was the lack of affection in his eyes. As though you were just another hook-up. Someone to seduce, get pleasure from, and then leave without a word of explanation. Nothing more. You deserved better than this. With heart hammering in your chest, you responded:

“Not everything is about you trying to fuck me, Neil,” it was his turn to scowl, as though the words have hurt him.

It was only fair.

“Who said-” his grip on your wrist tightened, drawing you closer.

But that alone was not enough to distract you from the denial he tried to pass as the truth.

“Please,” you gave him a pointed look, “That was a mistake, and it’s best treated like one” swallowing down the discomfort, you let the statement fall between you.

You wanted nothing but to forget about it. Brush it under the carpet. The marks were enough of a punishment for a moment of weakness. Neil seemed to consider something quickly, weighting the options, before he nodded:

“Of course,” the formality had the potential to drive you mad, “I’m glad we seem to agree on something,”

For a second, you contemplated leaving the scene. You knew he would not follow, too caught up in the grudges and apprehensions to stop you from escaping. But you wanted to have the last word. To put to use the ability to see right through his act. Neil was staring at you with eyes narrowed, trying to anticipate the very next move. You were sure to surprise him.

“Think I have figured it out though,” he arched his eyebrow in a silent question “Why you’re so keen on doing something that stupid” his face fell, you took a step forward “It’s that hero complex, hidden under honourable acts and philosophical bullshit” pulling your hand out of his hold, you advanced to intimidate, “You think you’re past redemption. That you don’t deserve it. But you can’t give up until you save everybody else. That’s just who you are” the sheer panic in his eyes was fascinating “Only there’s me. An obstruction” Neil swallowed hard as you laid your hand on his shoulder; nearly there, “And you might not love me, but it still doesn’t mean I can let you do it” you gave him a final sad smile, brushing away a stray hair from his pullover.

Yours, judging by the length and colour. A quirk of fate. You were too busy contemplating the fact to notice a shift in his eyes. Denial. Disbelief. Darkness.

“My god… you’re so stupid” the sharp edge to his voice was dripping with venom, “How can you not see it?” Neil was looking at you as though you were an idiot.

Wow. Fighting the urge to breakdown, you took a deep breath. You should have known he had not had enough of hurting you. Always naïve.

“… thanks,” you chuckled dryly, holding on to the remains of anger in your system, “First ‘emotional and delusional’. Now this… you’re expanding your vocabulary” his silence was deafening, “I wonder what will be next… expletives?” the next statement came from the depths of your heart “It would be much easier to just admit that you hate me, and we could be done with this”

That childlike belief in the existence of love wanted him to say no. To deny that he could ever despise you in any way. But the innocence had to be buried if you were to survive.

“I’ll consider that” the cold calculation in Neil’s eyes was terrifying. It was truly over. Even if your heart felt like it was being ripped out. The edges of your vision were blurring, eyes burning with tears begging to be released. Not yet.

“Fab,” you brushed away the strand that was falling into his eyes, “As a final note… I admit that the worst mistake I have ever made was allowing myself to believe you’re worth it”

It was not exactly the truth. But the tiniest moment of passing shock in his eyes was a good enough response. For a second, Neil was speechless, stunned by your harsh words and the way you caressed his face. One last guilty pleasure.

“I’m glad you’re acknowledging it” his face split in an attempt at a smile.

It was broken. Dishonest. There was something fascinating in him at that very moment. The set jaw, eyes cold as ice; yours, but not at all. The beautiful and damned. Gently, you ran your fingers over his stubble, hoping to memorise his face in every way possible. The intensity of his gaze was beginning to drive you insane, offering eternal suffering if you were to make the smallest mistake. Never again.

“The cruelty looks good on you” you zipped up his pullover in one smooth motion and turned away.

The searing pain in your chest was the needed punchline.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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dinner-djarin · 4 years ago

Text

Until the Sun Rises

Part 1: Chosen or not

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!reader

Notes: As much as I love Star Wars, I am not completely versed in how the Force works, so I may or may not have made some stuff up. Honestly I'm not really sure, but I tried not to make it too drastic. Also I made up a name for the readers Master (Master Setne). I hope it doesn't take anyone out of the fic. Also this fic is dedicated to @hellotherebonky. Happy Birthday! I hope you enjoy ;)

Word count: 2.9k

Rating: T

Summary: Growing up as a Jedi isn't all you wished it could be. You wonder if this path is the right one for you, that is until you meet a young Anakin Skywalker.

Warnings: Nothing I can think of immediately. There might be light swearing somewhere, but honestly it's pretty PG, being about the Jedi and all. Very Angsty. It's kinda self doubty and there's some negative thoughts about the readers own abilities and stuff (pls be kind to yourself)

The Jedi life is all you’ve ever known. But if you’re being honest with yourself, you aren’t quite convinced you’re cut out for it.

Sure, you want the galaxy to be safe and at peace. Sure, you understand that you have been blessed by the Maker; given the ability to use and understand The Force in a more intimate way than most. But every day that passes in the temple makes you wonder whether this life is the one you would choose for yourself, or if it just so happens to be the life you’ve ended up with.

Being a Padawan is no easy feat. You study day in and day out. You practice and you meditate, and you learn as much as you can, as fast as you can. Your Master has been a guiding lighting through your training, taming your desires and chaotic nature. But as much as you appreciate all they have done for you; they aren't the reason you stay.

There’s only one person who keeps you trapped in the life you wish you could leave. He’s the only true friend and family you feel like you’ve ever known. Even though Master Setne has been there for you through all your highs and lows, only Anakin Skywalker feels like home.

Your first few years at the temple felt so dark and clouded, but the day you met the young boy changed everything. His aura was warm and inviting, and it blended so beautifully with yours - his light blue the perfect complement to your vibrant orange.

You were acquainted quickly, and inseparable from that moment on. Your training was slightly slower than his, but still you made the point to work hard and stay close to him. Even as younglings, any time you could be together, you were. Later in life, Anakin would taunt you for this, saying you were always chasing after him, following him like a lost Loth-cat. But you knew in your heart that he never wanted to be without you. He felt protective over you. He liked knowing you were with him should anything go wrong, as if the boy could do anything to stop impending threats. It brought him joy and comfort to see your smile as you chased him down every hall of the temple.

Later on, however, your training would take you down slightly separate roads. Obi-wan insisted that Anakin’s training be practical and hands-on, something you wished desperately for. However, you were stuck at the temple, learning theory and force abilities, glued to holo-screens full of ancient texts, your brain overwhelmed and understimulated. You longed for the day you got to experience a fight; you craved danger and secretly wished for an outrageous calamity on a far-off planet where you could sweep in and save the day.

However, the days where Anakin joined your studies kept you hopeful. The stolen glances behind monitors and quiet laughter that arose from your persistent silly faces kept a smile plastered on your face for weeks. Any moment shared with Anakin filled your days and nights with a longing bliss; a dream of what life could be like when it was just the two of you, the rest of the world falling away. Every responsibility or dread of impending doom faded to a place you could not reach and did not care to look. Only he mattered. And you hoped - dreamed - that he felt the same for you.

You wondered if maybe when he was on assignment off world, facing unknown dangers and near-death experiences, if you were on his mind. If when he came back bloodied and bruised, he wished for you to greet him first, for you to comfort him at his side in the infirmary. Obviously, you were important to him, being one of the only other people willing to put up with his boyish arrogance, but still you feared you may not have brought him the same comfort that he did for you.

As you grew older, you were lucky to find your bedchambers right next door to those of Anakin’s, and even more lucky to know that your headboards fell against the same adjacent wall. The two of you spent countless nights reaching out through the force to feel each other's presence. A tease for what you could have, had your barrier disappear. As you tuned your skills, you were able to do more than feel each other's auras. Eventually, you lay awake night after night speaking to each other in a way most could never understand. It was more than words shared amongst friends. It was a swirling mix of emotions and images and fears and dreams, blended together intimately between the wall which kept your physical forms separate.

When you were teens - almost adults - you found ways to become more reckless. Sneaking out to roam the temple halls and explore to places previously forbidden. Finding your way to rooftop balconies of your own making and watching the stars of Coruscant’s sky. Anakin would list off the plethora of different systems he had been to, whereas you were only able to name a handful that you’d visited yourself. You followed his lead, as he yearned to push every boundary in his way. He had never been one to follow commands blindly, and it leaked into the life he shared with you. Your stolen moments were often a direct product of Anakin’s juvenile disregard for the Order’s attempt to control him.

One night, you were readying yourself for sleep when you heard your door quickly slide open and shut before you could even turn to observe it.

“What the-” you start to question as you turn to face the intruder.

“Your senses must be dulling, young Padawan” he starts with a whisper. “If you cannot sense my presence after so many years together.”

“First of all, Anakin, you’re a Padawan as well, so don’t even start that. And second, as much as I wish I could ignore your cocky presence in the Force, I tend not to expect anyone's presence when I’m about to go to sleep for the night.”

“Well, if you can only feel my presence when you are expecting it, you won't be a very efficient Knight, will you, little one?”

“Anakin, I swear. I’m only a year younger than you, please stop calling me that!” Every time he talks about how young you are, your heart splinters just a little. Every day you wished he saw you in a better light, saw you for the woman you almost were, instead of the child he first met. “And I would be a better Jedi if Master Setne actually believed in me. But no. I’m stuck here while you get to go wave your saber around every star system in the galaxy. I mean come on it’s not like you're so special. Hmm Mister ‘Chosen One’”

“Erg, I wish you’d stop that.” He grunted quietly.

“What? I mean Obi-wan believes it. His master believed it too. It’s not so crazy-”

“No. I wished you’d stop. Stop thinking of me like that.” His words pierce you like ice, a harsh grip at your throat. Stop thinking of me like that. His words brought an irrational wave of confusion to your thoughts. Every fear you’d known came bubbling to the surface in a moment, fearing he knew of your affection… and subsequently didn’t return it. “And I wish you didn’t think of yourself like that. You are talented, little one. You're brilliant and cunning. I’ve sparred with you enough to know that you would be able to hold your own out there.”

He moves to sit on your bed, although you remain frozen on the spot. Anakin gazes out of your floor-to-ceiling window, “I’m not better than you. I’m not who they want me to be. I’m not Chosen.” He whispers quietly, almost low enough that you wonder if he even intended for you to hear.

Slowly, your heartbeat evens out and you think you begin to breathe again. It's not your feelings of love that he despised, but your eagerness to view him as superior to you. The feeling in your fingertips and toes returns and it is enough to get you to move towards the window as well.

You move carefully to sit cross-legged beside him, and you join him in watching the bustle of Coruscant in silence. After several minutes of gazing at speeders pass by and store signs blink repeatedly you place your hand on his thigh and gently tilt your head to rest on his shoulder.

“I know you Anakin, arguably better than most, and you are talented. You’re amazing. There’s a reason you're out there keeping peace, while the rest of us barely get to leave the temple. You may just be the best Jedi of our age one day. Chosen or not.”

“I doubt that very much.” He spoke plainly, almost compulsory. Like he knew your words were true, but he had to deny them anyway. Anakin had always been self-assured. He never tried very hard but could somehow always tackle any difficult topic during training. Something that might take you a month to master took him mere minutes.

“Modesty doesn’t look good on you.” You note, as you take in the way his brow furrows and his lips scrunch into a frown. He always looked good, the damn jerk, but poking at his ego always came easy to you.

“I won’t lie to you,” He starts as he meets your examining gaze, and you dare to raise your brow, “You’d see right through me if I even tried,” he smiles, and you stifle a giggle as you listen closely to his next confession, “I do think I could be great. I notice how easy everything comes to me, how little work I have to put in, especially compared to you. Sometimes I even think Obi-wan is running out of things to teach me. He deals more in life lessons now than saber training. And I do wish to one day be on the council, maybe even lead it-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream that far Anakin,” you cut him off, and you don't miss the worry that fills his face. Eager to ease him, you finish, “I doubt you’ll be able to outlive Master Yoda. 900 years he’s going on, if I’m correct? Good luck topping that.” And with a wink you see ease wash over him, with a huff of laughter barely escaping his nose.

“You’ve got me there, little one.” He says as he turns his stare back to the city. “Regardless, even though I know I could make it, I wonder if it’s truly the place for me.” He finishes. But in a second you whip your eyes around to meet his staring back at you.

“What are you talking about Anakin! You’re everything the council looks for. Brave, talented, brilliant, and even after all that, you care. You care about protecting the galaxy, keeping peace. You care about everyone around you. They should count themselves lucky to have you amongst their ranks. And besides…” You start to confess, but quickly lose momentum.

After a moment of quiet, Anakin presses you, “Besides what?”

“Anakin, if you don’t belong here… You have to because…”

“Little one?”

“If you don’t belong here, how can I?” You finally admit, both to him and yourself. You know it is foolish, but you’ve always thought of him as the ideal Jedi. Perfect in every way. Ready for battle, or negotiation. Wanting to save everyone with his kind heart. If he didn’t believe he fit here, how could you? How could anyone?

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re an amazing Jedi, well Jedi-in-training.” he corrects himself, “I just think sometimes I’m not made to sit and talk about issues. And I worry that when I have the freedom to be a fully-fledged Knight, I may not agree with the council. Even now I often wonder if their decisions are the best, or most efficient. They seem so detached from it all…” His eyes fall to his lap, and from only his profile you can see how worried he truly is about the matter.

“You’re right.” His eyes dart up to meet your own, that lost look beginning to melt in the presence of your agreement. “They do seem detached but isn’t that the way it's supposed to be. ‘No attachments’ and all that. If they - if we - attach ourselves to things, we cannot make educated decisions. We must trust in The Force for guidance. And since our Master’s have developed their connections fully, we must trust their decisions as they work through The Force.”

“Yes. You are right.” Anakin begins, a tone of disappointment lodged in his voice.

“But we must also trust ourselves,” you counter, “And know that our own connection to The Force might guide us differently from what the council suggests. If we can’t trust ourselves, we have no business being Jedi, in-training that is.” You finish, and you hope that Anakin has not lost hope in your words. He basically told you that he feels the same struggle that you do, but you were too ashamed to admit that. You wish to yourself that you could be like him. Brave and courageous. Daring and bold. Willing to bare himself to you so openly and knowing full-well what consequences may come. “Anakin,” your voice now only a whisper, and you make your way to hold his hand, “I hope you know that you do belong here. Even if you never make it on the council.” His eyes now full of confusion and hurt from your words, but you persist. “Even if you are the Chosen One... or not. All I know is what I’ve seen. And I have seen you become a strong, caring man. A man who does what he believes is right, no matter the consequences to himself. Even the things you neglect to tell me, I hear from the Temple gossip. I know how close to death you’ve been, for the sake of others. You’ve risked your life, even for your Master on occasion. I mean come on, Anakin. How could we not be lucky to have you here? One day you will do something incredible for the Jedi order, I know it. Even if you don’t think so, I know. I know you belong here, and I know you will be the best of us. So, if you don’t trust yourself, or your Master, or The Force... then trust me.”

The words tumbled from your tongue like an avalanche, unstoppable and devastating. The moment they left you, you wished for your Life Force to be sucked away on the spot. But Anakin just stared at you. He stared and you stared back. And if not for the noise of the upper levels of Coruscant, you might have thought you had been transported somewhere new; to a place where only you two existed. You could feel his body heat diffusing through his fingers to your frozen clutch, yet still your blood ran cold out of the fear for what might happen next.

“What will come of us when we are Knighted, little one?” He asked through an equally hushed tone. “What will I do without your constant guidance?”

“What will I do without you, Anakin? I already can’t stand being left here alone so often, watching you traverse the galaxy with Obi-wan. When you’re Knighted, which could very well be any day now, you’ll be gone for so much longer. And I’ll still be here.”

You barely manage to breathe in the presence of the suffocating silence that follows your words. But soon after, you hear Anakin's quiet unassured voice return. “I could take you with me?”

“Stop it, Anakin.” You playfully retort.

“I’m serious.” His voice becoming stronger in his conviction, “Once we are Knighted - the both of us - we can ask to be assigned together. It would be unwise for the council to deny how well we work together. You’d only have to wait until you face the trials, which I know won't be long either. You work hard enough, and Master Sente would be a fool to keep you locked up here much longer.” The dream of partnering with Anakin brings warmth back to your body, and you allow yourself a moment to indulge in the picture. You and Anakin defending each other, protecting each other. The long trips through hyperspace where you could strategize, and train together. You could spend every day and every night with each other. The dream is delectable.

But it is just that. A dream.

Not only would you need the approval of the council and need to wait until whenever your Master decided you were ready for the trials. But you also knew that new Knights were rarely assigned together. If anything, they were often stationed with their Master’s for months until it was assured they could handle any troubles on their own.

“It’s a nice idea,” you placate his wistful thinking, “I truly hope we get to see that day soon.” And with those words you decide the night must come to an end. You nudge Anakin's side and remark the hour, “Our Master’s will have us running drills for days if they catch us up so late past curfew.”

“Well then. Until the sun rises,” He says with a wink.

“And until the sun sets.” You finish as you watch your door slide shut between you and him.

~~~~~~~

Part 2

Thanks for reading!

There will be 3 parts to this story, so if you enjoyed, stay tuned!! Its gonna be tragic..

#anakin skywalker #anakin fluff #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin fic #star wars #clone wars #prequel era #young anakin #anakin angst #TCW #jedi #sith #fluff #angst

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Soulmarks, Part 10

First part

~~~

(Tw. It’s a whump, and it’s not even that bad by my standards, but I figured I’d tag anyways)

He pulled a smile to his face as he turned back to where the old woman he had helped was last, but she was nowhere in sight. Confusion flickered in his mind, and a tiny part of him told him that something was terribly wrong, but he’d not been given enough time to react.

A mallet hit him on the side of the head and he went crashing to the ground, little more than a groan leaving his lips as he tried to push himself back to his feet. The woman was still there, he needed to get her away --.

His eyes found their way to Harley Quinn, who was wiping makeup from her skin.

He struggled to push himself up, his head ringing. He’d been tricked, he had no one to save, he needed to leave --.

She smiled brightly, giving him a tiny finger wave before swinging her mallet again...

He was pulled from unconsciousness when cold water was tossed over him.

Tim looked up into the bleached faces of Harley and Joker and a tiny gasp escaped his lips that had nothing to do with the sudden cold.

God, no no no no no --.

He forced himself to relax a bit. He’d be useless if he allowed himself to freak out like this. He just needed to concentrate. He needed to get away...

He was on the floor, the stone cold on his bare arms. His arms and legs were pinned underneath him with... ropes. Ropes! He could get out of that. He just needed to time it right.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite boy blunder!” Said Joker, the smile on his face somehow stretching wider than usual.

Tim jutted his chin out as much as he could from his spot on the ground. “Man, you really do just take one joke and run it into the ground, don’t you?”

Joker’s smile didn’t waver, but he could see the way his eyes narrowed.

Good, if he could get them angry enough, then he could use their distraction to escape --.

A mallet hit him over the head again and he groaned in pain as lights danced behind his eyes. Hm. Well, that wasn’t quite to plan, but this was still doable…

Harley giggled, twirling the mallet in her hands. “Do we know for sure that we crushed the Robin findy-thingy?”

“Not yet, poo. How about you make sure? Make sure he’s alive, though, I have plans for him.”

He started to walk away and Tim’s eyes widened as Harley brought her mallet up with a bright smile on her face.

He didn’t know which possibility was worse: Harley beating him to death or what would happen to him if he survived.

Well, he wasn’t about to find out. The ropes slackened and he rolled out of the way of a swing. He wrenched his arms free

He started trying to untangle his legs from the ropes, but then decided that it was a lost cause as they got even more tangled. He’d find a knife or something later, he couldn’t just spend time trying to get out like that when someone was attacking him.

He barely managed to move out of the way of Harley’s next swing and looked around quickly for an exit.

There! On the complete opposite side of the room! Great!

Sarcasm aside, he reached around for the nearest blunt object and managed to grab ahold of an old board. He brought up his new weapon to combat Harley’s mallet, sure that he wouldn’t get lucky another time, and cursed as it splintered on impact.

Woodchips attacked them and Harley was forced to fall back to avoid getting too cut up.

Not what he’d wanted, but still good! He had distance, all he needed was to get away!

He got to his feet again and started attempting to hop-run away, only for her to step on one of the trails of rope that still bound him. He cursed as he was pulled off-balance, a hand flying out to catch his fall on instinct and he screamed in pain as his arm crunched under the sudden weight.

He brought his definitely broken arm to his chest and flipped over to look at Harley.

She was advancing on him, her mallet resting on her shoulder. She was panting, at least. Those few swings had been hard, the mallet was heavy. Maybe he could use that.

Well, not now. Now he needed to get out of those pesky ropes because she was making sure to walk on it so he couldn’t just scoot away.

He thrashed against his bindings.

One of his stray kicks managed to knock over a nearby table and a bunch of weird needles rattled across the stone.

Harley gasped and dropped her mallet. A bright smile made her way across her face as she picked up the nearest needle.

He frowned. A tranquilizer? Weird. Why hadn’t they just used that earlier?

He wasn’t given much time to think about it as Harley jumped on top of him and jammed it into his neck.

But, instead of making him feel drowsy, all he could feel was pain. Fire coursed through his veins, and he thrashed around. A scream tore from his throat.

Please make it stop please please please he’d do anything please just make it stop --!

(Tw over <3)

He snapped out of it and wiped the tears from his eyes.

He wasn’t in bed anymore, the only way you could tell he’d ever been in it at all was the bit of blanket wrapped around one of his ankles. The floor was cold beneath him and he breathed out a sigh as he let his hands drop.

And then he realized he wasn’t just on the floor, he was on top of Marinette.

He took in the chunk of hair stuck in one of his hands and the way one of her eyes wouldn’t open behind her Ladybug mask.

She slowly lowered her arms from where they’d been attempting to protect her head. He absolutely hated the way her visible pupil was still dilated with fear, the way she kept her arms in a position where she could quickly get back into a defensive stance.

“Oh my god, Nette, I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t think it would get this bad, I shouldn’t have asked you to --.”

Her hands grabbed the front of his shirt and she pulled him down. Her arms wrapped around him tightly and he tensed up. He’d just attacked her. He didn’t deserve this --.

“It was an accident. And… I summoned a lucky charm when I saw you were starting to thrash a bit. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

He felt a sob escape him. He buried his face in her hair, returning her hug.

Even if he didn’t deserve her affections, they did feel pretty good.

Marinette sat on the roof as she waited for Adrien to return from his definitely-not-bonding time with Bruce.

She saw their figures appearing over the horizon. She sent a tiny wave to Adrien and went back to messing with her yoyo.

A few minutes later she heard the tiles of the rooftop crunch as he came up next to her. He dropped down beside her.

“M’lady,” he said, a grin evident in his voice.

She looked up at him and saw his eyes widen.

“Holy crap, Nette, I thought you didn’t have patrols tonight. The heck happened?!”

She brought a hand to her eye. It was getting hard to ignore the throbbing at this point. She’d told Tim that she’d used a lucky charm to help alleviate some of the guilt, but damn did she wish she’d thought of that when he’d come at her. Her mind had gone blank the moment she’d seen that Tim was crying. She’d barely even thought of turning into Ladybug so she could at least take the pain better.

It was so… unlike her to not think. She didn’t know if she liked it.

Marinette looked back over the horizon, glaring at nothing in particular. “Tim --.”

He started to get up. “I’ll kill him --.”

She rested a hand over his arm and held him down. She sighed and continued: “-- had a nightmare. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Had a…?” He settled back into his spot beside her, a frown playing across his face. “Oh…”

Silence stretched between the two of them.

She sighed and rested back against the roof, letting her head tip back. “I’m killing Joker.”

His head whipped around to look at her. “You are?”

She nodded.

It wouldn’t fix anything. Tim would continue to struggle, it wouldn’t just go away no matter what Marinette did or whether Joker lived. Only time could really heal him. She knew that.

She gripped her yoyo tighter.

But it would at least make sure no one else had to suffer like that again.

~~~

Next part

Me: oh I shouldn’t do angst it’s a holiday for some peopleeeee!!

Also me: fuck it. It’s angst-giving now.

Taglist

@pawsitivelymiraculous @golden-promises @salty-fang @kitsunebell @sassakitty @octobitch @glastwime859 @miyla-lokidottir @onlyabatfan @ira-sairain @2confused-2doanything @ultimatetornshipper @ladybug-182 @laurcad123 @we-want-mini-mini @roguishredaxion @just-reblogs-by-h @futursworld @magic-miraculous @nathleigh @smolplantmum @vroomtaka @emimar7 @toodaloo-kangaroo @charme-de-malchan @spicybelladonna @fusser90 @indecisive-mess-named-me

#timinette #timari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #tim drake #soulmarks #maribat #adribat

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nour386 · 5 years ago

Text

Meeting the not Heroic Family

My submission for @pinesconessecrets as the santa of @mothmanfactkin, His prompts included super hero au and awkward dinner. So I combined them together into one massive fic. I hope you enjoy this because I enjoyed writing this. (Also on Ao3!)

"Dipper, I'm not sure about this," Wirt tightened his grip on his boyfriend's hand.

"It'll be fine!" Dipper awkwardly bumped Wirt with his elbow. "They don't need to know that I'm dating the legendary 'Spirit of the Plants'."

"Dipper this is serious." Wirt said. "If your Uncle is half as smart as you say he is, he should be able to figure out my identity in an instant."

"Don't worry about that, we have your cover story remember?" Dipper grinned, "a humble library part timer fresh out of college, looking for work. It'd cover most of our bases."

Wirt didn't look convinced. He bit his lip and looked away. His mind raced with all the ways this evening could go wrong. A villain somehow reconsigning him, and attacking them through the window. A giant monster bursting through the ceiling, crushing everyone and splattering the walls with their blood. Or worst of all, his boyfriend's uncles deciding that he was a bad influence. Cutting his time with Dipper short.

"Hey, look at me." Dipper pinched Wirt's cheek making the lanky man wince.

"What was that for?" Wirt rubbed his cheek.

"You were doing that thing where you panic and over think everything and worry that the end of the world will come about because you dropped a spoon." Dipper rolled his hand as he spoke.

"There was no apocalypse this time." Wirt said in a small voice.

"That's not the point Pilgrim." Dipper sighed. He placed both his hands on Wirt’s shoulders. "I know you're worried, and in truth, I am a little as well; but nothing helpful is going to come from sitting here and stewing in our sweat. Let's go take this thing down together."

Wirt took a deep breath, and let himself be held by Dipper. The weight of his hands on his shoulders helped ground the young man. He looked into his boyfriend’s eyes and gave a small smile.

“I think. I'll be fine.” Wirt said slowly.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Dipper smiled.

The pair made their way down the long walk up to the mystery shack. Normally Dipper would have insisted on flying the pair over, but decided that letting Wirt get excited over the natural beauty of Gravity Falls might help him calm down enough to face his uncles. That judgement worked out swimmingly in his favour as Wirt awkwardly asked to stop every few minutes to observe some flower or shrub that he didn’t quite recognise.

“I know you said the town was bustling with the unknown, I didn’t think that would include plants.” Wirt carefully touched the leaf of a shrub.

“Is a small bush that impressive?” Dipper squated next to Wirt to observe the plant. The stem looked like it was covered in red polka dots.

“Look! This shrub adapted its stem to look like it's covered in red ants to avoid being eaten!” Wirt said in an excited voice. He gave the leaf at the tip of the stem a small poke and gave a small twitter of delight as the stem curled up perfectly to make the polka dots look even larger.

“Huh, I never noticed that.” Dipper taped his chin.

“Probably because you spent the better part of your time running for your life.” Wirt tapped a nearby tree. A sturdy branch grew out, just high enough along the trunk to help him stand up without groaning. “Thank you.” He whispered to the tree.

“You know, for a superhero you sure do use your powers haphazardly.” Dipper teased. He stood up, and led the way to the shack.

“You’re just jealous that your yearbook photo this year was captioned ‘plant killer’.” Wirt smirked, following Dipper along the path.

“I told all of our friends to not get me house plants as gifts. But they never listen.” Dipper threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can hardly take care of myself. You think I can take care of a plant?”

“Thank your lucky stars that I didn’t decide to incarcerate you for crimes against greenery.” Wirt said.

“That’s not a thing and you know it Mr.’Hero’.” Dipper punched Wirt’s arm.

“Well it might be!” Wirt shot back. “And now the charge has changed to battery.”

“Oh no. how could you have stopped my dastardly crimes.” Dipper rolled his eyes.

“Who’s talking about crime?” came a gruff voice.

The pair looked ahead to find an older looking man. Greying hair that lay flat on his head, a red nose and square jaw. He wore a serious expression, his face behind his square glasses was twisted into a serious scowl as he looked at the two young men.

“I-uh no-one Sir.” Wirt squeaked.

Dipper on the other hand rolled his eyes. “Why? You want a cut of the goods?” “You’re damn right.” The old man smirked.

“I wha-” Wirt looked between them.

“Are you sure you’d want to be associated with horrible criminals like us?” Dipper asked. “Wouldn’t want the press to find out and cause another scandal.”

“Those paparazzi cronies will swarm after anything. It’ll blow over in less than a day.” The old man chuckled.

“What?” Wirt tilted his head.

Dipper grinned. “Wirt, this is my Great uncle Stan, retired hero and ever active conman.”

“Hero?” Wirt stared at the man. His mind raced to put a mask to the face.

“Autographs cost 50 and pictures with me are 100.” Stan gave a showman’s grin. “Keep in mind that those prices are mutually exclusive.”

“And if you want him in costume you’d be footing the tailor’s bill.” Dipper elbowed Wirt.

“Wait, who were you?” Wirt asked.

“Who was I? Who was I?” Stan looked as though he had the wind knocked out of him. “What kind of cave dweller did you bring to my house?”

Dipper rolled his eyes at Stan’s theatrics. He was well used to his uncle’s inflated ego about his hero career. Wirt on the other hand found difficulty picking up on Stan’s very subtle hints at playing a bit. He felt his stomach sink to his feet as the man’s voice grew in volume, his life flashing before his eyes as he tried to figure out which hero this angry looking man could have been.

“Grunkle Stan, tone it down, you’re going to give him a heart attack.” Came a sweet as sugar voice from inside the shack. A young lady with her hair done in a long braid opened the mesh door and punched Stan in the arm. Aside from rosy cheeks and the lack of a beard, her face was identical to Dipper’s. It didn’t take long for Wirt to recognise his boyfriend’s twin sister, Mabel.

She turned to Wirt and gave a warming smile. “Sorry about this old grump. He thinks his comedy routine should double as a horror show.”

“It’s only horror if they’re too sensitive.” Stan rubbed his arm.

“You promised Dipper you’d play nice while Wirt was visiting.” she crossed her arms.

“I also promised your uncle Shermie that I wouldn’t let you do any hero work while staying over. And look how that turned out.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Stopping someone from stealing a car isn’t hero work.” Mabel shot back.

“Sorry about Stan,” Dipper muttered under his breath. “He’s just jealous that his hero career was cut.”

“Jealous?” Wirt stared at Dipper. “You said you didn’t tell them anything”

“He’s jealous of your youthfulness” Dipper squeezed Wirt’s shoulder. He leaned in close to whisper into his ear. “I haven’t told them a thing, I promise.”

“So he’s not mad?” Wirt clarified.

“Nope, just a really bad comedian.” Dipper smiled.

Wirt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held onto Dipper’s hand to ground himself. It took a couple of moments but he felt his heart rate slow down.

“Hey, is the kid okay?” Stan called from the porch. Wirt could hear the audible smack of Mabel’s fist against Stan’s meaty arms, followed by a hushed. “Ouch!”

“Ready to go in?” Dipper asked patiently, ignoring his relatives and their antics.

“I think so yes.” Wirt opened his eyes and gave a weak grin.

***

The pair had wanted to spend the wait for dinner in the living room, enjoying the terrible public access television that Gravity Falls had to offer. However, Stan had other plans. Apparently Dipper’s second Grunkle, Ford as Stan called him, had failed to arrive in time to help like he had agreed. And now the couple were forced into the kitchen to help with dinner preparations.

“Honestly you don’t need to help too much.” Dipper insisted as he kept an eye on the bubbling stew.

“I don’t mind. It’s nice to see the shack you talk so much about.” Wirt smiled. He carefully peeled an onion before dicing it. Dipper could have sworn the onion grew plumper when he handed it to Wirt.

“So he talks about this place huh?” Stan looked over his shoulder and away from his chopping board. “Better be talking about how great it was.”

“Oh but of course.” Dipper rolled his eyes. “The 5 star accommodations, and food to match? How could I complain?”

“Didn’t you say that the walls were riddled with splinters?” Wirt asked.

“They add character!” Stan insisted. He banged his fist on to the chopping board, launching sliced up carrots into Dipper’s bubbling pot.

“And a surprising amount of fiber.” Dipper said. He placed a lid on the pot.

“What?” Wirt looked at Dipper.

“The kid chews just about anything. I’m surprised his power wasn’t something like eating anything.” Stan said, he took the onion slices from Wirt and poured them into a pan with some oil.

“I don’t think that’d be very fitting.” Wirt said.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Stan snapped his fingers, summoning a small flame at the tip of his finger, which he then used to ignite the stove. He raised an eyebrow as he stared at Wirt. Challenging him to back up his claim.

Wirt could feel his stomach twisting under the gaze of the older man, but a gentle hand on his shoulder helped the practising hero ground himself. He took a deep breath and put on what felt like a confident grin. “Well, for one thing Dipper would need an appetite for such a power to be useful.”

There was a beat, Wirt held his breath, expecting some snide remark about how he didn’t know what he was talking about. Instead, Wirt watched as Stan slapped his knee in laughter. The old man’s wrinkled face lifted with glee as his hoarse laugh filled the shack. He accidentally knocked over the pan he had just put on the stove.

Acting quickly, Wirt grew a strong vine from the flowers on the window sill, easily catching the pan.

“And here I thought you were all talk about him being a smart alec!” Stan grinned. He clapped a hand on Wirt’s back.

“Thank you?” Wirt looked to Dipper for help.

His boyfriend gave him a small smile and a thumbs up. “Told you he could hold his own.”

“He still looks scrawny as hell.” Stan pulled his pan out of the vine’s grasp. “Pretty good with his powers. You sure he ain’t some mask behind your back?”

“Grunkle Stan, Wirt would never lie to me like that.” Dipper frowned. He looked disgusted at the suggestion.

“Not many regular people are quick enough to catch something that fast. Especially with powers they don’t use regularly.” Stan said.

“I do use my power often.” Wirt said honestly.

“And what does a librarian need chloromancy for?” Stan asked.

“It helps me put away books faster.” Wirt said. “Not to mention I had a very excitable younger brother. If I wasn’t keeping an eye on him, there was no telling how much trouble he’d get in.”

Dipper held his breath as he watched his Uncle’s reaction. The old man eyed Wirt up and down, before shrugging and moving back to his cooking. “Jeez you really are dating a goody two shoes, aren’t you?”

“You know me. Can’t help but stick to the rules.” Dipper said with an awkward chuckle.

“Only when it suits you.” Stan remarked. “Now toast the bread, I didn't bring you in here to play 20 questions.”

***

‘Ford’ was still nowhere to be seen, but the family had decided to start dinner without him.

“If he thinks I’m going to wait for him to eat then he’s got another thing coming.” Stan said.

With the use of his plant powers, Wirt was able to set the table rather quickly. He wondered why Mabel hadn’t been asked to help, but when he saw several burn marks hidden under the table cloth, he realised the risk the ever glitter throwing Mabel could be to the kitchen. It wasn’t long before the table had been set and all food was served. The three Pines and Wirt sat together at the table, enjoying the delicious food. The sound of clinking plates filled the air.

All was peaceful until a loud crash came from the living room, followed by an angry shout.

“Stanley what did you do to my mirror!”

Stan didn't get up from his seat, in fact he acted as though he didn’t hear what had just transpired. Wirt remembered seeing the old man reach for his ears before they began eating. ‘Perhaps he turned off his hearing aids?’.

Dipper gave Wirt a smile. “We’re in the kitchen Grunkle Ford!”

Wirt turned to the doorway just in time to see a man with a similar face to Stan’s but with a much deeper cleft in his chin and much poofier hair. He wore a trench coat and red sweater over black dress pants. His clothes were scuffed and were burnt in multiple places. To the untrained eye it would have looked like the man had run wildly through the woods from some kind of monster. However Wirt was familiar with markings like those that were all over Ford’s clothing. They were from stray bullets that had nicked his clothing, narrowly avoiding him.

“Stanley, what was the big idea with putting my mirror behind the couch!” Ford marched right up to his twin, his face red with rage.

Stan lazily looked up at Ford, his mouth full of mashed potatoes. He raised a finger and swallowed his food. “I can’t hear anything you're saying Sixer.” Stan pointed to the kitchen counter, where his hearing aids sat, keeping him deaf to the world around him.

“You knucklehead! I almost got crushed!” Ford reached to punch Stan, but he was stopped by Dipper. The young man had jumped out of his seat and grabbed a hold of Ford’s arm. Dipper also summoned a vine from the window sill to keep his uncle restrained.

“Grunkle Ford, I’m really happy you’re back in one piece. I was hoping to introduce you to my boyfriend, Wirt.” Dipper said. He nonchalantly gestured to Wirt.

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten we had guests.” Ford’s cheeks turned red as he collected himself. “I apologise for my outburst. I’m usually much more composed. However, someone’s pettiness has affected that.”

“Still deaf as a post.” Stan pointed to his large ears. His mouth full of half eaten stew.

Ford rolled his eyes and walked over to Wirt. The old man wiped his hand on his dark pants before offering a six-fingered hand shake. Wirt politely returned the gesture with a firm hand. But as the pair shook hands, a painful realisation dawned upon them both.

“You…” They both breathed. Their eyes locked into one another.

Before Wirt could say anything, Stanford ran out of the room, and out of sight.

Stan, Dipper and Mabel stared at Wirt, all thinking the same question. Wirt could feel their eyes boring into his skull, so he stood up, and excused himself. The young man made his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. He splashed his face with some cold water and breathed deeply. He looked at the mirror above the sink, screamed, and tripped back into the bathtub.

“Calm down!” Dipper whispered. He stepped out of the mirror.

“How did you-”

“I’ve been copying Grunkle Ford’s power for ages.” Dipper said. “Now, would you mind explaining what that was just now?”

“So, remember how I thought I never met your uncles and was worried about a bad first impression?” Wirt asked. His tone sounded jovial despite his rattled nerves. “Well I don't need to worry about that anymore.”

“When did you meet Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked. He sat on the side of the bathtub.

“I was doing a nightly patrol of our campus. The security guards had asked for some help from the local hero guild. Someone was breaking in and taking the latest data found by the scientific teams. I was already on campus so the hero guild put me to the job.” Wirt said. He kept in his awkwardly sat position in the tub as he spoke. The shower curtain tangled with his long limbs.

“So as I was walking around, I heard the guards calling for help, turned the corner and saw the tail coat of a man run down the hallway. ‘The light of the moon shone through the windows, guiding me through the dark to his eventual capture’. Is what I thought when I saw him turn down a dead end. But instead there was no one. There was the one way glass of the nearby lab door; but it was securely locked. The guards checked it anyway and found no one.”

“Right.” Dipper nodded along, tapping his chin.

“I walked along the floor, looking for any signs of the intruder; but alas he had slipped my grasp. The only person I found was one of the professors leaving after a late night at work. I had thought he was the intruder at first, since the first thing I saw were the tails of his coat, but it was a lab coat.” Wirt continued.

“But where does Ford fit into this?” Dipper asked.

“That professor dropped a roll of paper he was carrying. I thought it was some of his research, but when I reached down to pick it up. I noticed he had six fingers, which was not mentioned in the staff listings. And when I looked at his ID, it was a crudely faked card.” Wirt said.

“Ooooh.” Dipper sucked in a breath. “And he realised you were the hero from that night?”

“There’s no way he didn’t.” Wirt said.

“Okay, things are messy, but, there’s nothing to worry about.” Dipper clapped his hands. “He knows that you know, but we don’t know he knows. So we can use this to our advantage.”

“If he knows that we know, then he won’t try to deal with me to make sure I don’t blab?” wirt asked.

“But he can’t be sure that you know.” Dipper said. “As far as your story goes, you’re only a librarian. Just keep your cool and things should smooth over.”

“Considering how annoyed your Uncle Stan is, I doubt he’d want to cause too much more trouble.” Wirt said.

“Exactly.” Dipper smiled. “Now come on, dinner’s getting cold and trust me when I say you don’t want to fight Mabel for seconds.”

Wirt watched as Dipper stood up offering his hand. The young man took a deep breath before accepting his boyfriend’s hand.

“That sounds lovely.” he agreed.

#Gravity falls #Pinescone #Pinescone Secret Santa #Over the garden wall #OTGW #GF #Wirt #Dipper #Wirt X Dipper #Hero Au

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snarwor · 4 years ago

Text

moon and old stars - chapter 9

holy shit it’s been awhile huh. no warnings for this one <3

Masterlist | Read on AO3

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

Din thought about frost a bit too much.

It made almost no sense. Navarro was a lava planet, sulfuric and burning in dangerous pools less than a klick outside of city limits. His missions took him through the hottest damn planets. One of his only memories of his childhood was whining at the cold, and feeling the heavy weight of his father’s jacket settling around his shoulders. Heat and warmth and weight, that was love.

Of course, the exception to this was the blurrg which had fallen on him on Arvala-7, which was hot and heavy and smelly.

But Grogu, the kid. He weighed barely anything and was no warmer than perhaps a Loth-cat, and yet the weight which had settled over Din the moment he’d shot IG-11, the warmth which had filled his bones when that little hand had reached out for him, it was unlike anything he’d experienced before.

Crash landing on the ice planet with Mrs. Frog and the kid had been an exercise in fear, in hopelessness, in compartmentalization. The Crest was damaged beyond reasonable repair, there was a very odd biological imperative happening, there were karking ice spiders, yet the thing that filled Din with the most dread had been the cold. It seeped in and leached the warmth and hope from his bones, staining his beskar with ice, splintering like cracks in stone. False fissures.

When they'd managed to get to the atmosphere again, he joked about all of them dying in the harsh vacuum of space, and it didn’t even register until they’d hit the balmy surface of Trask. He’d made light of an icy, deadly situation, which was, at its core, supposed to be heavy and blood-hot. He’d been horrified when he realized.

He remembered listening to Omera speak on Sorgan about the history of the valley they lived in, how everything had been ice thousands and thousands of years ago, a massive glacier which melted and froze and melted and froze until an entire mountain had split in two. Din couldn’t believe it, but when he’d gotten back on the holonet, he looked up the phenomenon, and marveled at how cold destruction could bring such an idyllic sanctuary.

He began to see signs of it all over his travels. Ancient canyons with split boulders, once-whole halves laying cleaved by no tool made by man or machine. Din told the kid his findings. “Frost did this. Water gets in everywhere, it settles deep and when the cold hits, that water expands, and breaks things if it’s lucky enough.” Of course, the kid only paid attention when he had dried meat rations in his hand, but he liked to think he was paying attention at least some of the time.

His sanity had sprung a leak on Morak. Boba Fett had taken an ax to that leak and filled every splintered part of him with water until he felt like he was near drowning. His first gasp of air was on the armchair at the safe house, when they had been the only people in the entire galaxy. The shame was his heart’s first winter after the flood. The setup on the Lothal moon was an early spring snowstorm. The safe house had been a mild summer. The water had not left him. But when they boarded the ship, when they fought the Dark troopers, when…

Don’t be afraid.

That had been such a shock to his system that all that latent love and affection in him, feelings left dormant and misunderstood in the abscesses of his heart, froze. It was so cataclysmic he couldn’t even hear himself think over the groaning heave of his every canyon and valley. He was broken. He could not be put back together at all. And when Boba had said those five words, the frost started to melt, sure, but the cracks and chasms remained, evidence of a too-cold climate for anything like love to grow in.

Unless.

The melting sensation Boba had given him, the weight and warmth Din had always associated with love, perhaps it had been as natural as a cleaved boulder, but thaw had been intentional as well. It wasn’t Boba’s fault for the freeze in his heart. It wasn’t Boba’s fault he had existing cracks in his foundation. But he’d cleaned up the aftermath, several times over, taken his broken pieces and patched them together, said “I know you’re not whole, but I love you just the same” with every soft pass of a hand over his hair. With every pleasured moan he drew from Din’s lips. With every suspended second their gazes held, and every gentle press of a kiss, Din realized that the crags in his heart had smoothed over in places, didn’t hurt him as much as they had before. It wasn’t Boba’s fault for this new fissure, and here Din was, cutting the man on his own broken edges.

“Why didn’t you let her just kill me when she had the chance?!”

And still.

“Din—”

And still.

“No. Tell me why.”

And still.

“Because I love you, Din.”

The words sat in the air between them like a physical thing, an old moon in orbit, waiting to see if the shooting star would strike it down or warm it back. The last words his mother had said to him, before she was gone forever. He’d always understood that love wasn’t something to be volleyed back and forth, love wasn’t supposed to be expected or returned, not the true love his mother had given, and not the shy, defeated love Boba was giving him now.

And still.

“I love you, too.”

Boba let out a shuddering breath, half a laugh, and a single tear. “Then you understand why I couldn’t let you go.”

Love could look selfish, but it never felt selfish. At least not to Din. He let go of the bottle, and hung his head in his hands instead. The familiar shame of crying in front of Boba washed over him, and as his shoulders shook, he mourned that freeze a little, because he could at least pretend he was solid when it was there. Not now, though. Not now.

With hesitation, Boba’s arm wrapped around the slumped line of his shoulders. Without hesitation, Din leaned into it. “He’s gone,” Din rasped.

Boba made a noise he probably hadn’t meant to before the other arm came up to pull Din into his lap, curl him up small and safe. With the beskar, he was much heavier, and less kind on his aching body, but Boba bore his weight without complaint. “Not gone, just somewhere else,” Boba said, stroking a hand over Din’s head in a well-practiced motion they’d perfected since Morak. “I’ll...” The promise sat on the tip of his tongue. “If you really want him back, I can help you find him.”

Din shook his head, cried out and drained. “You don’t have to,” he said softly. “Your debt to me is paid, you don’t—”

“I don’t offer this to you out of a sense of obligation. I don’t offer any of myself to you for that. Maybe once, but certainly not now, jat’ika.”

The name hurt Din like a punch to the gut. The objection sat behind his lips like a fathier at the starting gate. He lifted his head so their eyes could meet again. Openness sat in Boba’s expression, and Din realized, all at once, that the two of them had really changed in those soft weeks between Tython and here. Without breaking eye contact, he brought his hand up to cup the back of Boba’s neck, and leaned in to press their foreheads together. A stuttering breath left Boba’s chest, a flash of that softness Din didn’t often see in him.

“I’m sorry,” Din said. “For what I said about your father.”

“You were upset,” Boba hedged. Din shook his head, only a little, as to not break the mirshmure’cya too fast.

“It doesn’t excuse it. I won’t say anything like that again. Forgive me, please.”

“I understand,” Boba said, bringing his own hand up to touch the apple of Din’s cheek. “It’s forgiven. Don’t catastrophize a mistake, Din.”

Din couldn’t help but laugh, a little. “Catastrophize.”

“Exactly,” Boba said, returning the smile. “Do you need to talk some more? Are you injured from the mission?”

This time, Din hedged, “Cuts and bruises, rattled my brain fighting a darktrooper, nothing huge.” Boba leveled him with an unimpressed look. “If it bothered me, I would have taken care of it.”

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you can take care of yourself.”

“Hoverskiff daddying, are we?” Din asked, a smirk on his mouth that both endeared and infuriated Boba in equal doses. Boba leaned back to press a smacking kiss to Din’s forehead.

“Show you daddying. C’mon, up. We’ll talk while we get you patched up.”

As Boba removed the armor from Din’s body, the weight which pulled at Din’s conscience followed suit. He felt able to take a full breath of air again, letting Boba smear bacta on his cuts and bruises, like every breath got easier than the last. Boba made him laugh, made him smile and forget he was ever frozen, forget he was ever broken and jagged and rough-edged. And when Boba mentioned the kid, the memories came with an ache, but no sharp pain. He would have permission to grieve, later. He knew that much. But for now, they reveled in the feeling of being alive after another difficult day, a unique sensation to the two that felt more familiar than coming home ever had.

“Your helmet.” Boba finally reached that topic, which predictably pulled a sigh and a downcast expression from Din’s face.

“I broke the Creed on Morak. And again, on the cruiser.” He left out the moments with Boba specifically. You are not of a Creed you can disappoint while in here. The only truth is that you are mine.

“You were saying goodbye to your son. I know men who would raze whole planets to the ground for the chance. It’s an honorable thing, what you did. Not a dishonorable one.” Din can’t make himself believe it in its entirety, not really.

“But the armor—”

“You told me once I’d have to peel your armor off your dead body. Yet I had to, to patch your wounds, give you comfort.”

They looked at the pile in the corner, gleaming beskar and worn padding which had protected Din for years. Clearly, he wasn’t dead, and yet, the armor went. Boba continued.

“And that to hand mine over to me was against the Creed. Until the more honorable realization was proven, you were returning it to me.”

Ret’urcye mhi. How funny that goodbye sounds like return to me.

“Your helmet was in the way of protecting your foundling, until it was not. Ke’juri beskar’gam, but not at the expense of k’ara’novo aliit, nor ke’gaa’tayli aliit bralir, nor ke’ba’juri sa Mando’ade.” Din felt the tears fall, but did not look away. “You are no less Mandalorian for making the decisions you did. In fact, you are perhaps more suited to hold that saber because of it.” He took Din’s hands. “You have protected and cared for your family. One of your aliit is learning what you could not teach. Your son is Mandalorian because he is yours.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty?” Din asked, his chest jumping a little in a hiccup, eyes shining with yet-unshed tears. Boba brought his hands up to kiss at their knuckles.

“It’s not guilt. It’s grief. We carry it differently, but it does not make us. The same as our armor. It is something we wear, something sacred, but it is not the armor who protects a son.”

Din fell into his arms, pressing grateful kisses to Boba’s mouth, his face. Tears of relief, not shame, not guilt, fell across his cheeks and smeared onto Boba’s skin, but he didn’t mind. His soul was still redeemable, he was still an upright man, deserving of salvation and absolution, deserving of the love which patched him together.

He realized he was speaking. “I love, I love—”

“I know, I know,” Boba repeated, not in a volley, but letting Din know his love had somewhere safe and soft to land.

And that it always would.

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

Mando'a - Translation

jat'ika - y'all should know this one by now mirshmure'cya - Keldabe kiss, soft headbutt for emotion, or apply forcefully for stronger emotion ret'urcye mhi - see you again, goodbye aliit - family, clan

Tenets of the Resol'nare (Mandalorian Creed) mentioned in m&os ke'juri beskar'gam - you will wear armor k'ara'novo aliit - you will protect family ke'gaa'tayli aliit bralir - you will help your clan succeed ke'ba'juri sa Mando'ade - you will raise Mandalorians

Other Tenets not mentioned because they don't make me cry as much ke'jorhaa'i Mando'a - you will speak Mando'a ke'shekemi haar Mand'alor - you will rally to the cause of the Mand'alor

#moon and old stars #my writing #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #bobadin

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

Text

Age of Reason, Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Supernatural AU

The looming wrought-iron glares down at him; even choked with briars, it stands as proud as any guard, denying him entrance with a glance. She’d gotten in, she said, and out again even quicker. It’s possible. He just has to find the way.

His shoulders twitch, unimpressed.There’s a reason he wears gloves.

One hand wraps around a twisted bar, and a briar pierces through the leather like it’s paper. He recoils with a hiss, and to his extreme displeasure, the needle comes with him, broken right off near the glove.

He’s had worse splinters-- hell, he’s had worse stabs, but the thing’s hard to find even with the moonlight behind him. His head and shoulders keep falling into the worst angle, casting shadows shadows no matter which way he turns, leaving him to work half blind as he tries to pull it out. It makes it worse of course, each movement of his muscles sends the thing dancing around his palm, probing deeper into his flesh until he tears it out.

These damned gloves are supposed to protect him, but blood coats them still, shimmering black in the moonlight. He gives them a real contemplative look, some real consideration, and then cusses a streak so blue fire would be jealous. Damn that woman. If she’d gotten in, she owes him the professional courtesy of telling him how. He has half a mind to stomp right back to that tavern and shake her till she spills her secrets.

He takes a breath, holds it. It’s fine. This is far from the worst job he’s ever done.

The thing slides across the packed dirt, sand and scree skittering beneath its bare skin. It’s a woman in shape, diaphanous nightrail clinging so scandalously to its curves that wives clap hands over wandering eyes. She would have been a pretty girl in life, but in her undeath, she makes more than a convincing monster.

He stands in the holy circle of the Heavenly Maiden, salt staining his hands, and it hisses at him, back arched like a cat’s. Red stains its front, dribbling from full lips down to soak her gown.

“Kurei!” The name catches on the wind, already torn away. The mayor clutches at his door, lifting a hand to point through his wards. “It’s her-- the demon--”

“I know.” It’s an effort to lift the words out of a deadpan. “She’s no match for me.”

The spirit cocks its head; he knows that angle too well, the one that says, oh you think so? He lifts his shoulders, a subtle shrug. No hard feelings.

Her claws clench in the dirt. Ah, he’ll pay for that little line later. Already he’s at a disadvantage-- a full moon might have shone through, but with a chunk shaved from one side he’s stuck waiting for the wind to hurry it all along while he stands here, stalling.

His breath mists in the night air. Just one of the hazards of the job.

“You’re trapped in here with me, spirit.” In the dark, its hair is coarse, thick and black, rippling with each breath. The perfect hand-hold, should it dare tread close enough. “Your fight is with me!”

He grins as it growls, edging around his circle of salt. It follows, mimicking his movements, it on all fours and him on the balls of his feet. Already his cheek stings-- its limbs are long and strong but he didn’t expect the elbow to be so sharp-- but he doesn’t lift a hand to rub at it. Each moment here is the space between victory and condemnation, and he has none of them to spare.

Finally, the clouds part.

“I have you, beast!” Around him, the circle flares to life, the pure light of the heavens infusing it, glowing with an intensity would blind to those outside it. “Tempus fugit! Sapere aude! Ad meliora!”

For a moment its body leaps into the air, lunging for him, trying to tear his throat, but in the next it’s thrown to the ground, as if grabbed by heaven’s hand itself. With his last words still echoing in the square, the spirit spasms, voice railing to an unholy keen.

“Erat ergo sum! Quid pro quo!” He calls out, shaking holy water over it, black and red spotting her as he washes away its monstrous desires. “Non ducor duco!”

It gives a single, great heave of its body, and suddenly she’s limp, no longer a vengeful spirit but a girl once more. A mere husk that once held life. Mist rises from the circle as he lifts her body, curling coolly around his fingers.

“Caveat.” The night carrying his voice further than any earthy words should-- “Emptor.”

The villagers all peer out their windows, the more daring of them peeking out doors. Now that the danger’s over, everyone wants to see the monster hunter and his prey. He’s heard plenty talk about the noble nature of man, but none of them know the truth-- when fear strips away all else, it’s only cowardice and curiosity that remain.

“Kurei,” creaks the mayor. “What--?”

“It’s over,” he announces. “I must bring the corpse away from here, and bury it.” With a dark look, he adds, “Alone.”

He turns his back on them, letting the moon burn away the mist he leaves behind.

The barmaid here is all curves, coarse tawny hair tumbling down her back, meant to draw the eye straight to her swinging hips. A tempting morsel; at least by the way the men here follow her with their gaze, hungry for more than ale. The barman must have tripled his profits having a girl like her on; there’s no limit to drink a man can have while he’s thirsting with his eyes.

But not Shuuka. His stare is fixed right across the table, brows drawn tight in thought. “That’s some story, mister.”

“And all true.” He waits until the man takes a good, long draught from his cup to add, “I earn my keep traveling, finding spirits to soothe and monsters to cull. Or maidens to save, when the situation demands it.”

“Just maidens?” The barmaid sidles up to him, a frothing mug in hand, and already his mouth is watering. “Or are you looking to expand your repertoire?”

He lets his lips lilt into a leer. “I’m willing to help with any problem that needs solving, maiden or--” he lets his gaze rake up her-- “otherwise. Provided I’m welcome.”

Her own mouth is a mirror of his own. “You seem the sort to always be finding doors open, if you don’t mind me saying, mister.”

“Ah.” He hums, leaning close. The other men in the pub lean in too, faces ripe with envy. “That’s the trick of it-- I wait to be asked.”

Amusement flickers through her eyes, as amber as his own. She sets the mug in front of him, its thick head sloshing over the rim. “Here you are, on the house.”

The maid casts one last, linger look over at him, all hooded. The sort that says he could find more than a drink on the house if he played his cards right. And here’s him, a man who never lost a hand.

“So that’s what brings you here?” Shuuka says, voice tight. Nerves, he thinks, the sort a rational man might have in the face of the unknown. “Sh-- the prince’s mistress?”

Ah, or maybe that’s guilt, he’s hearing. “So it’s true, then? There’s a girl sleeping in that manor house?”

Shuuka’s fingers clench, knuckles white where they lay on the table. “If it was...?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just waits.

Dark eyes lift, glimmering as they meet his. “You could do something about it?”

He lets his mouth ease, swallowing down the victory in his throat. “I can’t do anything that would hurt.”

For a long moment, Shuuka sits still. Not the sort that comes from fear or hope but indecision. A man on a precipice.

And oh, how easy it is to see when they jump. “What’s your name? What do they...” He hesitates, swallowing. “What do they call you?”

“Lots of things. Jack of all trades, for one,” he hums, settling back in his seat. “Monster Hunter. Miracle Man. Savior.”

Shuuka’s brow draws tight. “You’re some kind of...priest?”

“Oh, no.” He lets his eyes linger when the barmaid bends at the waist, leaning over the counter to talk to the barman. “Not that. But you can call me...Nanaki.”

There’s a tree.

He surveys the old gnarled grandfather, its thinning leaves rustling in the wind, a single branch hunched over the briars. He should have guessed; it wasn’t like she was going to get her hands dirty and bleeding to take a look at a dead girl.

His hands flex, the leather around them creaking. His palm aches when he presses it to the trunk-- that’ll teach him to get impatient-- but he knows how to climb without relying on his grip. It’s nothing to shimmy right up, soles planted solid on grandfather’s inquisitive arm. He’d call this sloppy-- nobles often were, thinking that guards and dogs and a lady’s scream could keep them safe-- but...

Ten years. Plenty of time for even a well-trimmed tree to insinuate an elbow where it didn’t belong. Especially one that looked as nosy as this old grandfather did.

He edges out, the branch solid beneath his feet. Each step is inquisitive; impatient he may be, but enough tumbles from too high had taught him the value of respecting nature’s limit. The last thing he needs is for this to break over one of those fleur-tipped spears. Career limiting, his old master used to tell him, followed by one of those hideous braying laughs.

Dead was his preference. He might make his money putting on a show, but it didn’t serve to forget that some finales were final.

The branch bows beneath his feet, those iron-tips scraping at its bottom. Looks like he’s ridden this particular pony as far as it’ll go. With a breath and a wish, he leapt from the tree, tumbling down, down--

His feet catch, hard earth beneath them. No, stone, since his foot slips, nearly spilling him straight into a knot of brambles. Pretty ones, at least, dripping with roses as bright as an apple’s skin.

He whistles, plucking a petal off one. “Well now,” he breathes, letting it flutter away in the wind. “Isn’t that lucky.”

Cat calls and wolf whistles cleave through the din when the barmaid wraps her fingers around his wrist, leading him away from the table. There’s glares too, envy making eyes dark as he passes. There will be men who hate him in the morning for no other reason than he had what they couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last.

Fine by him, anyway. Angry men are easy to predict-- they only want to do what will cause the most pain. It’s the ones that cheer him on that are dangerous; they need to be courted, molded.

Shuuka is neither. Curious.

“Hey, hero,” the barmaid purrs, pressing her body against his. “Keep your eyes where they belong.”

By the swing of her hips, she means on her. Well, it’s certainly not a bad view.

She sashays up those last few steps, shoving him into a room--

Torou’s smile is gone the moment the latch catches. “You are on your own with this one. I am out.”

Leaving Oberwald takes an extra day; the villagers keep him plied with ale until he tumbles into bed. When he wakes while the sky’s still moonless and dark, two sets of hands rubbing down his chest. Who is he to deny himself a reward so justly earned?

Still, waiting makes the spirits restless.

“Serves you right,” he grouses, rubbing at the new lump dulling the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “You’re supposed to make it look good, not actually hit me!”

The spirit folds her arms across her chest-- or under it, rather, framing their best asset when it comes to fooling these bumpkins. A barmaid with big tits never fails to turn heads, and should someone get suspicious of the girl who disappears when the evil spirit does, well-- no one can pick her face from a crowd.

“Oh, complain, complain.” The huff she lets out doesn’t even have a hint of remorse. “I’m sure you got those village girls to kiss it all better.”

He can’t help his grin. “Two of ‘em.”

“Ugh.” Her eyes roll, the kohl still clinging to the corner of them. It’s the most stubborn part of the makeup, but Torou makes do; by the next town she’ll have wings drawn on so sharp they could cut a man’s throat. “How is it you get to bed down with every miss looking for a good time, but I can only look at all those strapping young farm boys?”

“Pitchforks. Torches,” he reminds her. “Us, running away in the middle of the night...”

No one remembers the barmaid, except for an angry wife. And they know how to drum up some bloody-minded friends once night falls. That’s another thing that makes the spirits angry, but well, that’s not his problem. Maybe if they were more circumspect, they could tumble a few village boys-- or girls-- if they liked.

“Fine,” she mutters, itching at her neck. Some red flakes off, falling to the dirt below, lost beneath the tread of their boots. “Where to next?”

He’d thought he’d been mulling it over still, but the second she asks, it’s the answer at the tip of his tongue. The only one.

“Nowhere that needs a drowned girl!” Torou warns him, pitch raising to one that would make dogs howl. “My ears still don’t feel right after the last one...”

“Clarines.”

She scuffs to a halt. “Clarines? The ‘realm of reason?’ That Clarines?”

He doesn’t stop, just shortens his stride as he puts a jaunty skip in his step. “The very same.”

Her steps start again, hurrying to keep pace with his. “Why? I thought they were enlightened out there. Above all this folk talk.”

“No one is, if we play them well enough.” He slides her a sly smile. “And we will.”

“Best of the best,” she agrees. “So what’s the score?”

His grin pulls wide. “I hope you have your kissing lips ready. We have a princess to awaken.”

His hands fly up between them, trying to ward off her waggling finger. She’s carrying five knives at minimum, but of all the weapons on her body, that finger scares him the most. “Torou, come on--”

“Don’t you ‘come on’ me, Nanaki.” She doesn’t need a steel when her tone’s already so pointed. “I’m not going back there, not even if you beg me. Not even if you drag me. I’ll gnaw off my own leg if you try.”

“Torou, what--?” She shifts, just enough for him to see the wide stretch of her eyes, pupils blown and white all around the rim. “Are you...scared?”

“Scared? Scared?” Torou laughs, wild. “I’m terrified. We’ve played a lot of games, but this, this-- this curse thing, it’s real.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he huffs, leaning against a bedpost. “You know that’s not true. We’ve been running this grift for how long now, and the only supernatural thing out there is how easily everyone will believe it.”

“Listen, that’s what I thought. That’s what I always thought, you know that.” Her voice trembles, shoulders hunching around her chest. “But I went there. I went right into that manor to case the joint-- I knew there’d be stuff in there, stuff we could sell and get out of this rat race.”

His jaw slackens. They’d never talked about that, about what could lie at the end of a real good grift, of what they would do if they had enough coin to stop. He hadn’t even known she’d wanted to, let alone that she--

“I went in there,” she murmurs, rounding into herself. “And someone-- someone screamed.”

He licks his lips, brain jittering with the thought of this ending, or having somewhere to stop. “Screamed?”

“Don’t laugh.” Torou’s voice barely wavers above a whisper. “Someone screamed, and I-- I went to find them. Maybe some kid got in there and broke a leg. I could get some credit you know, really get those bumpkins eating out of my palm. But I walked in and--” she chokes, fingers clawing at her throat-- “there was blood, so much blood, just covering the floor, and then--”

Her breath fills his ears, so harsh, so pained. He’s only heard her like this once, back before, and his blood runs cold.

“And then.” Her hand comes out to grip his wrist, drawing him into her terrified gaze. “It sounded like someone was dying.”

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #supernatural au #sleeping beauty au #my fic #age of reason #ans #OKAY SO I GUESS THERE IS AT LEAST ONE MORE CHAPTER #for the set up at least #but perhaps you are all seeing the shape this fic is gonna take...#perhaps if you have read the folk versions of the fairy tale >:3c #also i don't know how i've ended up with so many stories with torou this time around #but here we are #this is the life i'm living this bingo

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hayleysstark · 5 years ago

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I always wondered what would have happened if Merlin hadn't ducked the chair in the tavern brawl (S3 ep 4-Gwaine). A sort of delayed response like in more severe concussions. Maybe a coma or some of the other serious side effects. I'm excited to read your work.

Thank you

okay okay i would like to preface this by saying i have been fortunate enough that i’ve never experienced a delayed concussion, and all that comes with it, so this is probably not 100% medically accurate, but consider, Merlin has magic and if we can believe in magic, we can believe this is how delayed concussions work. okay?? okay. thank you.

"What happened to your head?" Arthur asks, on the way back to Camelot, with Gwaine—passed out cold, probably still drunk, and absolutely dead to the entire world with the knife lodged firmly in his thigh—slung over his saddle. "Looks like you took a bad blow back there."

"I didn't," Merlin waves him off. It would be a lie to say the impact didn't rattle him a bit, but he's sure he'll be all right when he's had some sleep—his magic usually heals his everyday bumps and bruises in the night, and there's no reason to think it would let him down now. "I'm fine. I got lucky, he only just clipped me."

Or, well, he supposes the man only just clipped him, because he has to suppose that, because supposing is all he can really do about it, because—if he's being completely and wholly honest with himself here—he doesn't know for sure. He doesn't know what the chair did. He doesn't even know what the man with the chair did. All he knows is the moment right before—a real big muscly fellow, as Gwen would call him, with long, scraggly blond hair hanging limp and greasy around his filthy, sneering face, clutching a truly enormous wooden chair in his massive, meaty hands, and his mean, dark eyes narrowed, and locked firmly on Merlin—but that's it, that's all, that's where it cuts out, that's where it fades to black, in that tiny handful of seconds between one heartbeat and the next.

He didn't pass out.

And he knows he didn't pass out.

But he opened his eyes, and he was on the floor, with the chair some ten feet away, tipped over on its side, one of the thick legs snapped off in a shower of sharp splinters, and that's all he knows, that's all he remembers.

"Well, it is bad form to hit a girl, you know," Arthur tosses a quick, smug glance back over his shoulder, but the minute his eyes fall on Merlin, his face does a funny little spasm, and the smirk slides off his lips like water. "Merlin, you're bleeding."

Merlin hastily rubs away the wet, warm, bright red trail streaking down his temple with the edge of his jacket sleeve, until the blood smears into a dull brown stain on the thin cloth. "I'm fine. He just scraped me when he—" I suppose he just scraped me, but if he says it like that, Arthur will ask, and he's sure it'll come back to him, he's sure he'll remember, there's no need to fuss about it right now, "—head wounds bleed a lot," he says, instead, a little too quickly. "It's normal. Gaius told me."

"Gaius said that?" Arthur's wrinkled brow smooths back out. "Oh, that's all right, then." He pokes lightly at Gwaine's limp frame, sprawled slackly out in the saddle in front of him, and adds, "Reckon he'll have his hands full with this bloke, anyway."

"Yeah," Merlin nods, "I reckon he will."

As it turns out, Gaius does have his hands full with Gwaine, and Merlin feels fine, so he just doesn't bother to bring it up with the old man at all.

When he finally scrubs off the last of the dried, sticky blood still clinging to the side of his head in dark streaks, he sees the scrape runs far deeper than he thought—less of a scrape, and more of a cut, but it's fine, it's nothing, it will probably be scabbed over and well on its way to healing up in the morning—one of the many benefits of magic—so he rinses the red stains out of the clean white rags he used, and he goes to bed, and he thinks no more about it.

From the minute Merlin opens his eyes, he knows something's wrong.

The world feels wrong—uneven and off-center, like the earth's off its axis, and when he stands up, he feels almost lopsided, like a little girl's doll, too limp and loose to hold himself up, but that's nothing to the way the chamber spins and spins and spins around him, like a child's top. The cut hasn't scabbed over, and he's got what has to be the worst headache he's ever had in his entire life, with a dark, furious bruise on his brow, purple and swollen and painful.

But he hasn't got the time to wait around here for Gaius and tell him about it—he's got far too much to do today to bite his nails over a headache of all things—and anyway, his magic has never let him down before, so he's sure he'll be fine in an hour or so, it's probably just taking a bit longer because, well, a chair clipped him 'round the head, it's not so simple as a bad fall or a brutal spar with Arthur.

He doesn't bother with breakfast—he feels a bit sick, honestly—but he does take a plate up for Gwaine and check the man's leg while he's at it (one less thing for Gaius to worry about when he gets back) before he heads down to Arthur's chambers.

"You're bruised," Arthur says, the minute Merlin walks in the door, like he thinks maybe Merlin hasn't got a mirror, or a pair of eyes in his head.

"You take a hit like that to the face and see how you look," Merlin fires back, and that's the end of that.

Merlin thinks, maybe, it was a mistake to not talk to Gaius.

Merlin thinks, maybe, it was a mistake to come in to work at all today.

The everyday noise of the castle is just such a nightmare—the quiet chatter of the busy servants going about their work, the boisterous prattle of the bored guards stuck at their stations, the click and thud of high heels and heavy boots on cold marble floors and hard stone stairs, the soft clinks of the dishes down in the kitchens, it all makes his head pound like a drum, until it feels like his brain might burst with it—but the courtyard is nothing short of murder.

The sun stabs into his skull like a knife, even when he shuts his eyes and turns his head, but it's the sound that really does him in. The snorts and whines of the horses fresh from a hard ride, the clank and clang of swords and shields, the groan and grunt of the water pump as a thin, nervous maid fills up her bucket, the shouts and hollers of the knights and squires out on the training grounds.

It's all so loud, and it's all so much, and he can hardly think past the sharp shocks of pain up and down his brow, and maybe he should just tell Arthur—he knows Arthur will be fair about it, he knows Arthur is a good man, he knows Arthur will give him a few hours off to see Gaius, he knows it, but the melee is only a few days off, and Arthur needs a servant to see to him while it's going on, and it'll all go a lot smoother for him if he's got his servant, who already knows everything, his schedule and his preferences and his quirks, seeing to him until it's over.

Where Arthur strolls down the wide stone steps to say hello to Sir Oswald, Merlin stumbles—his legs feel funny, shaky and weak, and he's sure he'll trip over and fall flat on his face any moment now (and won't Arthur love that) but he makes it all the way to the ground without a single nosedive.

"—my servant, Merlin," Arthur claps a hand on Merlin's shoulder—

—and he has to bite his bottom lip to hold in a gasp, because it jostles his neck, sore and tender from where his head snapped back when the chair hit him and that—

—that—

—that can't be right, can it?

No, no, that simply can't be right, because the chair only clipped him, remember, because he was all right on the ride back to Camelot—a little dazed and a little dizzy, sure, but who wouldn't be after a blow like that?—and he was all right that night, too, nothing but the slight sting when he cleaned the cut, when the edges of the broken skin stretched with the scrub of the cloth over it. No, no, he's all right, he's fine, it didn't hit him in the face, it did not hit him full in the face, because his head would hurt a lot more if it had.

It clipped the side of his head a bit hard, that's all.

"—loves hard work," Arthur says, with another painful clap on Merlin's shoulder, and he bites back a wince this time, "so, anything you need, just give him a call."

"Believe me," Sir Oswald says seriously, "I will."

Sir Oswald is as bad as his word.

Merlin's ears ring louder than the biggest bells in the Camelot cathedral, and it feels he's got a blunt sword stuck in his skull, and he's shaking all over, dripping with sweat and shuddering with cold, and little white stars pop and pop and pop before his tired eyes, but he stays on his feet, and he finally shoulders the door open.

He hauls the heavy trunk inside.

"What took you so long?" Sir Oswald, leaning elegantly back in his chair, his dirty boots up on the table, pops a blueberry in his mouth.

"What?" Merlin rasps, because it takes him a second to really hear it, takes a second for the words to make sense to him. Everything is taking a second to make sense to him today. "It—it weighs a ton," he points out, rather fairly, in his opinion.

Sir Oswald stares coldly back at him.

"The stairs," he adds quickly, because he knows what it means when a knight looks at him like that, he knows it means if he doesn't come up with a damn good excuse, he'll be in the stocks—or in the dungeons, or tied to a whipping post—faster than he can blink. "It's seven flights." He's so exhausted, it might as well have been a thousand.

"That's very kind of you," Sir Ethan smiles at him, almost kind, so he musters up a small, tired grin of his own before he pushes himself back up on his feet—the room spins and spins and spins, like Gaius' chambers, around him, and he thinks he might really be sick, here on Sir Oswald's pristine floor—

"—but you can't leave it there."

Merlin turns—the room spins and spins and spins like Gaius' chambers, like a child's top, and his stomach churns and his head hurts. "I-I can't?" he says, uncertainly, mostly to make sure he's heard right, because everything sounds different with the funny ringing in his ears, because everything is taking a second to make sense to him lately, because the world is wrong, because the world is uneven and off-center, because the earth is off its axis.

"It's in the way," Sir Oswald jerks his chin at the trunk—which is, admittedly, very much in the way.

"Okay," Merlin nods, but it hurts, and he has to stop. "Where do you want it?"

For the first time all day, Merlin doesn't feel sick, so when he gets home, he downs an entire bowl of soup, and he thinks, maybe, he should wait for Gaius to get back, so he can tell him about his head, about how awful he feels, but he hasn't even rinsed his bowl before the door swings open, and Gwen peers inside.

"Merlin," she says, seriously, "I think you need to come with me."

Merlin follows Gwen all the way down to the tavern, where he finds Gwaine in a stupor, with a tab longer than his own leg, and a red-faced, furious barkeep.

He drags a very drunk Gwaine back home and gets him settled safely in bed where he can't hurt himself (or drink anymore) before he goes back downstairs, to a dark and empty room, and vomits up that bowl of soup.

"S-Sorry," Merlin rasps out, the next morning, as he comes into Arthur's bedchamber and puts his breakfast down—even the light little thud of the plate on the desktop makes his head ache, and he doesn't think he'll ever remember what it's like to not be dizzy ever again. "I-I know I'm late."

"Not at all," Arthur says easily.

"Um," Merlin says, blankly. Is he not late? He certainly feels late. But Arthur's not looking at him like he's late, so that must mean— "Good." He takes a small step back—his skull screams at the sudden move, but his skull screams about everything lately—and turns away to make Arthur's bed.

"You're not sick?" Arthur says, all of a sudden, out of the blue. "Unsteady? About to burst into song?"

Merlin thinks this must be one of Arthur's jokes (like how he says shut up, Merlin at least a hundred times a day, but God knows he'll get all huffy and pouty and moody if Merlin ever actually does shut up) so he doesn't say, yes, my head hurts so badly I can barely think straight anymore, and I think that chair might have hit me harder than I realized. He only pulls the blankets up higher and tucks in the edges and says, "No, why?"

Arthur snatches up a sheet of parchment off his desk, shakes it out with a soft rustle, and reads off, so loudly it makes Merlin's skull scream again, "Fourteen quarts of mead—"

Oh. Merlin's stomach drops. Oh, so that's what this is about.

"—three flagons of wine," Arthur drones on, relentless, "five quarts of cider—"

Merlin comes 'round the bed, head ducked down so the light won't hit his eyes. "I—I can explain," he says, weakly.

"—four dozen pickled eggs," Arthur never looks up from the paper in his hands, but he raises his voice even more, and Merlin has to wait until the pain—so sharp he sees the white stars again—dulls down enough to let him talk.

"That was Gwaine," he says finally, and a little shakily. "He went to the tavern, and he couldn't pay for it."

"So you said I would," Arthur says, in a huffy sort of tone that leaves no doubt as to his opinion on this decision.

"You know, if I hadn't," Merlin says, quickly, but he can already tell Arthur is well past listening, "th-that innkeeper, he would have strung us both up."

"I fail to see the downside," Arthur says harshly—which feels, just now, tremendously unfair, so Merlin fires back with the first thing he can think of.

"You said he should be given anything he needs."

"Four dozen pickled eggs?" Arthur wails, incredulously.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and swallows back a wince. "I'm sorry," he says and, before he can stop himself, before he can really think about it, before he can tell himself to shut up, to have some sense, to stop making absurd and impulsive promises he knows he can't possibly keep, he adds, "I'll pay for it."

Arthur sits up in his chair and flings the paper back down on the desk with another soft rustle. "You most certainly will."

Well, on the bright side, Merlin has to admit, it could be far worse than a few hundred pairs of filthy boots.

Gwaine disagrees. "Arthur is a thoroughbred little braggart."

Merlin has to swallow back a laugh—if only his head didn't hurt so much, he's sure he wouldn't mind the work at all, now he's got Gwaine here to crack his usual jokes. "Why?"

Gwaine peers down at the boot in his lap like he thinks the tough, cracked leather will tell him what he's supposed to do with it. Hasn't he ever cleaned his own boots? "For making us do this."

Merlin shrugs—it's easy work, even if it is, admittedly, a touch tedious, certainly repetitive, and hopelessly mundane, and it's a far lighter load than he expected in the face of Arthur's fury this morning. "I think it's fair."

Gwaine throws him an incredulous look and jabs a finger at the endless line of grimy boots stretched out ahead of them. "For the entire army?"

Merlin clicks his tongue. "If you admitted your father was a knight, you wouldn't have to."

Gwaine tosses his head to get his shaggy hair out of his eyes. "Maybe," he concedes with a little huff, "but I'm not making the same mistakes that he did." He runs the brush lightly over the boot—oh, so he does know how to do it, and thank God, Merlin thought he really might have to teach the poor man—and a bit of dried mud crumbles off and floats down to the wood floor below.

Merlin turns back to his own work without a word—he's not going to push it—and the quiet swish of the soft brush on the dirty leather is a faint but familiar music to his ears.

"How's your head?" Gwaine asks, finally, with a quick glance over at Merlin. "Looks pretty bad to me."

"It's fine," Merlin says, and he's not sure what shuts him up, what holds him back, what makes him say it's fine when he's almost certain he's never felt less fine in his life, but there's simply nothing else for it—he has to be here for Arthur until the melee is over, so there's no point in whining or moaning about it when he's got no choice but to grit his teeth and get on with it, anyway. "I'm fine."

Merlin isn't sure what makes him pull back the red silken cloth on the table—he's only here to take the dinner plates back to the kitchens—but he pulls back the cloth, and the glint of the swords beneath fascinates him, in a way swords have never fascinated him before. The cold gleam of steel is murder on his throbbing head, but it's like he can't look away, and before he knows it, he's picked them up, the hilts cool and heavy in his hands, and he stares and he stares and he stares.

He's not sure what's wrong with him. It feels like his mind is moving too slowly, all of a sudden, like a hand has ripped his skull open, and poured thick, sticky syrup inside, gumming up his brain until he can't think straight, until he can hardly think at all, and it takes him far too long to remember he's only here to pick up the dirty plates, he shouldn't be playing with the swords, he has to put them down and get on with it and—

—and the blunt blade slips, and cuts him, much deeper than a blunt blade should.

He stares at the blood on the tip of his finger, bright and thick and red—

"What are you doing with that, boy?"

He whirls around—he knows he shouldn't, he knows it will only make his head hurt, and it makes him look guilty besides, like he's doing something he shouldn't, like he's doing something he knows he shouldn't— "Uh," the sword slips from his slack fingers, and he presses his bleeding hand, on reflex, into his chest, so the knights can't see the cut, but—but why's it is so important that the knights can't see—? "I-I was just tidying—"

"Keep away from things that don't concern you," Sir Oswald snaps, sharp and cold as the sword at Merlin's feet, and his eyes like ice as he glares, and for the first time since he met the man, Merlin feels the tiniest thrill of fear.

He gathers up the plates, and he leaves, and he's much happier than he should be, to get away from Sir Oswald.

Merlin tells Gaius about the sword.

It takes him the entire walk down to the kitchens, and the entire walk back to his chamber, to work out what the knights want with blunted-sharp blades, and that feels unbelievably, embarrassingly long, and he's sure if this horrible headache would just go away, he could think much clearer, he's sure if he could just stop stumbling and tripping, if the world would stop tilting, if those white stars would stop popping—

So Merlin tells Gaius about the sword—or, he means to tell Gaius about the sword, but the minute the old man sees him, he lets out a little gasp, steers him over to the nearest cot, and pushes him down onto it, and Merlin is far too tired to fight him on it.

"What happened to your head?" Gaius demands at once.

Oh. Oh, that's right, isn't it, Gaius hasn't seen him in days—the old man is always out when he gets home at night, and he's just too tired lately to wait up the way he usually does. He rubs lightly at his temple, where the pain burns hottest, with a little wince, before he forces himself to shake his head, to shove it down. "It's nothing," he says, and he tries to sound firm about it, too, but his voice sounds slow and slurred and small in his ears, "it's nothing, I'm fine—listen, I was in Sir Oswald's chambers just now, and I—"

"Merlin," Gaius says sharply, "what's happened to your head?"

"Yeah, I'm no physician," Gwaine tosses out, from his spot on the bottommost step in the dark, narrow stairway, "but you really don't look so good, mate, you should get yourself checked over."

Merlin throws him a glare.

Gwaine stares back, entirely unrepentant.

Gaius raises his brow.

"Okay, fine, I-I hit my head," Merlin concedes, because he knows he can steer the talk back around to the sword much quicker if he gives a bit of ground here, "in that fight in the tavern, but it's not important, it doesn't matter—I have something to tell—"

"The fight in the tavern?" Gaius echoes, like he hasn't heard about that already, like Merlin and Arthur didn't fill him in when they brought Gwaine to him, except they did. "Merlin, that was days ago!"

"It's fine," Merlin says, again, except he sounds worse than ever, weak and wavery, and he balls his hands up in fists on his knees so Gaius won't see he's shaking, "it's not a big deal, it doesn't matter, it'll heal up soon, I'm sure the chair didn't even hit me that—"

"The chair?" Gaius' brow has never jumped so high so fast.

"The chair?" Gwaine squawks and leaps up off the stairs.

Merlin realizes far too late that he's said far too much. "It doesn't matter, it was just—" he shakes his head, "—some madman chucked a chair at me, all right, but some other madman is going to—"

"A chair?" Gaius says, again, his pale eyes very wide. "Merlin, you could have died from a blow like that! Why didn't you come to me and—?"

"Please, Gaius!" Merlin blinks against the sudden burn of furious tears behind his eyes. "Please, listen to me, this is important. Sir Oswald's using a trick sword! He means to murder Arthur in the melee!"

And Merlin has never, ever been more grateful for the old man in his entire life, because Gaius listens. He sits up, a bit straighter, on his stool, and he drops his withered white hand back into his lap—out of the corner of his eye, Merlin can see Gwaine edging a bit nearer—

"All right," Gaius says at last. "All right, Merlin. Tell me everything. But let me have a look at your head while you're here."

Oh, thank God. Merlin drags in a shaky little breath of relief, and hastily gabbles it all out as quickly as he can. "H-He's got a sword in his chambers, and to the eye, it appeared—" it takes him too long to come up with the word, because thinking too hard makes his head pound, "—blunt—but when I touched it…" he holds up his bleeding finger for Gaius to see.

The old man clicks his tongue. Like it's Merlin's fault he thought a blunt sword wouldn't cut him.

"Trick sword?" Gwaine frowns. "Then you were lucky it was just your hand. I've seen those blades in action. They're forged using sorcery."

Gaius lets go of Merlin's hand and stands up to prod at his bruised head again instead. "But what would they want with such a blade?"

"To kill Arthur," Merlin says, because it's obvious, now that he's finally realized it. "In the melee."

"But in front of all those people?" Gaius says, doubtfully, his brows pinched, and he presses his finger lightly to Merlin's temple.

"—perfect cover—" Gwaine's voice, quiet and loud and quiet again, rings suddenly through the room, "—nobody will suspect—"

"I-I need to warn Arthur," Merlin pulls back from Gaius' touch with a little wince, and hegets up, but he is so dizzy, and so tired, that the minute he's on his feet, he crashes right back down to the cot in mere moments.

"Not so fast, Merlin," Gaius says grimly, like Merlin was making any great leaps and bounds to the door, "—bad shape—no fit state to—"

"—I-I've got to!" Merlin tries to stand up again, but it's so hard, and his head feels so heavy— "—I've got to—I've got to tell Arthur—"

"Sir Oswald's a knight—from a well-respected family—" Gaius says, "—good friend to Arthur—can't accuse him without proof—"

"—then—" a sudden shock of pain pulses through his head, and Merlin rubs at his brow, "—then I need to—to get the sword from Sir Oswald—"

"No, Merlin, absolutely not—completely ridiculous—no fit state, as I said—a chair to the head, and you still—foolish boy—" Gaius' voice goes quiet and loud and quiet again, too, like Merlin's slipping in and out of deep, dark water, over and under the rolling black tide of pain.

"I'll get it," Gwaine says, suddenly. "I'll get it, Gaius."

And the last thing Merlin hears—before the stars flare up in front of his eyes again, big bright bursts, radiant and blinding and almost beautiful, before he slumps down sideways onto the cot, and passes out—is the quiet creak of Gaius' door, and the thud of Gwaine's boots as he leaves the room.

Merlin wakes up slowly.

The room is dark. The windows are shut, the curtains pulled tight over the dirty glass, and the candles on the table burn low.

It's cold. Gaius has taken his jacket from him while he slept—he can see the rough brown cloth flung over the back of the nearest chair—and his shirt is wrinkled from where he slept on it. He's not sure he wants to go to all the hassle of straightening it.

He still feels funny—fuzzy and bleary, like he's lost in a thick fog, like he's looking out at the world through dirty glass, like he's looking out at the world through a dark veil—but there's only the barest ache at the back of his skull, and when he opens his eyes, the room only slopes a little to the left.

He's still so exhausted, and he already wants to go back to sleep, but he can't go back to sleep—he's supposed to be with Arthur right now, or he's supposed to be doing something for Arthur, isn't he? Isn't that right? Hasn't he got something to do for Arthur? Hasn't he got something really important to do for Arthur? Isn't there something really bad he can't let happen to Arthur—?

It hits him in a cold shock of ice, and he bolts upright in the bed. "Sir Oswald."

"Merlin!" And, all of a sudden, out of the blue, utterly inexplicably, Arthur is there, his hands on Merlin's wrists, gentle but firm, his brow pinched, his face pale. "For God's sake, you idiot, lie back—!"

"S-Sir Oswald," Merlin gasps, breathless, frantic, "he's got a—a sword, and it—it looks blunt, but it's actually—"

"Merlin," Arthur says, sharper now, and he shoves Merlin back down to the bed, hard, "for God's sake, stop being an imbecile. Everything's all right, Gwaine showed me the sword, Sir Oswald's been dealt with."

Merlin almost doesn't believe it, but he can't think what would make Arthur lie to him, either. "H-Has he?"

"Yes." Arthur's blue eyes darken. "And it wasn't Sir Oswald. It was that thug from the tavern, Dagger."

"Oh." Merlin slumps down a little deeper into the pillows—now that he knows Arthur's not in danger, he's sorely tempted to go back to sleep again.

"Wonder if Dagger was the one," Arthur says, in that casual sort of voice that means he's actually seething with sheer rage, "who threw a chair at your head in the fight."

There it is.

Merlin winces. "Look, Arthur, I—"

"You know, there's one thing I'm a bit curious about," Arthur cuts him off, talking deliberately louder than he needs to. "Are you really stupid enough to think you can take a chair to the face and just walk 'round like nothing happened?"

Merlin flushes. "I thought I was all right, I-I felt all right—"

"You don't just take a chair to the face and feel all right!"

"Well, I did." Merlin feels he has to point this out, if only to see if it will finally shut Arthur up.

"Well, that's not normal!"

Apparently not. Merlin rolls his eyes. "What are you doing here, anyway? Haven't you got the melee to worry about?"

Arthur waves him off with an impatient little flick of his hand. "The melee's over."

"Over?" Merlin echoes incredulously, and he looks at once to the window, but it's still shut, and the only light in the room is the faint glow of the candles, so he whips back around to face Arthur. "H-How long have I been asleep?"

Arthur shrugs. "About five days. Give or take."

"Five days?"

"Well," Arthur says, in a rather sanctimonious sort of way, "that's what happens when you take a chair to the face and walk 'round like nothing—"

"Whatever," Merlin says, and it makes him feel sixteen all over again. "So," he adds, quickly, "so, the melee's over with, and Sir Oswald—Dagger," he corrects himself, "is gone?"

Arthur nods. "Dead. My father had them hanged for attempted treason and, once the life left them, the sorcery wore off, and their true faces were revealed."

"Right," Merlin says. It's rather hard to feel sorry for the brutes. "Right. Good." He nods, and he's surprised it doesn't make his head hurt. "How's Gwaine?"

The corner of Arthur's mouth ticks up in a small smile. "Highly offended. My father's just tried to give him a reward for his part in all this."

Merlin laughs. It's hard not to—he can already see Gwaine's outraged face in his mind. "He hasn't got much love for nobles."

"So I gathered," Arthur says peevishly.

"Well, you can't blame him," Merlin says fairly. "Hard to like nobles when they're all arrogant, supercilious prats—"

Arthur yanks one of the pillows out from behind Merlin's head and stuffs it in his face. "Shut up, Merlin."

The door creaks open and Gaius shuffles in. Merlin hastily peels the pillow away from his nose and mouth.

"Merlin!" Gaius tears the empty basket off his arm and tosses it onto the nearest chair before he hurries over to the bed. "You're awake!" He grabs Merlin's wrist to feel the pulse there. "Any pain? Nausea? Dizziness?"

"No," Merlin says, truthfully, "no, I'm fine."

Gaius' eyebrow creeps up an inch or so.

"Just tired," Merlin admits, a bit sullenly.

Gaius nods. "Right, then, that's good. Thank you for staying with him, Sire," he adds, over his shoulder to Arthur. "You may leave now."

"Of course, Gaius," Arthur nods and gets up on his feet, stretching his arms over his head. When the old man turns away to pull a few glass bottles down off a higher shelf, Arthur leans in and adds, in a low whisper, "Don't run into any more chairs while I'm gone. You really haven't got the brains to lose, you know."

And, with a light little pat to Merlin's shoulder, he's out the door.

#merlin #bbc merlin #fic #filled prompt #anonymous

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hawks-is-kinda-chicken-little · 5 years ago

Text

Voicemail: Part 3

Hawks x reader

A/n: I swear I am alive, I'm just getting my shit together for college. Anyways have my half-assed attempt at a story plot. I stopped here because I'm going through sad hours and that was really going to affect the rest of the story if I continued, I mean it still might be i’m not sure. No clue how gently I feel like being to everyone's feelings for the last chapter (don’t worry I make myself suffer too).

Part 1

Part 2

-Part 3-

Part 4

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

“Not alive at least. They never come back alive.”

Hawks may not have been in the facility anymore, but he could still hear the words through the speaker. After all feathers weren’t the only thing he inherited from the avian species. In-fact, a lot of predatory bird-like qualities were passed down to him, none of which were proving to be any aid.

Endeavor exited the facility talking to some of the other heroes who were caring for the two children. He looked towards the clouds watching the desperate hero who was barely able to flap his wings in a steady momentum to keep him airborne. Twitching here and there causing his flow to stutter. Feathers puffed up clearly agitated, but some others sharpened to a dangerous level. It was truly a pitiful sight. From the looks of it, Hawks was nowhere near ready to calm down. Hands were shaking while switching from clenching to unclenching, desperately wanting to hold on to something. Nail marks were indented in the palms of his gloves. Anxiety and agony evidently overriding every morsel of reason that survived up to this point. His eyes never stopped searching, gaze switching from place to place as light-speed. Endeavor could practically taste the burning red rage sourly seething through Hawks every movement. But, nothing Endeavor could say would bring Hawks from his agitated state. He had to let it fly its course. Only then would Endeavor be able to pull him back to one of the agencies where they could recuperate.

Lucky for the heroes, they had detained all the henchmen left to guard the facility. They might be able to strangle some information out of them. But, it was kinda strange that the main man would leave them there knowing that the heroes were en-route. However, as Rumi noted, leaving those men there perfectly diverted their attention from the escaping vehicle. A smart move on the abductors part.

The League was pretty pissed about the whole shebang. Torturing the earlier captured men in a more gruesome manner out of pure rage. In doing so, one of them squeaked about some sort of airport. Oh, now those two were in even deeper shit. Dabi was nice enough to inform Hawks about this new information though. Calling him over for a nice group beating.

“That’s all I know swea- ack”

Smack!

Blood splattered the ground, painting over old splotches littering the place.

Crack!

One of many bones to be shattered but the blunt head of the bat.

“I’ll ask this one for time- What fucking airport?”

Silence.

Crack!

“Hawks, the guys’ gonna be dead before you get an answer, or at least a feasible one,” Dabi grunted.

“Fucking hell,” Hawks cursed, slinging the blood dripping bat to the side of the room with an echoing thud as the wood teetered from end to end until it settled. Hands shooting to clench his golden locks in an iron grip. He squatted to the floor, head hanging low, trying to fight the urges of a predator whose prey sits before them utterly helpless.

A scarred hand grabbed Hawks’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Hawks shifted his head slightly, just enough so that he could eye Dabi's own eyes from the side. So many emotions swirled within those baby blue pools of fire. Remorse, agitation, worry, and so much more, all together forming a dangerous poison. A poison which would make poor souls scream in agony for death. Something Keigo would be glad to provide.

Now the two might now get along most of the time, but when facing a common goal, they are not a pair to be trifled with.

The men in the chairs started struggles in the ropes that tied them to the splintering chair. Pulling hopelessly with all their might, but to no avail. Dabi and Hawks shifted their eyes to the bastards in front of them.

The hand, not on Hawks’ shoulder, was raised to the man's face level, resting inches away. Smoke began flaring from Dabi’s scared palm, small blue flames flickered around the heel as it heated up. The heat alone was enough to singe the man’s facial hair. Terror welled in the man’s expression as the hand was brought closer, making him whimper.

“Let's try this again.”

Horrid fumes of burnt flesh swirled throughout the air. The man was a tough one to crack, Dabi knew he would come around, he just needed a little encouragement. They got the information they wanted him. Hawks had pity on the bastard, taking a feather, slitting his throat with one quick slash. The other man could do nothing but watch as his comrade bleed out.

“Don’t worry pal, my boss has plans for you.”

No matter how much he tried to scream all that would come out was muffled sludge blocked by the gag. Dabi, patted his ashy hand on the man’s head before walking towards the door with Hawks following on his heels. The man’s thrashing only increased as he door slammed closed, leaving him with the freshly fried corpse of the other one.

“What’s the plan from here?” Dabi asked.

“If they wanted to sneak on the plane unnoticed, they would have to do it at night, when no one else could potentially spot them.”

“It's a private jet though.”

“Yes, but the guys said it was being held with other private jets.”

“Whatever, your dumbass logic gives me a headache sometimes.”

Twice popped out around the corner where they were talking.

“Please don’t screw each other in the lobby.”

“Twice, what the hell. I would rather set myself on fire.”

Hawks gave Dabi an offended glare. Dabi in return rolled his eyes, walking away from Hawks.

“Just hurry up. Go get your boy scout in line and save her already”

“Who said I was doing this as a hero?”

Dabi halted, back facing Hawks. A smirk tugged at the corners of his charred lips as his eyes darkened.

“You don’t have the balls to fly that far from the nest bud. Your stupid heroes commission the only things you truly value in society.”

Hawks glared, but held his tongue. Dabi glared back with just as much hatred taking a couple of steps back towards the winged hero.

“That damned heroes commission seems to be the only thing you seem to stay faithful to.”

“What the Hell does that mean?” Hawks squawked.

“It means you are more likely to leave her for the vultures before ignoring your duties to those shitholes. Oh, wait a second, that's exactly what you did.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really now? So let me get this straight, you didn’t push her away, become a complete asshole to her because of them. Hawks at the end of the day all that matters in that brainwashed head of yours is that shitty organisation.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, let's pretend that it wasn’t the commission pulling the strings. In that case, you are a really shitty person. I mean, you ARE the reason they're in this mess to begin with.” Hawks’ blood ran cold, Dabi gave an exasperated chuckle “What makes you think she even wants YOUR help?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh how you harm me with your words.” Dabi mocked

“Who’s fucking side are you on? Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Let’s be clear about one thing, birdbrain, just because I want her safe doesn’t mean i’m on your side. You fucked up. And that guilt is only because you feel responsible for her kidnapping, it isn’t because you’re disgusted with all the shit you put her through. So listen when I say-”

“No, you listen here, asshole. Do you honestly think I can't see the damage I did? I am not making an excuse for my behavior, looking back I can see how fucked up I was towards her. I was blessed with an angel, I had never in my life been genuinely cared about. I had never been so committed to someone, so attached to another person. Someone who felt the exact way as I did. It was terrifying.” Hawks paused face falling downwards, scrunching up to fight away the tears building up. “I didn’t have the balls to face her as time went on, so I did what I did best, I put up a front and moved forward. Avoiding our relationship, avoiding her, just because I was scared of commitment. I never bothered to think about the effects it might have had on her. I’m a real douche for doing it and I know it.”

“Shame what it took for you to figure that out.”

There was nothing sympathetic in Dabi’s tone, no, it was as sour as biting into a ripe bitter melon. Hawks said nothing, he was right after all.

“Go home Keigo. You're not welcome here right now.”

Dabi watched as Hawks turned and walked to the door. Waiting till he was about to close the door on his way out to let out one final stab.

“Oh and Keigo,” Hawks paused “when she’s safe, hope she realizes you’re not worth it.”

SLAM!

Dabi was pretty sure Hawks broke some of the hinges when he shut it behind him.

“Bastard,” He muttered, clearly not into Hawks’ delinquent behavior. Dabi stomped off to the bar to talk to the others about what to do next.

What the actual fuck, Hawks thought as he took off into the dusk set skies. Yes, he knows he screwed this up, Dabi didn’t need to rub it in anymore.

Taking out his phone, Hawks shot a text to Rumi informing her of the newly found information. It was always kind of surprising that no other hero ever questioned where all his exclusive information came from, but oh well. Hawks went straight for the place, not giving anyone time to regroup and set out a plan. It didn’t do much good last time and he wasn’t willing to risk it again. He had an hour or so before the moon set in place, if he was lucky he would make it there before anyone else did.

Wings soared through the clouds as he scanned the area below, searching for the facility. His sights locked onto a large gated perimeter, surrounding multiple runways connected to a couple of buildings housing the aircrafts. It was one of the many private airports in Tokyo, a place where the rich kept their collection of aircrafts. Hawks descended to a large window in the center of the middle building in the facility. The place seemed to be more of a showcase then anything, some of the jets looked like there were fresh out of manufacturing.

The place looked empty, no sign of any life in the facility. If it wasn’t for his abnormal vision he would be able to see anything in the pitch black room. No gates or doors were open, no runway lights shined behind him, no unusual vehicles were in sight. So either he beat everyone here, or he’s got the wrong place.

He was about to take back off into the sky when he spotted a jet that matched the description the man gave him. A sleek black metal covering, twelve square windows spaced evenly on each side of the jet’s middle, matte silver nose, blood red paint rimming the edges of the wings. It was big enough to carry a small army. The jet seemed a little out of place next to all the smaller, more compact aircraft.

It was clear the jet had yet to be tampered with. They must be waiting till the moon was at its highest to hide their escape. If that was the case they would be there for another hour or so meaning Hawks could have a look around the place. Maybe sabotage the plane enough that it might not function properly.

Using a feather Hawks carves out a circle into the glass, just big enough that he could fight through and not get stuck. The tricky part was putting the glass back into place so that the bastards weren’t suspicious of the giant whole in the window. But, he managed to do it with only a couple of close calls.

Though he was alone, Hawks still had to be careful nonetheless. Fingers felt around the side of his goggles in search of the night vision button. However, a glowing group of infrared blobs that only grew bigger by the second appeared in his sights. With great haste Hawks hide in the cramped empty space behind one of the two stairwells one either side of the balcony of the window. The tight squeeze forced his wings to fold into uncomfortable positions against the base of his back.

It stopped right outside the giant corridors leading out to the building runway. While his the blurriness of the image made it hard to fully make out he counted seven or nine of the now van sized blobs. The one in the middle was to first to make any sort of move, a panel sliding to the side as figures exited the vehicle. Others to the right and left followed suit. All filing out into the open, crowding to the center one. Though all the bodies it was he could barely make out a body hauled out onto the ground next to boxes gathered for the other vans. His attention was so zeroed in on the limp body that he didn’t notice the dozen or so figures heading for the corridor.

CREEEEAAAAK!!

The heavy metal scraped against the asphalt as it was forcefully pried open by the figures. They didn’t fully peel the doors back though, only enough so that a couple of men could head in. About six men entered the dark area, flashlights swinging around in search of anything intruder. Hawks scrunched farther into the wall, missing the beams of the one of them by millimetres allowing him to go unnoticed by the men. The continued their inspection, not very thoroughly Hawks noted, until they each gave a thumbs up signally to the others nothing was out of place.

“All clear,” One of them yelled out behind.

All six men then approach the designated aircraft. Hawks wanted to bang his head on the wall from his own stupidity, since he chose the staircase opposite of the plane.

He let out a quiet hiss of frustration; “dammit.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he started trying to devise a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak some feathers inside to take them out. So he did just that, sending one feather for each man and one extra just in case.

The men had clearly let their guard drop as they focused on their tasks. He had no problem maneuvering the feathers around them as they worked. Two men were in the cockpit, two in the carriage, one taking storage in the backroom, and the last of the six was making his way to the single bathroom of the aircraft.

The man made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his pants before pulling out a phone and doing some unspeakable things that made Hawks want to vomit in his tiny corner. The poor guy had no clue that he was going to be the first to go, Hawks literally caught the bastard with his pants down. A mental note was made to just leave the dagger in his chest, after everything he just witnessed with that feather there was no way he wanted it back in his plumage.

One down, five to go and next up was the storage guy. A feather hovered right above the back of the guy as he checked off boxes on his clipboard. Moving forward, but still sticking to the wall in order to give the feather a better angle to slash his neck. However, the bright colors contrasted with the white wall, catching the attention of the man.

“What the fuc-”

Swish

It sliced through the air, not giving the man any time to process the situation. Hands instinctively flew to his throat in a pathetic attempt to stop the life escaping him. Bright red blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers, leaking down his front as he wobbled on his feet. The harsh thud of a body crashing to the floor never sounded through the air as the feather slipped down the back of his shirt to guide him quietly to the ground. Once he was laid out noiselessly on the now red stained ground the feather took off to regroup.

They all stayed as flat as paper against the slick interior of the plane, making sure never to be in the line of sight. Three feathers arrived at their next destination, the passenger section. The two men were just goofing off. Neglecting their assigned duties in favor of gossiping like highschool girls. Hawks could help the twitching of his upper lip, sharp canines baring each time the muscles spasmed. Sexist comments were slurred back and forth between them as they talked about his dove. Feral instincts screamed at him torture them till they were pleading for death. But, he needed to keep his composure or else risk getting caught and that was not something he could really afford right now.

The feathers slithered down the aisle when the assholes turned their backs to one another. One feather took off to lock the cockpit hatch from the outside, making the two on the inside unable to interrupt Hawks. Both the men were facing the side wall of the aircraft making it easy to string two feathers into position to swoop up and dispose of them just like like the now rotting corpse in the storage compartment.

Swish

Hawks really wished he could have prolonged their suffering, but he had more important matters to worry about, unlike those sexist bastards. Oh well, he would just have to be sure to spit on their corpses later.

The last two in the cockpit worked to get the carrier up and running. Hawks could hear them from the two feathers locking inside with them as they ran their diagnostics. Just as the feathers were about to capture their lives the roaring of an engine coming to life sounded throughout the facility. Blinding bright headlights buzzed on pointing to the corridors as if asking to be let out.

CREEEEAAAAK

Hawks peered over the corner of the wall hiding him, he saw more men pulling the door fully apart to make way for the giant aircraft. With all the new lighting Hawks had to turn off the night vision mode on his goggles so he could see. Through the orange tint of his lenses he could spot [y/n]’s limp body laying on her side facing him through the legs of the surrounding guards. Her whole body looked as though they just threw her to the asphalt from the van door. A grimy brown sack covered her head that hung to the floor slightly supported by the shoulder on the ground unnaturally scrunched up by her neck. He could see the raw skin surrounding the bonds tightly wired around her bare wrists. What really unnerved him was the slow unsteady half-rise of her chest every so often. He doesn’t know if it was due to the bag covering her airway or the utterly traumatized state of her body, but it wasn’t hard to tell her lungs were starting to give way. There was no way in Hell she would make it through the plane ride. She needed medical attention and she needed it fast.

The shifting of wheels brought Hawks out of his panic as the aircraft propellers spun around in place, making the plane go forward ever so slightly. It stopped one it was centered with the doors in the front of the facility. If he slashed his feathers upon them it would surely arm the onlookers. Eyes once again shifted to the body of his dove.

Helpless. He couldn’t make a move without stirring up their attention. And if they threatened her, there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance he would make it in time.

TING

The sound echoed out from his pocket. The phone vibrated letting out another sound to alert him of a notification.

Hawks’ heart dropped to the ground as everything around him moved in slow motion. Heads took their time spinning in his direction when in reality they snapped his way in milliseconds.

He didn’t have time to look at his phone as bullets flew his way. Faster than ever, he took to the air, dodging the oncoming hellfire. Since all was turning to shit, the two cockpit feathers slashed the hell out of the men inside with zero mercy whatsoever. Using some spare feathers he sent them lashing at the tires preventing their second escape. He’d rather be plucked for everything he was worth before letting them get away again, especially not when they were so close.

His earpiece rang to life as he wound through the air.

“What the fuck is happening” a harsh feminine voice that sounded like Rumi screamed from the other side.

“Shit hit the fan, send help.”

That was all he could say before getting nailed in the right shoulder. Wings stuttered in shock, but adrenaline pushed them to keep flapping.

“Hawks!” She called.

He could barely hear her through the blazing bullets piercing through the air.

“Heading….. Minutes…… Endeavor…… Way.”

Static cut out sentences leaving him with only a couple of words from the other line. He didn’t have time to decode the meaning though.

In the midst of frantic maneuvering a blast of fire hit the window behind him sending him flying forward as a bullet lodged itself in his right thigh.

“Friendly fire!” He screamed behind him.

Now shit was really hitting the fan, Hawks thought to himself as he looped through the new hole created by none other than Endeavor. He made his way to the top of the building, the roof partially deflecting some of the ammunition flying at light speed. A new wave of confidence gassed his system with the brigade of heroes quickly approaching from behind.

“I know I annoy you, but do ya really need to fry me right now?”

Endeavor only grunted as he landed next to the winged hero, Rumi was soon to join them. The bullets had ceased to pierce the air for a moment, Hawks could hear the head guy yelling at his underlines like an abusive dog owner. Naturally they tried to retreat to their vehicles, but found the tires were lacerated enough that they were rendered useless. The yell turned into hushed whispers.

All heroes crowded up onto the roof, hastily devising a plan that would hopefully let them safely extract the beaten girl. Time was ticking fast as two beautiful lives were draining from the mother's body every wasted second. They needed to make a move and they needed to do it now.

“Fuck plans”

“Hawks don’t be rash”

Endeavor could get fucked by fire for all Hawks cared. He was going in sending flocks of lethal feathers to shred them while he used the remaining feathers to take to the sky.

It only escalated from there on. Quirks were activated from both ends, but the heroes had to be careful, they may have the upper hand power wise, but the enemies had a hostage. Hawks could see his dove start to stir among all the commotion, but his attention was quickly redirected as a first sent him flying into a wall.

In the midst of the battle one of the lackey’s managed to discreetly snag [y/n] and a couple of the packages into a small aircraft. All which were messily tossed into the back of the cargo compartment before jumping in the control seat. All engines were a go and it was off to the runway from there, splattering some of his comrades into the pavement on the way. Hawks wasn’t having it though, redirecting all of the feathers slashing around to chase the jet as it wobbled in the sky.

“Your feathers are going to do jackshit, GO!” Rumi encouraged, no longer holding back.

That was all he needed to hear, as he darted to the air, targeting with pinpoint accuracy. The door of the storage holder on the side of the jet cracked open. Opening more and more as the pilot tried to steady the plane in the sky. The jet lagged in the sky as it swerved to the side making package after package plummet out. Hawks was tailing the jet, but the pilot kept taking sharp turns to try and lose him.

Hawks spotted [y/n’s body starting to slip to the edge of the open door. One final turn from the unsteady jet was all it took to send her descending into the air. Hawks immediately dove after her, wings tucking flat to increase his speed, arms stretching out towards her, hands ready to snatch her at the first given chance.

The ground was approaching uncomfortable fast. [Y/n] was just out of his reach, fingertips brushing against her own.

His wings gave one last flutter against his back, pushing him just far enough to reach her forearm. Hawks latch his hand onto her arm hauling her into his arms before spreading his scarlet wings in an attempt to catch in the air. A hiss passed his lips as the opposing velocity strained the muscles at the base of his wings.

Just before the hit the ground Hawks caught his bearings, letting them at least land somewhat safely. He stumbled on the turf, the hand that wasn’t holding [y/n] shot out to the ground where he keeled making sure to not fall over onto her. They landed a mile or so from the gates of the airport.

BOOM!

Hawks watched as sparks erupted from an explosion a little ways from them. Looks like the poor bastard couldn’t fly after all.

His breath was heaving, the adrenaline of the situation still pumping through his body. Lifting his hand from the ground he untied the rope holding the sack over her head, pulling it off, freeing her beaten face. Scarce breaths passed through her cracked lips.

Hawks was quick to let the rest know he had her. Endeavor let out a sigh of relief through the otherside of the line. Rumi yelled with happiness. When asking about her condition, he was hesitant to say anything, only saying that he was rushing her to urgent care immediately.

Weakly she stirred in his arms, whimpering as her bound wrist rubbed the harsh unforgiving rope peeling her already raw skin. Hawks plucked a feather, slashing her wrist and ankle constraints, finally setting her aching limbs free. Tears welled in his eyes, partly because she was now in his arms once again and partly because she was suffering in his arms.

“Shhhhh, baby bird, I’m gonna get you some help okay?”

He couldn’t tell if she heard him, but he wasn’t going to bother waiting for a reply. Wings spread behind him once more, screaming at him from pure agonizing torture they had already suffered. Limbs burned, fire setting every vein ablaze with even the slightest of moments.

All it took once one more heart wrenching soft cry passing her lips to get the adrenaline rushing again. No wound or pain could hold him down as he flapped his wings aggressively through the thin air. He kept staggering up to the clouds and low to the ground. It was definitely not his smoothest flight, but it was doing the job. She was held securely in a tight embrace against his chest. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek with the thumb in an attempt to pass her his wordless love.

Some of the feathers started to give from those once giant eyes. Every feather lost was another piece of [y/n] drifting to the light of eternal rest. She was a rose that was slowly shedding its abused petals, wilting from the mortal world.

Hawks could see the hospital in his sights, in his moment of overwhelming relief he almost hit the ground, but luckily he was able to bring them both up just in time.

White doors slammed over as a body crashed onto the hospital lobby tile. The receptionist rushed over to the counter spotting the hero, wings clings around his front to cushion their landing. Looking at the lady in scrubs he lifted one of his wings revealing the beaten woman he cradled to his chest. The lady screamed for help as doctors and nurses flooded the room. A stretcher was brought in as [y/n] was carted into one of the back rooms, nurses flocking the stretcher trying to assess her state.

A separate stretcher was brought in for him. A light smile graced his face as he watched them take care of her while they hauled him onto the cart. One of the nurses was trying to ask him questions, but he paid them no mind, only watching his dove.

The smile quickly faded as he saw more doctors dash to her room, panicked expressions present on each of their faces. He tried to stay awake, he tried to hear what was going on, but the last thing he heard was a doctor yelling one word that echoed in his ears even as he lost touch with reality.

“CLEAR!”

Then everything went black.

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Also I want to thank you all for reading this, it makes me so happy. I literally cried at all the love you all gave the first chapter. I wish I was kidding I actually cried.

TAGS:

@assassinslittlesister @anxiousgoddest @moonpawss @regularkacchan @austriasmariazelle @murkyrosewrite @hawksexual @imuziawi

#bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #hawks x reader #bnha keigo takami #boku no hero academia #mha #hawks #keigo takami

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