#I already know shes being forced to do mercenary work I hope that remains a thing

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

I say that the vigilantes are always dying but tragically only 3 of them actually died were kind of light on actual horrible vigilante deaths. Dorian did also get a horrible vigilante fate in the form of being arrested. Have not read all of Pat yet Ill let everyone know if she gets a horrible vigilante fate.

[dc-said-bi-robin-rights]

The smell is what hits her first. The smell and the rain.

Rose Wilson grits her teeth as her face is planted on the road, her nostrils flaring even as the hands holding her—impossibly strong hands, with impossibly strong grips—force her mouth open and place her upper jaw over the rim of the curb. She had never noticed it before, but wet concrete had a faint smell to it—a kind of moist, dusty odor noticeable only thanks to her enhanced senses and current proximity to the material. It wasn’t a nice smell. Definitely not the kind of thing you wanted in your nostrils before you died.

She struggles, more for the sake of struggling than for any real hope at escaping, but the hands hold her there, tightly, their inhuman strength making it impossible for her to turn her face or even close her mouth in the same way the Lasso wrapped around her wrists and legs made it impossible to move. In the darkest corners of her mind, Rose feels glad. They had made her watch videos of heroes being executed via the electric chair without a sponge to direct the electricity, and while it hadn’t come close to breaking the white-haired ex-mercenary, it had reduced her resistance somewhat. Watching people be cooked alive for the crime of fighting for a movement you helped start was never gonna be fun for anyone, no matter how tough they were. At least this way it would be quick.

She could content herself with that.

Maybe she’d be a martyr, she thinks suddenly, finding herself not entirely opposed to the idea. She’d feared dying without anyone who actually gave a shit about her, but maybe it was in death that she’d find acceptance. She can almost see it, in that moment: crowds of people chanting her name as they tore the Tower down, waving orange and black banners with her skull-and-crossbones logo on them as they marched through the streets of San Francisco. It’s a nice image, and she lets herself indulge in the fantasy for a moment before the sharp mental reminder that she wouldn’t be around to see it spoils her sudden good mood.

Whatever, she thinks, scoffing at her own mind. I didn’t do this be a martyr anyway.

“If you’re going to kill me, then get on with it already,” she snarls into the concrete, feeling a sudden bitterness roil up in her stomach. For once, she’d done nothing to deserve this, absolutely nothing. All she’d wanted was love. Family. Someone who cared for her.

And instead, she got her.

“Someone’s getting ahead of themselves,” comes the smug, amused voice of Cassandra Sandsmark. Rose hears footsteps to her left as someone walks around her before they suddenly stop right in her blindspot, and Rose knows for a fact that she’s standing there on purpose. She knows Rose hates it when people talk to her from the side she can’t see. She knows, and she’s doing it anyway, because she’s that special kind of vicious bitch that gets off on doing things like that to people who had trusted her. “And here I thought you were supposed to be smart, Rose.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, trying unsuccessfully to turn her head so she might look at the woman who tore the country apart and stomped on its remains for good measure.

“It means I’m not going to kill you,” she says, and Rose doesn’t believe her until she hears the creak of fabric as she crouches down and feels the softness of her skin as she threads her fingers into her hair. “Oh, don’t pout at me like that. We both know you’re more useful to me alive, Rose.” There’s a pause, and Rose can hear the smile in Cassie’s suddenly husky voice as she gently lifts a few strands of Rose’s hair to her face and inhales deeply, letting out a content sigh a moment after that makes all the hairs on Rose’s arms stand on end. “A lot more useful.”

“You’re insane,” Rose growls, trying to pull her head away. “You can’t really believe I’d join you after everything you’ve done.”

Instead of responding, the new Wonder Woman takes another long sniff of Rose’s hair, ignoring the way Rose tries to move away at the invasive action. “God, I’ve missed you. Can you believe I lost the last of your old shirts during the earthquake a year ago? I swear, it’s like the universe doesn’t want me to have anything to remember you by.” She moves in closer, her breath tickling the strip of skin between Rose’s ear and her neck. “It’s been hell for me since I lost you. I want you to know that.”

“You didn’t ‘lose’ me,” Rose sneers, incensed by the presumption. “I left your sorry ass because of what you did!”

That does it. Rose lets out a pained grunt as a boot connects with her stomach, but she is kept in place by the hands holding her. “And now you’re gonna pay for it!” Cassie snarls in her ear, suddenly frothing at the mouth, so hysterical her spit is hitting Rose in the face with every word she says. “I-I can’t believe you—my mom, Donna, Diana, Kara, Cissie, Greta, Anita, all lost to me on the same damn day with no time to mourn them… drowning in stress and responsibilities for months and months without a word of help from you, and you’re b-bragging about the fact that you left me when I needed you the most even while we were together!??Bragging?!”

Rose doesn’t know who half those people are, but she doesn’t particularly care. “Oh, quit whining,” she sneers, voice scathing. “You’re not the only one who lost people in the crisis… and after what you did, you’re lucky I didn’t break Regulator out of jail and slice the lot of you to ribbons on my way out.”

For a moment, Rose thinks Cassie really will kill her, before she hears her take a deep breath and moved back. “You can survive a broken neck thanks to your healing factor.” Her voice is utterly toneless, and something about it suddenly impresses upon Rose the true severity of the situation. “But it won’t be pleasant, and we won’t give you any medical aid. You’ll be in agony for weeks, unable to move, unable to feel below the neck, unable to do anything but wallow in the consequences of your actions for as long as it takes for your body to heal itself. And I’ll do everything I can to make it even worse.” Rose hears footsteps, and suddenly Cassie is behind her, and Rose’s heart is beating in her chest. “You made my life a living hell, Rose. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

“I’d rather die,” Rose replies, and it’s not so much a challenging cry as it as a plea to the girl who had once loved her.

“Too bad that’s not up to you,” she says, and Rose can sense there’ll be no mercy from the golden-haired demigoddess. “But don’t fear… after your punishment is over, I’ll extend my offer again. Maybe then you’ll reconsider what you said about joining us.”

Rose thinks for a moment about saying something final and martyr-ish, like “The East Dies Free”, but she hadn’t done this to be a martyr, and she had never been the type to believe in the slogans.

“Go to hell,” she says instead, and she hears the crunch long before she feels it.

———

Rose’s eyes shoot open, and she sits up, panting hard, her heart running a mile a minute.

“So? What is it?” She hears someone ask, and her heart beats two more times before she recognizes the voice as Tim’s. “What’s in store for us, Rose? What did you see?”

She barely hears him over the sudden ringing in her ears. “Cassie.”

“What was that?” someone asks, louder than Tim had. He—Bart, she realizes—reaches out as if to grab her shoulder, but thinks better of it halfway and lets his hand drop. “Rose, you’re whispering. What did you just say?”

“Cassie,” she murmurs again, blinking several times in an effort to banish the strange spots floating over her gaze. “Cassie.”

“Did she just say…?”

“She did,” another voice says, and there’s movement, and suddenly Cassie’s face is right in front of her. “It’s okay. Whatever you saw in the future, we can deal with it as a team. As long as we stick together, there’s nothing we…”

The ringing in her ears gets louder, and Rose brushes aside the piles of empty epinephrine inhalers laid out on the cot and gets her feet under her, managing three steps before she has to lean on the wall, and then Cassie’s hand is on her shoulder, and she tenses, and the world lurches to the side, and her vision crystallizes, and Rose can breathe again, and…

“Easy.” Cassie sounds confused, but stern, insistent, terribly similar and not at all like the golden-haired apparition she can still hear in the back of her mind. “You’re disoriented. Whatever you saw in the future, we have time to…”

“You wanna lose that hand?” Rose sneers, the sound of her own voice chasing the shadows at the edges of her vision away enough for her to remember she doesn’t like being touched.

“Do I wanna…”

Rose moves, and Cassie’s suddenly against the wall, and people are crying out and grabbing at her, but Rose can’t see them, can’t hear them, can’t remember they exist in any way, and the shadows dance and a god laughs and it smells like wet concrete and everything is happening too fast, always too fast, and she doesn’t know who she is, who she was, who she will be, but she remembers the word ‘together’ and knows it cannot happen, knows it cannot be allowed to happen, so she presses her arm against Cassie’s throat and snarls, or whispers, or sneers, or moans, or grunts, or growls, or breathes—she isn’t sure which—in her face. “Don’t ever touch me without my permission, wonder bitch.” Her lip curls. “As a matter of fact, don’t ever lay a hand on me again.”

The words exit her mouth and then she’s out in h the hallway and futures keeps flashing before her eyes and they won’t stop and the world spins and she can’t breathe and someone keeps laughing at her and she’s not sure why and her father screams and screams and screams and there’s a needle in her arm and then in her neck and then she’s bleeding from her eye, from just beneath it, from just above it, and there’s a crunch, and then two, and then three, and then cheering, and fire, and people die, and the wall collapses inwards, and then none of these things happen and she’s left just standing in the hallway, alone save for the ringing in her ears.

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three Chapter 28

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 107k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: Only one Xiang remains and her name is Merra. She hopes to unite the land by force and plow down anyone in her way—especially the people of Agni who she deems faithless and the native people of Terra who refuse to cooperate with her.

Raine continues to serve his Lord but he has taken to alcoholism to soothe his grief—a fact he keeps out of his letters with Heidi. Baiya has returned to mercenary work in order to keep his family safe while Kira is on the warpath. He, fully, takes on the title of Chaaya and means to defeat the Xiang he sees as false.

And, in a guarded castle in Enlil, a stir-crazy Princess dabbles in the dark arts, setting in motion something even Tiandi cannot see.

Full chapter 28 under the cut

Chapter XXVIII:

Riding a horse while drunk was not an easy skill to master but, after a lot of practice, Raine had found it was not too bad. He no longer felt sick to his stomach due to all the motion and he had a pretty decent handle on his limits. Naturally, if he drank too much, no matter how accustomed to it he was, he would still end up vomiting over the side of his horse.

He could not afford to display that sort of behavior around his new company so he kept the drinking on the road down to a minimum. His head was in constant agony, however, and he craved liquor worse than he expected.

Really, he had hoped that Pangu coming back into his life—literally being raised from the dead—would curb his drinking habit.

He was beyond happy to have his friend back and he went immediately back into disciple mode but his stress levels had not especially changed. If anything, he might have been more stressed given the fact he deserted his King, the military, and possibly put both his orphanage and Heidi in danger if Merra pieced things together right away.

And, when he thought like that, of course he needed another drink.

The group was low on supplies anyway so Raine did not feel especially selfish about the stop. He just was not delighted by the location.

He had passed by, a couple of times, going on missions for Merra and chasing down leads about Kira but he had not actually stepped foot inside Sun-shi city since the last time he was there with Pangu.

The outer walls were just as dilapidated and abandoned as he recalled—probably even worse now. There was more miasma too and Raine scrunched his nose at the wall of it they walked into.

May, Fujin, and Kaz all struck quite similar faces at the blanket of poison. “Is this okay to breathe?” Fujin asked and cupped her hand over her mouth. May quickly followed her lead.

“For a little while, it is fine,” Raine explained. “We will not be here long enough for it to truly affect you.”

Pangu’s eyes darted all around the area and he frowned although no one could see that behind the fabric covering his face. “Have I not already cleaned this city?”

Raine chuckled. “You have. It is terrible though.” He led them to a building, as run down as every other structure in the vicinity. “You four stay here, I will get the supplies, and I will be right back.”

“His face is hidden already, what are you worried about?” Kaz asked, gesturing to Pangu.

“Our group will draw too much attention further in and I do not want to be here any longer than necessary. You have trusted me this far, right? Trust me on this as well.”

Kaz scowled. “Who is to say I do trust you?”

Pangu grabbed his arm. “Kaz, come on.” He then looked to Raine. “We will stay put.”

His first disciple gave him a curt nod before bowing out and leaving.

“Why does he always just boss us around?” Kaz complained and pulled his arm free.

“It is not bossing,” Fujin replied, “He knows the area the best. We probably would slow everything down.”

Pangu nodded. “If Raine says this is fastest then I believe him.”

“I know but…” he grumbled and then turned to May, hoping to find some solidarity with her but then he promptly realized she had not said a word since entering the city. That was unlike her so his eyebrows rose. “May…are you alright?”

She kept a hand clamped over her mouth and said, in a muffled voice, “Don’t wanna breathe.”

Fujin smiled. “He said it was fine in small doses.”

May shook her head and added another hand. Pangu almost laughed—especially when he saw the almost matching looks on the siblings’ faces. As if the wheels were turning in their heads to ask the same question: “if we tell May there is miasma around, will she always go quiet?”

His amusement was intercepted by confusion when he felt the miasma start to shift in the air. He had not been particularly paying attention to it but, with the amount, it was impossible to completely ignore.

“What is it?” Kaz noticed his smile dropping immediately.

“Something or…someone…is absorbing the miasma.” Pangu bit down on his lip, lightly chewing as he contemplated his next words. He could not resist. “I am going to follow the trail.”

***

Lord Huan Lao Weiyan stood at attention to the right of the stage, looking on expectantly. It was the second time Merra had needed to perform a purification ceremony in the city and she knew that, before her, Pangu had done at least one as well.

There was clearly some problem that would keep causing miasma to spawn in the city but she could not figure out what it was. She had asked Ashoka to investigate for another possible Chaaya in the area and for Gongji to search for any open wounds in the earth that could be leaking the substance.

So far, there has been no luck in finding an answer.

Her other two disciples were busy on their own, at a border town out north-east. Merra was due for a report with them after a few days where she would learn of any other towns or cities that needed her assistance as well as how the Kyrie military was fairing.

Most importantly, however, she would get some decent news about Raine. Or so she hoped. Since she last heard of Kira’s whereabouts, there had been no news. And that was when Raine was sent to capture him so, maybe, he finally succeeded.

Those types of thoughts were not especially productive during a cleansing, however, so she had to focus on the present. She used the grounding methods the four Heavenly Princes showed her and closed her eyes.

Unlike her predecessor, she did not feel the need for a ceremony of grandeur. She was happy if people came to watch but she did not demand music or hold the attention of the city by dancing. She certainly did not leave the most important part—the actual absorption—to one of her disciples, either.

Gongji and Ashoka just stood at her sides, guarding and offering silent support.

Her Enlil disciple was a staple in her travels, as much as possible, since he was the strongest and with the highest resonance. Merra was not shy about letting everyone know that she felt safer with him around. The man could whip up a tornado with his fan without breaking a sweat and his air barriers were nigh impenetrable.

And her Agni disciple was incredibly useful as well. For starters, it was always nice to have another woman around even if their backgrounds were incredibly different. Ashoka also served as a salient point against all of the protests in Agni that the Xiang or, worse, Tiandi did not care for their people or their country. If that were true, then would Ashoka work with them?

Still, even if she was from Agni, that had not given Merra access to the country. They had turned on Ashoka as well, even her own uncle, the lord of Phaos, did not seem to be returning her letters.

Merra made sure to let the woman know that she always had a place by her side, if nothing else. And, when they inevitably did breach Agni’s borders, they would take Phaos and Ashoka could have it if she so desired.

When Merra suggested that, her disciple’s face remained stoic. She was like that a lot. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell what she was really thinking. The spirits had a few reservations about Ashoka but they felt similarly to most people from Agni. It was their lack of faith but the Four Heavenly Kings had picked the woman specifically for the job.

Of course she was fit for it.

She was a great guardian too—almost as good as Gongji. Merra did not doubt for a second her safety when she was with the two of them so she closed her eyes and pulled in the miasma with her arms outstretched and raised into the air.

That feeling had taken getting used to but she had done it so many times now that it was becoming second nature. She could tell when the ceremony would go smooth just by the texture of the miasma and she could definitely tell when she was hitting a snag.

When someone else was pulling on the other end.

Her eyes snapped open and she tugged harder, attempting to draw out the rest of the miasma but it felt stuck—held captive almost.

“What is wrong?” Ahsoka asked, noting her scowl.

“Is there more than expected?” Gongji guessed.

Merra shook her head, the thin metals of her headpiece jingling softly. “No…someone else is absorbing it.”

No one even had a chance to respond before the sun was blocked by a figure standing on a rooftop, across the square and directly in Merra’s line of sight.

“What is going on?” Lord Lao demanded as the small crowd began to mutter amongst themselves.

“The Chaaya is here,” she answered and gulped. Her heart thundered in her chest and she did not move her eyes from his form. “I knew this day would come eventually. We could not evade him forever.”

“Do you wish for us to engage, Xiang?” Gongji asked.

“There are only three of us!” Ashoka pointed out the absurdity.

But Merra was not worried. “I have backup,” she whispered.

Form across the square, the Chaaya hopped down from the roof and landed on the ground, not wasting a second before forcibly parting the crowd with a crevice in the ground. He walked through it, raising a chunk of land for every necessary step.

“So, Merra,” he said her name as if it was poisonous to him, “You will not run?”

“I will not.” She balled her hands into fists and shook her head back and forth. He was close now, close enough for her to see the blood red of his irises and how deathly ill he looked. The last time she had seen him he had been tan—dark even—but now his skin was almost the same color as hers.

Kira shot out miasma, a cloud veiling an assault of vines and tendrils that came up from the ground but Gongji erected a barrier just in time. Black veins stretched over the surface and Merra saw, up close and personal, what materialized miasma truly looked like.

The people, what few were left, ran off and screamed. Lord Lao, as well, abandoned his post in search for cover, somewhere safer.

Merra’s eyes bulged in a mixture of adrenaline and fear. She threw up a hand, going straight for her trump card. “Shuishra!”

The glow from the spirit realm helped to bring light to the city square and the blue dragon Merra relied on in times of need wormed her head through the portal. Her mouth was already open, showing bright, pointed teeth that glowed with the buildup of energy she would release onto the Chaaya.

Just as the water condensed in the dragon’s mouth, Kira flicked his finger up with a smirk on his face. He threw out a large ball of miasma which smacked the spirit on the nose.

It did not seem like much at first and the dragon only flinched but, after a second, her glow started to fade. “No…No!” Merra shouted when she remembered that the poison was much more harmful to spirits than to humans.

The dragon’s eyes rolled back into her head and filled with the same slimy, black veins that had shot across Gongji’s barrier. Her mouth opened, as if clawing for breath and her tongue stretched out, slowing turning darker by the second. Steam poured out from her jaws, rather than water and, with a quick jerk, she retreated back and the portal closed. Merra could not even feel her energy with her anymore.

“Shuishra?” she called but felt no connection to the spirit realm. Was she cut off when the Chaaya was around? She had heard miasma was especially dangerous to spirits but she did not fathom the effect would be quite so immediate and brutal. Her body shook with a rage and she turned back to Kira. “You monster!”

“You are the one bringing others into our fight,” he responded easily and shot forth more miasma, coating the barrier over the trio. He held nothing back—he would exhaust all of the miasma he had in his body for this.

The surface of the barrier began to crack no matter how much Gongji sweated to keep it up. So, Ashoka summoned a ball of fire in her hand but, before she could send it toward the Chaaya, she, herself, was thrown back.

No miasma touched her and she had not been jostled around by the earth. Merra looked to the side, completely baffled. Even Kira’s attack stopped.

“What was that?” Merra asked.

A metallic flash screamed through the air and nearly impaled Gongji. He managed to dodge but the tail end of his robe was pinned to the stage. Along with the spear that held him was a blonde man who no one had ever seen before.

“Who—?” Merra tried to ask before she was shoved at as well by some invisible force. She was not used to having an element used against her but she still stood firm in the face of it.

Ashoka scrambled to her feet and removed her pole from her back, ready to fight whatever strange opponent had approached. Another blonde appeared, sword in hand so she took a swing at her. The strange woman whipped her shield around to block the attack but without, physically, holding it.

Then a third figure—a tan woman with long, brown hair—ran in front of Merra. “I would ask if you remember me but I was not allowed in your presence, great Xiang.” She grinned from ear to ear. “I have a bone to pick with you, however.”

She pushed more air into her and Merra almost flew back that time. She saw, from her peripherals, that Gongji was exchanging blows with the blonde male and Ashoka with the blonde female while this tan woman walked even closer to her.

Merra switched to her natural element and threw out spikes of earth toward her yet they did not travel far. Then they started to travel backward.

At first, she assumed it was the Chaaya but a fourth stranger came into view. They were fully clothed, even their head was covered, and they threw her against the back of the stage with a force greater than what Gongji could muster with the wind.

She had merely been puzzled before. Now, she was horrified.

Kira watched the display with almost the same level of bewilderment but no one was attacking him so he saw nothing but opportunity in the chaos. Merra and her two disciples could not possibly fight off all of them at once so he singled out Gongji.

The man had always given him a case of the creeps—just something about him did not feel right so he would gladly watch the light leave his eyes.

He summoned a few vines and snatched the man up by his ankles as he was focused on defending against the spear wielding blonde. Gongji let out a satisfying yelp as he was hoisted into the air.

Kira grinned like mad. He felt no need for final words so he latched more tendrils of miasma onto him, ready to pull him apart and watch his blood paint the floor.

But a trident ripped through the vines.

[one-boring-person]

Ghost From The Past. (Part 2/2)

Lee Christmas (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: violence, gun use, swearing

Context: the job goes awry

Masterlist

The mercenaries move with calculated silence as they step into the abandoned office building, guns at the ready, expressions grim with concentration. Fingers shift over triggers, boots lowering carefully on old carpet, eyes flicking here and there, scanning the area around them for threats. Already, they move so fluidly with each other it's like they've been doing it for years, which is true for most of them. Barney leads, a step ahead of Lee, who stealthily shadows him, Caesar and Toll just behind them, with Gunnar and (Y/n) bringing up the rear. 

Nothing else moves, the messy office ahead of them suspiciously quiet and still, the smashed windows allowing harsh sunlight to stream in from outside, highlighting the odd scene. Nothing can be heard above them, either, though it is a large building, so it's likely that if there is something moving around on a higher floor, it will go unheard for now. 

Regarding the area one more time, Barney lifts a hand, gesturing for the mercenaries to branch out, whispering as he does so.

"Gunnar, stay down here. Make sure it's clear. Toll, Caesar, take the next three floors. I'll take the three after that, and Lee, I want you and (Y/n) to take the last four." The man orders, leaving no room for discussion, "Got it?"

The others all confirm they've understood, Gunnar grumbling something about being on lookout duty as (Y/n) and Lee shoot each other uneasy looks. Biting back their discomfort, they ready their rifles and move off after Caesar, Toll and Barney, falling into position as they climb the stairs, both facing down the way they came as the others cover their path. Smoothly, the group of fighters ascends the stairs, Caesar and Toll branching off at their first level, Barney eventually doing the same as he reaches his first floor. Before he goes, he sends the other two a somewhat worried look, swiftly disappearing through the door.

Almost instantly, (Y/n) and Lee start to lapse back into old habits, the latter leading the way with the former covering their rear, nearly back-to-back as they go, both on a hairpin wire, ready to fire bullets at whoever tries to surprise them. The building is still eerily quiet, too quiet for the two ex-soldiers, their spines prickling as they ascend higher and higher, having both decided to stop at their uppermost level and clear it from the top down. 

Continuing up, they remain in silence, listening carefully to their surroundings, halting briefly at the very top to make sure it's safe. Hearing nothing, Lee goes to the door to the floor, (Y/n) falling into position by his legs as he swings it open, both entering a stance that is deadly and familiar to them. With both rifles raised, the two stand perfectly still, Lee stood over (Y/n), who rests on one knee, aim unwavering. Finding the corridor before them clear, they relax their stance slightly, moving off into the hallway with slow, calculated steps. 

This time, they move further apart, each taking a different side of the corridor, Lee on the right, his companion on his left, the two glancing into rooms as they pass them, making sure they're clear of threats. At first glance, all of them are, but something feels wrong, both veterans showing this in their expressions as they finally look at each other again. Frowning, they quickly glance away, (Y/n) suddenly tensing, before she darts into a nearby room, heading straight to the far end, where a huge pipe runs from the ceiling to the floor. Once there, she gets down on her knees, peering at something stuck to the metal cylinder.

"Oh, shit." She curses, just loud enough for Lee to catch it.

"What?" He hisses back at her, covering the door in case someone drops in.

"We have to go, now. The place is wired." (Y/n) sounds panicked now, standing and moving to the corridor, pulling Lee with her as she heads straight to the stairs.

"Wired?"

"Wired to explode!" She shouts back at him, fear giving her voice an edge now as she races down the first flight, "We have thirty seconds to get out of here!"

Realising the severity of the situation, Lee swears and takes off after her, listening to her report the same thing to the others through their earpieces, the sounds of people clattering down the stairs soon filling the air as the others all emerge from their respective floors, charging downwards. From where he is, however, Lee can tell that it's unlikely he and his comrade will make it out that way. Gritting his teeth, he thinks fast, swiftly figuring something out.

"(Y/n)! This way!" He calls out to her, gesturing for her to follow him into the nearest floor. She complies with no hesitation, falling into step behind him, rifle slung over her shoulder.

Tearing down the corridor, the two mercenaries pick up speed, (Y/n) swiftly figuring out what Lee's plan is and pushing herself harder, knowing now that speed will be the difference between life and death. 

Above them, the first bomb explodes, the crack of the blast resounding deafeningly around the building, debris falling from the ceiling as it gives out in places, making it difficult for the two mercenaries to navigate their way across. Avoiding what they can, they continue on, jaws setting as they near their destination, both hoping to hell this will work out how it should, though they're both painfully aware of the considerable possibility it won't. 

The corridor starts to run out, drawing them ever closer to the window at the far end, the building behind them now taking in on itself, the other explosives becoming triggered. Cacophonous blasts pursue the two mercenaries, shockwaves from close ones helping them move on towards their goal. 

Taking up the lead, Lee suddenly picks up speed, (Y/n) mimicking him as he throws himself full-force at the window. 

Glass shatters and their bodies are suddenly weightless, the ground falling away from beneath them. Their hearts are in their throats, everything going in slow-motion as they flail through the air, arms and legs wheeling to help propel them. Wind rushes up around them, the building behind them slumping in on itself as they fall away from it. Adrenaline pumps through their veins, eyes wide as they try to judge their landings.

Time speeds up again as they smash into the roof of the building across from the office block. Pain erupts in their shoulders and torsos as they connect with the faded concrete, ribs and arms breaking from the sheer impact of their landing, drawing strangled groans of agony from the two veterans. They remain still for a long moment allowing their bodies to recover somewhat, trying to ignore the blazing pain of their new injuries, before rolling onto their backs, breathing heavily as they stare up at the dusty sky. 

With strained grunts, (Y/n) and Lee force themselves upright again, cradling their injuries gingerly as they shoot each other weary looks. (Y/n) finds the sight of the mercenary almost comforting, flashes of their old time together flooding through her mind, her heart twisting as she looks over his bruised face, wishing now that they'd never been separated in the first place. Lee regards her in a similar light, the familiar need to protect her and watch over her filling his being as he tries to send her a cautious smile. 

Just as he does so, a much louder explosion rocks the building behind them, huge shockwaves of energy roiling out from the collapsing remains, flames engulfing massive areas of it. Without a second thought, Lee throws himself forwards, slamming (Y/n) back to the ground as he covers her with his body, protecting her from the blast. Pinned beneath him, (Y/n) instinctively wraps her hands over the back of Lee's skull, shielding it as best she can, pressing his face into her shoulder as she buries hers in his chest. 

The blast washes over them, shingle and debris falling out around them, shards of glass and metal lacerating any bare skin as it is thrown past them. Heat engulfs them, the flames not quite reaching them, but close enough that the warmth is incredibly worrying. 

As Lee leans back up again after five minutes, though, all he can think about is one thing. And as he stares down into (Y/n)'s face, he knows she wants the exact same thing. 

Without further ado, he crashes his lips into her's roughly moulding them together as he forces himself as close as possible to her, ignoring his pain in favour of holding her body against his. She moans into the kiss, surprised but not unpleasantly so, reaching up to pull his head down onto her's, her legs wrapping around his waist to hold him in place. Looping his arms around her, Lee tightens his grip on the veteran, crushing her into him, lips becoming more and more insistent. He licks at her lips, sliding right past as she opens up to him, their tongues pressing against each other as they explore and caress each other, swallowing each other's noises. 

As he kisses her, Lee can only think about how good it feels to have her in his arms, to feel her body writhing beneath his, to be near her again after so long. He'd dreamed about this back in the Special Forces, but now that it's becoming a reality? He can't think of anything better, so he works to make it good, both mercenaries pouring all their pent up emotion into the kiss.

"Considering we thought you two were dead, I'm not sure that this is how I expected to find you again." Barney's voice interrupts them, his smirk evident him his tone, startling the two from their deep kiss. 

Separating, they turn their heads to look at him, glad to see it's just him for now, their boss grinning cunningly at them. Rolling apart, Lee and (Y/n) groan as they force themselves upright, cradling injuries as blood pours down their faces, the former's and wrapped tightly around the latter's waist, keeping her close. 

"Shit happens." Lee shrugs, grinning almost happily.

"Apparently so." Barney winks at them both, "Come on, let's get you both back to camp."

[chemicalpink]

대취타 (daechwita) | Emperor!Yoongi x Reader | Part ONE

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi x Assassin!Reader

Words: 2.7k

Genre: Emperor AU, Historical AU (kinda), very badly written SMUT at the end, power play, angsty

Warnings: there is mention of death, killing, smut in public place, some traditional korean things may be wrong, mentions of slavery.

A/N: No thoughts, just Agust D.

Summary: You used to be an assassin, got caught and works at the palace as a servant up until you are escorted to the main palace, either to meet your inevitable destiny or for a change of plans.

OR

The one where Min Yoongi is an Emperor and is cocky and kinda of an asshole but you both get naughty nevertheless.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

After somewhere near to twelve months being forced to work at the Gyeongbok Palace, you have somewhat become accustomed to having both hands and feet chained while moving around the place with a sword always on the back of your head, ready to chop it off were you to do any funny business. It was no secret that there were hundreds of enslaved servants at Gyeongbok Palace that were once top tier criminals, and whilst most of them received a similar treatment, you used to come and go from your assigned place of work with half a dozen more guards than the rest. Just as you would expect it to be, seen as you were Korea’s most famous mercenary. That day, however, the sight of a hooded man completely dressed in black caught you by surprise. That was definitely new.

Your usual companion, a young royal guard named Jungkook, held your arm forcefully while he guided you through the sumptuous building where most public officials and gwageos of Korea made their home while on service. You both made your way through corridors,  sets of stairs and turned right more times than you deemed necessary just so you’d have the lesser chance of finding an exit out of wherever the man was taking you.

At least, that is what Jungkook pretended by doing so, but you were able o pick up his intentions and noticed how you had been up and down the same stairs in a matter of minutes. You also noticed how the dark-haired man was forcing you to zig-zag through different levels, even though Gyeongbok had the plainest structure inside it, just a few sets of stairs on the front and tons of long corridors inside. Truth be told, you would have been insulted if Jungkook weren’t to be that precautious. 

You both headed down a particularly long corridor where not the slightest sound could be heard except the echo of your own footsteps. Jungkook turned your way and stared, you smiled at him. He looked back to the front and grabbed your arm with more strength than before.

You took the gesture as a compliment, even though you had no idea what was the reason behind such a mystery, or why that hooded man dressed in black had exchanged a few words with the head guard before Jungkook had grabbed your arm and taken you away from your workplace by the river. After a whole day of washing who-knows-who clothes, seeing him planted there beside the other six guards you were assigned wasn’t exactly how you pictured your day to end like.

Nevertheless, you were quick to make out the exact words that were exchanged when Jungkook made himself known to the man guarding the main palace’s entrance, Jung Hoseok, captain of the royal guard. Soon enough, the sky above seemed to have darkened a thousand shades, the mountains that could be seen from the front yard seemed to have enlarged and you could have sworn that the earth had trembled under you. It had been a while since you had left yourself feel fear inside you.

You turned to look at the new hand holding your arm. The black leather from his glove, a perfect match to the rest of his attire.

You both made your way down yet another corridor and you managed to entertain yourself looking at the elegant forged sword that he carried. The gleaming pommel was shaped like an eagle in mid-flight. Realizing that you were looking at the weapon, Hoseok rested his gloved hand on the golden head of the bird. 

You had stopped for a second to consider whether you would be able to take to your advantage the lack of security and just shoot your shot at freedom, go berserk and use the captain’s weapon against himself, just like that old man that used to be in charge of you had chosen the worst day to push you roughly and ended up in a ditch. But there was far too much echo in the corridors to attack him without alerting the whole place .

Sometimes you wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to die the night you were betrayed and captured. However, while walking down endless corridors, there were already far better questions to ask yourself. Had they finally decided to behead you? It was a favourite of the emperor’s after all. Your stomach churned. After all, you were deemed relevant enough to be executed by the very own royal guard captain. But, if they were to kill you, why bother the tour around Gyeongbok’s corridors?

You finally came to a halt before some glass doors in red and gold, so thick that it was useless to try and see what was on the other side. Captain Jung Hoseok bowed lightly with his head to the other two guards that flanked the entry and they hit the ground with their spears in salute.

The captain once again grabbed you by the arm with such force you were sure he had let a bruise. He pulled you towards him, but your feet were unable to move.

“Would you prefer to remain enslaved, then?” he asked in a mocking tone

“Maybe if you’d tell me what is all of this for, I wouldn’t be so opposed to it”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be long until you find out for yourself” 

Your palms were most definitely sweating. Yes, you were about to die. It was finally time to.

The doors opened with a crushing sound and before your eyes appeared a throne room.

“Here” groaned the captain as he pushed you forward with his free hand.

Being freed from the chains that held your feet together, you tripped over yourself and your bare feet slipped on the smooth floor when you tried to pick yourself up. You turned your head back around and saw six more guards that ported the royal seal on their garments make their way inside.

Fourteen guards plus Captain Jung Hoseok.They were part of the royal family's personal guard: ruthless and lightning-fast soldiers, trained from childhood to protect the emperor with their own lives. You barely managed no to choke on your own spit. Groggy and bewildered you turned your gaze to the front. Sitting on an ornate wooden and jade throne, a handsome young man awaited. Your heart stopped when you all bowed to him. You were before the very emperor of Korea, Min Yoongi. 

Both your eyes and the emperor’s crossed paths.

Min Yoongi offered her a smirk. One that hid a twisted intention behind it but reeked of royal charisma at the same time. Sprawled on the throne, his chin was propped up in one hand and his almost white-blond hair gleamed in the dim light. He wore a black hanbok on which the royal seal embroidered in gold tones occupied almost the entire bib.

Something in his eyes, and the way they contrasted with his almost white hair, took you apart. He was painfully handsome and should be less than thirty years old.

Emperors are not supposed to be attractive. They are whiny, stupid and disgusting creatures! But he ... he ... how unfair of him to belong to royalty and be handsome at the same time.

Min Yoongi stared at your tensed body and then raised well-groomed eyebrows “I wasn’t expecting you to be so young” he supported his elbows on his thighs “i’ve heard some fascinating stores about you, How’s life now after being used to all the excess you granted yourself before?”

Cocky son of a bitch.

“I couldn’t be happier” you hummed while digging your broken nails into your palms.

“After almost a year here, it kinda seems like you are somewhat alive, how have you been able to achieve it, when life expectancy around here for slaves is barely that of a month?”

“It’s still a mystery, I have no doubt about it” You gave the emperor a seductive look and repositioned the handles as if they were lace gloves.

The emperor turned to his captain

“Such a naughty mouth she’s got, huh? And she doesn't speak like a member of the mob”

“One would hope so” you exclaimed

“Your highness” snapped Hoseok

“Huh?” 

“You must address him as ‘your highness’”

You gave him a mocking smile and then returned your attention to the emperor.

To your surprise, Min Yoongi laughed.

“You are aware that you are a slave, aren’t you? Haven’t you learnt anything from this time you’ve been serving?” he started walking towards you until he was so close that you could easily appreciate the exquisite embroidery of his hanbok and smell the aroma that he gave off, not perfume, but woody and fresh nonetheless. Yoongi smiled.

“I demand to know-” you started but Hoseok pulled you with brutal force before you could come any nearer to the emperor “I wasn’t trying to kill him, you fool!”

“I would watch my words if I were you,” Hoseok said while burning his eyes on her

“i honestly don’t think you would dare”

“Oh yeah, and why is that?” 

Yoongi strode back to the throne and sat down. His gaze shone more than ever.

You looked from one to the other and made yourself stand taller.

“Because you want something from me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought me all the way here. I’m not stupid, you know? It is obvious that you are here in fulfilment some type of secret mission. You are testing me to find out if I am in good physical and mental condition. I know that I am not crazy and that I am still in possession of my physical faculties. So I demand that you tell me why you have brought me here and what it is that you need from me if my destiny is not to be beheaded.”

Both men exchanged a look. Yoongi joined the fingertips of both of his hands. “I have a proposition for you”

 “I’m all ears then” 

The emperor's eyes sparkled with amusement at your insolence, but they lingered for a moment too long on your body.

Min Yoongi crossed one leg over the other.

“Leave us alone” he ordered the guards “Hoseok, stay where you are”

You turned to the emperor “So?”

Yoongi limited himself to once again sprawl on his throne “I need some help with the empire. Someone that help me solve the...more complicated cases”

“So what you need is a servant that does the dirty work for you”

“In short, yes”

“So what happens if I agree?”

“After six years of service you will be granted your freedom”

“Six!”

“Five”

Although the emperor tried to hide it, you noticed that he was tense. He wanted you to accept. He needed you to accept so desperately that he was willing to negotiate. Your eyes sparkled.

“Make it four”

“Fine” he replied “It is a deal then. But if you fail, you will be beheaded” 

“My habilities are perfectly fine. Thank you very much”

Yoongi made a gesture with his hand to Hoseok “Take her to her chamber so she can take a bath” he stared at her “You have your first work in the morning. Do not let me down, Y/N”

Every work after the first seemed almost the same, after some official research, you were sent a brief coded message to your room that contained all the information that was needed for the job, the name of the culprit plus the usual places they used to hang out.

A few seconds worth of work were all piling up to your ultimate freedom.

Even thought you were the sword behind all of those crossed out names in the Emperor’s list, you were quick to find out that Min Yoongi was by far, more entertained and playful about the blood that stained his hands than you ever were.

It was a usual day after work that you found yourself enjoying the occasional luxury of the outdoors bathhouse that Min Yoongi’s personal Harem had to offer, minus the presence of the concubines that usually strolled around the palace, the moon shining on top of your head as the steam from the hot water raised highly from the temperature shock.

“I never took you for one to enjoy the luxuries that the concubine life has to offer, Y/N” you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised to see him standing behind you, the whole place was his after all “Should have made it cleared that this place is exclusively for me and my girls to have fun in”

“Yeah? I don’t see anyone else here though” you continued your bath routine but poked open an eye to tease him, just the way you had become accustomed to do so for the past year or so, left hand covering your boobs as you turned to him “Got stood up, again?” 

“Don’t you just love to play with fire, Y/N” though you had already turned your back to him and were convinced on carrying on with your bath, the sudden apparition of two hands holding your hips in place along with the wet kisses that were being left on your right shoulder made you think twice “I think it is time for you to get burn”

His right hand easily found its way down the water and started playing with your folds, your wetness getting mixed with the hot water you both were in, his mouth never ceasing to scrape every inch of skin he could find, his temperature rising by the second and his rock hard cock against your ass.

Your knees buckled unconsciously as two of his fingers were inserted into you and started pumping rapidly and you could feel him smirk on your back.

Your hand was quick to found his cock and pump it a few times a little too roughly “You know” you murmured as you turned to face him, making his hand drop from inside you as you watched his face contorted in pleasure “I don’t think it is fair of you, your highness” you could feel his thighs tensing as you kept on pumping him “to jump on a girl like that” you got close to his ear, grasping it between your teeth “I thought you said I was gonna get burned, what happened then?”

Something snapped inside him that made him slam you to the side of the pool while taking both your hands inside one of his own, having you bent over, his cock grazing your exposed pussy underwater. From behind you, Yoongi slowly teased you. You both moaned loudly, not caring if any guard that may have been in a nocturnal shift might hear you. 

Yoongi chuckled, knowing him, probably about to make a witty remark but you clenched your walls around him “F-fuck,” He moaned, his eyes squeezed tight, “You feel so good around my cock, so wet.”

There was no use denying that you felt so satisfied as Yoongi’s hips pressed into you, his cock buried deep inside you. Something you were trying so hard to conceal of not having dreamt about it before in the past year or so, pretend not have touched yourself to the thought of the Emperor wrecking you the way he did to his official concubines.

Yoongi’s cock twitched inside you. You felt your orgasm building within you, burning brightly. You threw yourself back, trying to prolong the sensation, rolling your hips.

“I don’t think I’ll last much longer” Yoongi said behind you and you shook your hips teasingly, while turning your head with a coy smile “argh you’re such a bitch” He moaned loudly once again “But two can play that game”

The hand he had rested on your hips to keep his pace was soon to find your clit, pinching it, rolling it and driving you to the edge until it suddenly stopped, followed by the heat that erupted from within you when Yoongi cummed inside you, his hand releasing yours from his hold and slapping your ass as he laughed “Such a good girl but I have an early morning tomorrow” 

“Min Yoongi, you son of a-” 

“Later, Y/N!” he said, grinning widely as he exited the bathhouse. 

[mandos-lightningbeforethunder]

Start Again - Chapter Seven (Din Djarin x Reader)

SUMMARY: After being ambushed by the pair of Devaronians, you and the Mandalorian make the decision to expedite your journey into the city of Opseg. Upon your arrival, the city and its people welcome you with open arms and you find out more about what the Empire did to you while in their custody. 

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of attack from the previous chapter, panic attacks, medical procedures including sedation, and VERY heavy discussion of forced sterilization. 

Author’s Note: This is my longest chapter yet at 3.2k words! I hope you enjoy this latest chapter and I hope I can be back on my regular update schedule. Feel free to reblog and like!

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE DIAGNOSIS

Trekking through the canyon might’ve been easier if you didn’t have such a debilitating headache. The bacta patch had healed the wound in your hairline, but your eye was still swelling and your head ached in a way that you hadn’t felt in months. In the back of your mind, a part of you really wished you had the Puvion leaves to alleviate the headache. The leaves had always worked better than any bacta spray or patch.

Your heart still raced at the thought of what happened earlier in the morning. Waking up to two Devaronians sniffing around your camp wasn’t exactly what you had in mind of a good morning. When they noticed you were awake, there was zero hesitation to take you out. They had even managed to do so quietly enough that it didn’t wake the Mandalorian.

The swelling at your eye aches as a reminder of how quickly they had managed to take you down. Your lack of training had made it easy, before you could even swing up your knife to defend yourself, the one Devaronian, Zek, punched you hard enough for you to see stars. There wasn’t much fight left in you after that.

When they noticed the Mandalorian, however, their motives changed. It wasn’t about kidnapping you and keeping you as their prize for the day, but instead getting the armor off the Mandalorian and selling it. Had they been successful they would’ve walked away with both you and possibly thousands of credits after pawning off the armor.  

But the Mandalorian had handled it, wielding his saber as he easily killed the two mercenaries. It still took your breath away thinking about how he had moved with it, fluid and precise. He may have held the weapon like it burned him, but he used it like second nature.

Your feet hit solid ground and you look up, eyeing the bustling city of Opseg around you. It was noisier than Tatooine. Children scream with joy as they run past you, disappearing into the crowd of people looking to buy the latest products. Fine jewelry and clothing were hung up on display, shopkeepers shouting prices to interested onlookers. The savory smell of vegetables cooking fills your nose and you turn to see another line of shops, these ones selling hot meals. The sights and sounds were both exciting and overwhelming all at the same time.  

“This is insane…” you say, laughing slightly. You had never experienced anything like this before, a city with life. Tatooine was nothing compared to this.

“It’s not insane, my dear! This is Opseg!” A voice shouts behind you, startling you. You turn and a green humanoid alien grins at you. The friendliness waving off this stranger is almost as overwhelming as Orus itself. You wondered if everyone on Orus was like this.

The Mandalorian steps just in front of you, putting a barrier between you and the stranger. You hadn’t hired him to be a bodyguard but given the events earlier this morning and your lack of training, you let it slide this time. Besides, you were tired of being snuck upon.

“Ah, apologies, my name is Ortib-Blik! But you can call me Obie for short,” The alien extends his hand out, clearing his throat when the Mandalorian doesn’t offer his hand in return. “I’m a tour guide here in Opseg. You looked lost, so I figured I’d offer my help.” He offers a sheepish smile when the Mandalorian doesn’t say anything.

“Hello Obie,” you greet, stepping to the side of the Mandalorian in order to introduce yourself. “We’re just passing through; we need to find a medcenter.”

“I’d assume it’s for that wound on your eye?” Obie asks, pointing at where your eye swells. You nod and he grins again. “Well, you’re just in luck, the medcenter is taking walk-ins today!”

“How much is a physical?” Mando asks from behind you.

“It’s free!” Obie exclaims, “Even to non-Orus citizens.”

“Is there work I can find here?” Mando asks and Obie’s expression changes.

“Yes, plenty! You look more like a hunter, so I’m sure if you were to stop by any of Opseg’s twenty cantinas you’d find something.”

You balk at the number, looking at the Mandalorian. You forget his facial expression is hidden by the helmet, but you can assume he’s also surprised. Twenty cantinas was an incredibly high amount and you couldn’t imagine the work going into finding a job would be worth it.  

“Thank you, Obie, but I think we’ll take it from here.” You offer a tight smile to the alien.

“Of course, of course! If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to shout!” He says, waving as he departs down the street.

“I think he was a lot nicer than the Devaronians that greeted us this morning,” you say, smiling when the Mandalorian sighs. “Too soon?” you chuckle.

“A little, yeah,” Mando says, turning around as he looked down the street. It seemed everywhere you look that it was teeming with life, people shouting and laughing. The shopkeepers yell over the playing children as parents stress over prices. This is way better than life on Puvo, you thought.

Puvo had its moments, the winter festival brought out a certain life in its citizens. Winter seasons were so rare that they celebrated the first indication of winter, whether it was a significant drop in temperature or animals beginning their hibernation. You had only ever experienced one festival and it was during the time your mind was still mending itself back together. But you remembered the laughing, the dancing, and the singing.

Valara had spent hours showing you how to braid her hair, repeating the motions over and over until you finally got it. She looked so happy dancing with that one boy from the neighboring village. Impressions meant everything on Puvo and she took it to heart when the boy didn’t offer another date after the festival. You had been too busy recovering to offer her any comfort, but Valara had moved on, throwing herself into work.  

They hadn’t even celebrated the last winter festival. There was too much work to be done, the council had announced. A cloud of depression remained over the village for some time. Valara mentioned it reminded her of when the Empire was still in power. The depressive atmosphere took a toll on your already weakened mental health. Try as she might, Valara’s grandmother struggled to pull you out of that episode. It had been one of the many deciding factors to leave Puvo, at least for the sake of your own well-being.

“We’re in the town square at the moment,” The Mandalorian says. The memories of Puvo fade as you focus your attention. “Medcenter shouldn’t be too far from here.”

“Right,” you murmur, “and what are you going to do while I’m being seen?”

“The guide said twenty cantinas, I have to start somewhere. Most of them are downtown. Small, shouldn’t be too hard to get through all of them before you’re done.” Mando replies, looking to you for confirmation. You nod.

The walk to the medcenter isn’t much. You manage to escape the craziness that’s the town square, there’s not as much yelling, but there’s still plenty of children running around their exasperated parents. It’s clear you’ve entered one of the housing areas, women and men alike staring as you both continue your path. The Mandalorian doesn’t seem to mind the stares. He’s probably used to it by now, you think.

The medcenter is daunting when you approach it. The all-white building amidst desert brown was shocking at first, freezing you in your movement as you stared at the twin doors in front of you. What if they found out something was wrong with you? What if it couldn’t be fixed? Your mind spirals at the idea of what could go wrong, words and thoughts jumbling together. Would they take you away from the Mandalorian? Send you back to Puvo so you can really get better? Institutionalize you? You weren’t that crazy…

“I can’t do this,” you whisper to the Mandalorian. He remains silent and you wonder if you’ve finally managed to make him angry.

“You can. I’ll be there with you the whole time.” He speaks.

“But-but you said you’d—”

“I know what I said earlier.” He murmurs, “But you’re clearly in distress and it’s better for me to stay close, especially in a city as big as this one. The cantinas can wait.”

You’re not sure if his words really soothe your nerves. Your heart is still racing at your earlier thoughts and it’s quickly becoming harder to breathe. He was promising to stay but would he be there when they read off what was wrong with you? Suddenly being on Puvo didn’t sound so bad after all.

You jump when the door opens behind you.

“Hello, I am Oralia. I am a nurse here at the Opseg Medical Center.” A Mirialan woman greets you. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The kindness in the woman’s voice makes you freeze again. You’re unsure what to say, what to tell her. Do you start with the current injuries you have? Do you tell her about your purpose for visiting before you were even attacked? Could she tell you were overloaded with anxiety? You were probably shaking like a wet Loth-cat.

“Miss, are you alright?” Oralia asks you and you shake your head. With gentle hands, she lifts your face, her warm eyes examining the wound by your eye and the peeling bacta patch. “Are you with her, sir?” Oralia asks the Mandalorian.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Let’s get her taken care of.” The nurse says, grasping your elbow with a comforting hand as she walks you through the doors. You can hear the Mandalorian’s boots just behind you as Oralia walks you past the front desk into a smaller room.

“Is she going to be alright?” The Mandalorian asks, watching as Oralia lays you on the examination table. The lights are too bright in this room, it’s almost a startling reminder of that nightmare you had days ago. Strapped down to a table and subjected to torture, you never wanted to experience that again. Not again, not again, not again…

“She is having a panic attack,” Oralia replies in a calm manner, placing a wet cloth against your burning forehead. Their voices sound distant, muted even as you try and get over this attack. It’s so much worse than the ones before, your limbs feel numb and weightless all at the same time and the sterile smell of the room fills your senses. It only makes the panic worse.

A whisper of “I’m sorry” and the white ceiling blurs above you, your eyelids become too heavy to keep open. Sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, the room is the same. White walls and white ceilings stare back at you as you try to take in your new environment. The softness of a bed fills the fists of your hands. They must’ve moved you while you were still sleeping. Sitting up, careful of the needle in your arm, you look around in confusion. Where was Mando? What happened? How long were you asleep for?

“It is good to see that you are awake,” a voice greets you. Oralia. The nurse from earlier.

“Where is the Mandalorian?” You ask, not sure whether or not you can trust her.

“He is out. I told him to walk off his anger.” The nurse replies. She walks over to your bedside and examines the IV needle in the crook of your elbow. The skin is bruised but you’re not sure if it’s her work or from the Devaronians from earlier.

“Does he know I’m awake?”

“He will return, I am sure. You needed fluids in your system as well as a proper examination, but only one of those things I could do while you were asleep.” Oralia replies, examining the needle in the crook of your elbow. Adjusting the bandages, she looks at you with a kind smile.

“Did I pass out?” The last moments before falling asleep aren’t clear, only a blur of pictures and muted dialogue.

“You did not. I sedated you. Your panic consumed you and even my years of training could not walk you down from that.” she murmurs, removing the needle from your vein with calm precision. A small bead of blood pools out and she wipes it away, before wrapping the tiny wound.

Bringing your hand to your face, you feel along where your eye had been bruised. Clearly, it had been treated in your sleep as the skin is no longer tender to your touch. The patch just before your hairline is also gone, the skin smooth with no evidence of a scar.

“I am surprised you made it as far as you did. The Mandalorian told me a great deal of what happened to you both this morning. A pair of Devaronians?”

“Yes,” you say in response. She doesn’t urge you for any more of the story, but you tell her anyways. “The Mandalorian held his own. I, well, I didn’t.” Oralia chuckles at your statement.

“You are brave.” She compliments and you feel your skin growing hot at the statement. “It takes a lot for a woman like you to travel the galaxy. Much less with a Mandalorian.”

“I’m searching for answers. I was a victim of the Imperials and they took my son from me. The Mandalorian is helping me find him.” You tell her and she hums, finishing her work on the bandage just in the crook of your elbow.

“You have other wounds,” Oralia says, this time her hand placing itself right above your heart. You look down at where her hand is and you nod, looking away from her in shame. “I will grab Dr. Orn.”

The door opens with a soft whoosh sound and Oralia departs. You’re left in silence, pondering over your thoughts again. You didn’t want to have another panic attack. Taking a deep breath, you think about where the Mandalorian may be. Oralia had told him to walk off his anger. Why had he been so angry? Was it because you were asleep for so long? Thinking on it, it was some of the best sleep you had in a long time. No nightmares, no memories weaving themselves into dreams.

A click and the door opens again, this time Oralia is followed by a human woman. Dr. Orn, you deduce. Dr. Orn quietly walks over to your bedside and examines what you think is your chart on a datapad. The information displayed is not in basic and you frown.

“Hello,” Dr. Orn greets you. She’s older, possibly a few years shy of Valara’s grandmother but her eyes hold the same kindness. Dr. Orn says your name and you blink, looking back up at her. “We did some bloodwork. First, I would like to welcome you to Orus and we’re grateful that you chose our medcenter as the place to handle your healthcare needs. Second, your bloodwork came back great.”

A sigh of relief. “That’s great,” you murmur and Dr. Orn smiles.

“Oralia did some investigating on your chain code and there’s no record of you in any system, not even ex-Imperial. I’m sure you were aware, as was the Mandalorian. He was kind enough to give us what little information you had on yourself. But given the current state of your health, you are in great shape. Minimal scarring from the leaves of Puvo, which is great. I’m sure you’re aware of the ongoing mental healing you’re going through, but with time, you can work through the nightmares and panic attacks. However, there is something I want to note.”

Dr. Orn displays the datapad to you, this time the information is in basic. A rundown of what medical records they could establish for you. One healthy pregnancy was just one of the few things that caught your eye.

“It’s great to see that you’ve been able to have a healthy pregnancy. Oralia tells me you had a son, about fifteen years ago, correct?” Dr. Orn asks you, pointing at the profile they had made of your son. It was blank except for his name and estimated age. You were listed as his mother, but the name underneath FATHER remained blank.

“Yes. Castin. He was about ten when he was taken from me,” you reply, hand reaching out to skim through the notes they had established for you. Most of the information was blank, mostly because it was unknown, even to you.

“Good, good, as you can already tell we’ve logged that in the file we created for you.” Dr. Orn smiles before she brings the datapad closer to herself and removing it from your view. “However, we detected some anomalies in your blood. A woman of your age should be producing the normal hormones that regulate a menstrual cycle. We found that there was a lack of most of those hormones. Can you tell me when your last cycle was?”

You open your mouth to give a quick answer but quickly realize you don’t know. When you had arrived on Puvo, Valara had explained it was a possibility that your cycle would be irregular, considering everything your body had been through. But now that you were thinking about it, you hadn’t even noticed a lack in your cycle. You had been distracted by the ongoing therapy and work on Puvo.

“I-I don’t know…possibly after I gave birth to Castin but I don’t really remember,” you chewed at your bottom lip. What could it mean for you?

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Dr. Orn sighs, looking back down at the datapad. Her fingers tap on the screen, possibly logging what you had said. “You see, when we did your blood test, we found the lack of hormones a sign that you were not having a regular cycle. It’s not unusual, travel can bring stress on the body and I’ve been informed of what happened in your past, but for you, it means something else. When the Empire had you in their custody, what exactly do you remember them doing to you?”

You can feel Oralia’s comforting hand on your lower back, rubbing circles to soothe your nerves. You weren’t sure if you actually felt soothed, but you took a deep breath.

“It’s mostly a blur, I remember the electrocution and how painful it was, but beyond that, I don’t know.” You inform her, your hands twisting together in your lap. Why was she dragging this out? How bad could it possibly be?

“I see,” Dr. Orn hums. You watch as her hand reaches out, resting on your knee. A gentle touch. “When the Empire had you in their custody, most likely while you were in between torture sessions, they performed a surgery to sterilize you. The lack of hormones in your blood and lack of cycle leads us to believe that this is true. I am terribly sorry that you had to suffer under their hand. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” Her face says it all, the sincereness in her tone and the sympathy in her eyes. The realization of the diagnosis hits you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Even with Oralia’s hand on your back, you weep.

Read Chapter Eight - Finally, A Lead here!

[ncssian]

just another graceless night

merry christmas 🎄here's my secret snowflake gift for the lovely sayo @sayosdreams. if u didn't guess it already, surprise! i hope u like it <3

a/n: this is part of my series of crescent city aus found in my masterlist, and is sort of a continuation to family therapy. you don’t need to have read family therapy to understand this fic, but it helps!

summary: it's nesta's birthday, and her loved ones have special plans for her (that may or may not go awry). featuring nessian and nesta/lucien friendship.

The ring caught the late morning light as Cassian twisted it over and over in his hands: a gold band studded with two pearls and an oval pink diamond at the center.

It was nothing like the female he wanted to give it to, and yet it was perfect for her. Because Nesta Archeron, despite all her walls and best efforts, was inside as warm as daylight. Or at least she was to Cassian.

The familiar beep of the security system sounded as someone unlocked the apartment door, and Cassian stood up quickly from the kitchen barstool. By the time the Archeron sisters entered, the ring was shoved deep in his pocket.

He affected a huge smile, though it may have been tinged with a hint of panic. “Back already?”

“Did you miss me too much?” Nesta padded over to the open-plan kitchen and dropped a paper bag of leftovers on the island next to Cassian. “I brought you macarons.”

He murmured his thanks into a soft greeting kiss.

Feyre and Elain remained in the living room, setting gift bags onto the coffee table. “We should probably get going,” Elain smiled and clapped her hands. “If only I could see more of my own sister on her birthday, but I suppose fancy breakfast and gifts will have to do.”

Nesta scowled at her younger sisters. “I told you both you could come with me tonight. I don’t care if you’re around my friends, really.”

Feyre made a face. “No, thanks. Not that your friends scare me or anything, but I have a hot date this evening.” She flushed at the idea of her boyfriend and Elain held back an eye roll. “I don’t,” Elain stated, “but I’m taking the night to myself. Don’t worry about us, go get wrecked tonight.”

“If you insist.” Nesta moved in for a goodbye hug, something Cassian knew she still had to force herself to initiate with her family. A chorus of happy birthdays and goodbyes went around, and then the sisters were pulling apart. Cassian watched contently from the threshold between the kitchen and living room, and straightened up once Feyre and Elain were gone and Nesta was turning back to him.

She pulled slowly at one of the small ties on the neckline of her blouse, letting it come undone. “So,” she said slowly. “It’s my birthday.”

Cassian was well-aware. He’d woken up an hour early this morning to show Nesta, slowly and thoroughly, just how glad he was that she’d been born. He wasn’t so lazy that he considered orgasms birthday presents, though, so he raised his brows at Nesta starting to undress in their living room.

“You want a repeat of this morning already? If I’m being honest, I thought there would be more variety on your birthday agenda.”

Nesta’s smile dropped at the same time her shirt dropped to the ground. “Don’t delude yourself, angel. I’m getting ready to change into my sweats so we can marathon Fangs and Bangs all day.” To prove her point, her jeans fell to the ground next, and she kicked them away before spinning around to head for their bedroom.

Cassian picked her clothes up and followed after her. “Wear whatever you want, sweetheart, but put a pin in that marathon plan.”

Nesta glanced at him with a frown. “Why?”

She didn’t actually think that Cassian hadn’t planned anything for her, did she? He huffed a laugh and chucked her clothes into a hamper. “I’m not going to be seeing you all night, which means,” he flicked her nose, “I have to give you my present now.”

Getting put on patrol duties the same night of Nesta’s birthday was not ideal, but if anything, it ensured that Cassian couldn’t chicken out of his plan at the last minute. The ring sat heavy in his pocket, and he would give it to her this afternoon no matter what.

Nesta glared at him, but it was halfhearted. “I told you not to get me anything,” she said. “There’s nothing I want today except spending time with you.”

“We are spending time together,” he promised. “Just not here.”

“Then where?”

***

Their destination was beyond the borders of the city, too far for Cassian to fly them. Their motorcycle ended up rumbling to a stop some hours later at the edges of a great sunflower field.

Nesta pulled off her helmet and stared in rare wonder. Yellow and green stalks spread out in every direction, touching the horizon and going on.

She turned to Cassian, a softness in her eyes that only he ever got to see. “I’ve never seen this place before.”

“Because you haven’t wandered more than twenty miles outside of the city in years,” he ribbed.

He led her to a clear space among the flowers that was laid down with a checkered picnic blanket and spread of food. Nesta glanced at Cassian, questioning.

“This field is private property,” he explained, “but I called in a favor ahead of time.”

Over a year of dating Cassian had taught Nesta how to be more familiar with sweet gestures and moments of vulnerability, but she still lacked the words to properly respond to this.

“It's very— thank you.” She cleared her throat.

Cassian only grinned and flicked her nose, a careless gesture that told her he understood how she was feeling without her having to say it.

Their lunch date was warm and full of light, two feelings that Nesta had been a foreigner to before meeting Cassian. She’d used to think she would never be fit for soft or pretty things, but here, eating strawberries in a sundress, she felt this was as pretty as life was ever going to get.

Not long after eating, Cassian’s hand found the back of Nesta’s calf, dragging up her bare leg and pulling until she was on her back, his hulking body stretched over her. Gasping for breath between laughter, Nesta succumbed to a barrage of kisses that soon moved lower, until her giggles turned into light moans.

“I love you, you know,” he whispered from between her legs.

A bright blue sky dotted with a few wispy clouds was her view while Cassian tortured her with his mouth, and her last thought before her eyes slipped shut and she slipped into release was How perfect.

***

In a shimmery dress layered with swaying fringe, Nesta picked through the dancing bodies of Vanir and mortals alike to get to the private area off to the back of The Seven Devils club.

Nesta had made the mistake of falling asleep in Cassian’s arms after their afternoon delight, and had woken up to the sky turning ablaze with the colors of the sunset and her phone buzzing insistently.

“What are you doing,” Amren demanded when she answered. “It takes you two hours to get ready and you’re an hour away from home. Did you forget we had plans tonight?”

“Shit— wait, how do you know where I am?” Nesta said as she began grabbing for things and starting to pack, Cassian watching in alarm.

“I know where everyone is,” the mercenary said. “Get your ass back to Crescent City now.”

“Wait— we’re leaving?” Cassian had said after Nesta hung up the phone. Nesta kept packing their picnic basket, trying to hurry before it got dark.

“Thank you so much for today, angel,” she paused to say to him. Grabbing his face with both hands, she put her gratefulness into a sweet kiss and hoped it would be enough. “But we need to go. Now.”

Cassian’s hand drifted to his pocket. He looked conflicted, angry, even, but he only nodded and led Nesta back to their motorcycle.

Once they were about to part ways hours later, Cassian for his job and Nesta for her party, she’d apologized to him once more.

“It's nothing,” he assured as he smoothed down her stray baby hairs. “I just thought we'd get more time together.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek with a smile. “But we already have lots of that, don't we?”

Now, at the black velvet rope tying off the reserved area, Emerie caught sight of Nesta and greeted her with a hoot. Nesta grinned.

“Over here, birthday girl.” A drink was shoved into Nesta’s hand as Emerie led her to the circle of couches where their friends awaited.

The usual group was there: Amren, Varian, Nuan, and some Aux guys she’d gotten to know while working for her firm. But a new face made her smile drop.

“Lucien,” Nesta said stiffly. She plopped down next to him on the couch, but pointedly ignored his mocking grin.

Elain had stayed home alone tonight just so Lucien and Nesta would have the chance to spend time on their own. Nesta still wasn't sure if she appreciated the gesture or not.

They had agreed, although reluctantly, that they would try to rekindle whatever they’d had in their teenage years. Lucien hadn’t participated in one of Nesta’s birthdays as anything other than Elain’s plus one in ages, and now… Nesta snorted to herself. It was like she was eighteen again.

“What’s so funny?” Lucien asked.

“Your face.”

A crumpled straw wrapper bounced off Lucien’s head before he could reach over and pinch Nesta. “No one's tackling anyone into the cake tonight, or else it's over for the both of you,” Amren warned. Her threats were mild, but both Nesta and Lucien knew enough about what Amren did for a living to shut up and go back to ignoring each other.

Music pounded, and while her friends chatted excitedly about meeting up after so long, Nesta eyed her drink in consideration. There was no amount of alcohol in the world that would ever get her to play nice with Lucien Vanserra, but maybe a few drinks wouldn't hurt.

She took a deep swig.

***

Nesta and Lucien drunkenly stumbled out of the club, giggling while holding each other up.

“We should call a cab,” Nesta said.

“No— let's walk!” Lucien gasped. “It’s so nice out tonight.”

“Yes, yes,” Nesta nodded adamantly. “Good idea, you're so smart, Lucien.”

It was far past two in the morning, and the rest of Nesta's group had scattered like roaches over the course of the night. Many of them had left her with a big smacking kiss on her cheek and a final birthday wish; Amren had dragged Varian into a dark corner some while ago and hadn't been seen since.

Her pile of presents, most of the gifts being either wildly inappropriate or outright hilarious, had been whisked away with the help of fae magic back to her and Cassian’s apartment. She only hoped Cassian didn't return home before her and find them.

Nesta had forgotten how much fun partying with Lucien was like. They hadn't danced— or drank— together like that in years. And the huge stuffed dolphin he’d gifted her hadn't hurt. She hadn’t slept with one of those babies since she moved out of her childhood home, but he had remembered her favorite animal anyway.

Now, she leaned her head against his arm as they set off in a random direction, trying not to topple over in her high heels.

They made it only a couple of blocks before Nesta decided that fresh air was not as nice as Lucien had promised. With every breeze, a discomforting nausea grew, and the longer she walked, the more aware she was of the sharp pressure on her bladder.

“Lucien,” she finally whined, “I have to pee.”

“Hold it until we get home.”

Nesta blinked and for the first time, looked around at their surroundings. How many blocks had they walked again?

The buildings had become worn down and older, and neon lights flickered over dim alleyways. The trees that usually lined every sidewalk curb had virtually disappeared. Even while seeing double, Nesta knew something was off. “Luc,” she said slowly, “where are we?”

“Uhhh…” Brown eyes squinted up at the decaying buildings. He was drunk out of his mind. “We’re close to the Old Square, I swear.”

But Nesta recognized this area, even if she had no clue where they were exactly. “This isn’t the Old Square.” Her grip tightened on Lucien’s arm. “We’re in the Meat Market, Lucien.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Then Lucien said, “Oops.”

Oops was an understatement. They were on the other fucking side of town— the bad side of town. The shadows in the alleys had suddenly elongated, becoming darker as if they were hiding nefarious activities. The buildings seemed to stretch and curve, and it took Nesta a heartracing moment to realize that was just what alcohol did to her vision. There were no monstrous creatures, at least not this far out on the edges of the Meat Market. The crime-ridden district wasn't anything a straightminded Nesta would have ever feared, but in her current state—

“Ohh, now I’m really gonna be sick,” she muttered.

“I thought you had to pee?”

“I need to do both.” Gagging on bile, Nesta sprinted to the nearest bush to empty out the contents of her stomach. She just barely missed her dress and shoes with her aim, but she was no amateur. At least her hair had stayed in its ponytail.

“Gross,” Lucien mumbled from somewhere behind her.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Nesta closed her eyes as her insides clenched once more. When she could breathe clearly again, she rasped, “Don't look.” She started wriggling her panties down her legs. In any other state, she would have felt bad for the lone bush, but now she was just grateful that this road was seemingly deserted.

Inebriated Lucien seemed to handle urine better than vomit, because he only crossed his arms and stood guard by Nesta while she did her business, as if he could protect her in case anyone walked by (he could not, but she thought it was sweet of him to try).

When she finished, Nesta was disappointed to find that she had not sobered up in the slightest. Clarity danced right on the edges of her grasp, but she was too exhausted to reach for it. Also, her feet were killing her.

Swaying, Lucien tugged on her hand and began pulling her along. “C’mon, we’ll call a ride home and find somewhere to wait.”

“Mm, good idea.”

Lucien pulled his phone out, and Nesta paused in the middle of the road to unstrap her shoes and kick them off. Gravel bit into her bare feet, and she shivered while Lucien sloppily tapped at his phone. She hadn't noticed the cold so much while she was still having fun, but suddenly it was freezing.

After a painfully long moment of silence, Lucien finally said, “Uhh… my phone’s dead.”

Nesta hissed, but was too tired to curse him. She wrangled her own phone out of her purse, hopping back and forth on her toes. The gravel almost hurt more than her shoes, and she was pretty sure the roads were littered with glass.

Turning her phone on, she made it all the way to Cassian’s contact info when she noticed the lack of bars on the corner of her screen. She clicked on his number anyway, hoping she could reach her boyfriend through whatever obstacles technology threw at her.

Of course, the call didn't go through. An animalistic noise escaped through her gritted teeth.

Lucien jumped in fright, his gaze still hazy and out of it. “What was that?”

“The sound I make when there's no fucking signal and we're both fucking lost.”

“Wha—? Gimme that.” Lucien sloppily swiped for her phone and missed, his hand passing through the air two feet in front of Nesta. Nesta ignored him and kept tapping at her phone, starting to walk in a random direction. “There has to be a signal somewhere,” she laughed somewhat high-pitched. “You can't have organized crime without a strong mobile network, right?”

After a few minutes, however, it became clear that whatever reception the drug lords and gang members were using, Nesta couldn't get it.

Hopelessness and bone deep exhaustion setting in, she started weeping, her shoulders shaking.

“Nooo,” Lucien slurred, trying to pull her up from where she crouched on the ground, her hands over her face. “Don't cry, Nesta, ’s’your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday anymore,” Nesta sobbed. “It's the day after and we’re lost and we’re this close to getting mugged by a gang of vampires. And it's all because you have terrible ideas.” She cried harder.

“You’ve gotta get up.” Lucien tugged at her again, letting out a whiny grunt when she didn't move. “Why are you so heavy?”

Nesta wasn't moving because he was not, in fact, pulling at her very hard. Lucien was incredibly dizzy, though, and he wanted nothing but to be back home with Elain while he regained his senses.

As he was about to give up, a great boom sounded, and a dark hulking figure dropped down onto the street before them.

“AHH, A HUGE BIRD!” Lucien shrieked and stumbled backward into Nesta.

Another winged shadow dropped from the sky, landing beside the first.

“TWO HUGE BIRDS!”

Nesta blinked, finally looking up, only to shove Lucien off herself and drunkenly run forward. She hurled herself into the arms of the first figure. “Cassian!” she cried with relief.

“Are you okay?” Her boyfriend's voice was urgent. “How’d you get all the way out here?”

“We got lost,” she wept deliriously.

“Soso lost,” Lucien slurred from behind her.

Off to the side, she heard the familiar eternally-exhausted sigh of Azriel, second-in-command of the 33rd Imperial Legion. “I’ll take that one home,” his deep voice muttered. He gestured with his chin to Lucien.

He moved to hold the fae male upright, but Lucien smacked Azriel’s arms away. “Get your ’ands off me, Ihaveagirlfriend.”

Cassian bundled Nesta up in his arms and swept her off her aching feet. “Can you handle flying, or are you gonna be sick?”

“Uhnnn…” Her head was still throbbing and spinning, but her stomach had already been emptied out into those bushes. “I’m okay,” she lied. “Take me home, Cass.”

He still looked concerned, but was about to shoot into the sky when Nesta gasped, “Wait, my shoes!”

In the background, Lucien was now poking at the toned bicep of the arm keeping him upright. “Woah there, big guy,” he said. “You single or somethin’?”

“You just said you have a girlfriend.”

“Well, we're lookin’ foraboyfriend.”

Before Azriel could respond, Cassian gritted his teeth and called for him.

“Get her shoes,” Cassian gestured. Without letting go of Lucien, Azriel bent to pick up Nesta's heels and turned and walked the both of them back to where Cassian and Nesta waited.

Nesta gratefully accepted her heels and rested them on her stomach, so her hand was free to reach out and rest on Lucien’s face. It was more of a light slap, but the affection was there. “’m so glad we did this,” she said, sleep and liquor weaved through her words.

“So am I,” Lucien mumbled tiredly. He leaned in with a kiss aimed for her forehead, which ended up glancing off the side of her nose. “See you.”

“Bye-bye,” she said quietly, and then Lucien and Azriel were off in the opposite direction, and Cassian and Nesta were in the air.

***

Back in the warmth of their apartment, Cassian helped Nesta stumble toward the bedroom, pulling her away from the living area before she could collapse onto the couch and not get up again.

Herding Nesta onto the bed, Cassian got to work on shimmying her minidress down her body. “You’ve had quite the night,” he noted as he pulled off her dress and reached to unhook her pushup bra. “Good birthday?”

“Would’ve been even better with you,” Nesta said sweetly. His heart caught at the sleepy smile she gave him, and he cursed the ring weighing down his pocket for the hundredth time that day. He would have to wait for the right moment— again.

Nesta started babbling drunkenly about how fun her night had been, and then how terrible it had become, and how much more she liked Lucien now, even if he did have terrible ideas, before eventually circling back around to the topic of presents. “I can’t wait to show you what I got.” She tried winking at him, but in her state, it was just a very slow blink.

Cassian had indeed spied a red scrap of lace sticking out of a gift bag on his way through the living room, but lingerie was the last concern on his mind right now. “I’m glad you had fun with Lucien,” he said honestly as he eased Nesta into one of his T-shirts.

“Will you get me his gift?” she yawned. “It’s the soft…” she struggled for the word, “big fishy. Go get it, Cass.”

Chuckling lowly, Cassian dutifully searched the living room until he spotted a freakishly life-sized stuffed dolphin. When he returned to their bedroom with it in tow, Nesta was dead asleep.

Carefully, he tucked the plush dolphin next to her head before covering her with a throw blanket.

Yes, Cassian had ended up being the only person who hadn't given Nesta a present— not her real present, anyway. But perhaps it was for the best, he thought as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her sore feet into his lap. Nothing about the woman in front of him was worth rushing, and as long as she was happy tonight, tomorrow, and all the days after…

Well, what more could Cassian want for?

***

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 14)

νοσταλγία  Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual, tho I should add mentions of polygyny

A/N: Hi!! Hope you like this chapter, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this!! Thank you so much for reading <3

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr

You catch up to Ivar near the main hall, waiting for him outside the room Prince Hvitserk told you he’d be in with your hands crossed behind your back.

He eyes you with suspicion when he sees you, but still approaches and starts walking at your side.

“You are not here to apologize.”

Why would I? You want to retort, but instead you just shake your head.

“No, but…” You shrug, “I have trusted my mother more than anyone on this world, I will trust she knew what she was doing. I’ll choose to believe maybe the Goddess she worships has a reason for this to happen.”

“So you have accepted it, you will not fight anymore.” He states, and you raise your eyebrows in response.

“If you expect to see me defeated, King Ivar, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“I would never want that.” He replies easily, squaring his shoulders as he returns his gaze ahead, and something tells you he is telling the truth. You do not know what to do with that knowledge.

“What do you want, then?” You ask boldly, surprising even yourself, “You get nothing out of marrying me. You are a smart man; you know you might lose power by making me your wife.”

“Why?”

He knows the answer, he knows. You have an inkling he is testing to see if you do, with how much certainty you can speak of power and its intricacies.

“You could marry a woman with…land here, a princess or an heir.” You explain, but Ivar just shrugs.

“I could still do that, I could find a second wife.”

You stop dead in your tracks at the realization that he could, and sensing you stop walking Ivar turns to you, eyebrows raised and the beginning of a mocking smile on his lips.

But to a child born in the cult of Persephone, promises of unloyalty are not something to be simply accepted. You were told that the Goddess you dedicated your life to was loyal and true to her husband even if she was a victim of him; you saw many new couples at your temple there to bless them with faithfulness and prosperity. You refuse the humiliation of sharing the one you are bound with before the Gods themselves.

So you walk the few steps that separate you, back straight and posture that of a woman with a confidence you do not truly have. What you do have, though, is arrogance, is pride, is relentlessness.

No man has made your nature change before, and certainly no King can, no matter how cruel.

You tilt your head and look into his eyes, unwavering.

“A Hiereia of Despoina does not take lightly to marriage. Your people may do things differently, but my people don’t, my Gods don’t,” Your heart remembers your homeland, your mother’s smiles as your father passed by and left a gentle caress on her face, her empty eyes as she waited for weeks for the ships that never returned, the love that years after their deaths all the way in Laconia -even with the bitterness of having lost their heir to Sparta to an Athenian- your family spoke of how blessed were they to have each other as husband and wife. The bitterness and grief make your resolve falter for a moment, but you still continue, “Before your Gods and my own I will promise loyalty to you, I will promise faithfulness. I ask-…no, I demand the same in return.”

“You demand.” He repeats, clearly a mock, a bait that you choose not to bite this time.

You nod.

“Which brings me back to my question, Viking,” You lift your eyebrows, “What is it you want?”

“I want many things,” He replies vaguely, shrugging before turning eyes like Greek fire to your own. “But I demand nothing more than that.”

With a small sound of exertion, he turns his back to you and continues walking towards the main room of the longhouse, leaving you dumbfounded and partly impressed, leaving you with the realization you played exactly how he wanted you to.

It feels like those times you would run to cross the dangerous and wild stream near the temple, your hair wild and feet bare. It feels like the deafening noise of the current in your ears, the fear and excitement running through your veins, the possibility of failure or success.

You smile.

____

“Why am I not surprised?” Ivar starts from behind you, and you turn to him without removing your hands from your task.

“Because I am predictable.”

“Stubborn,” He corrects as he steps into your room, eyes on the small sapling you planted on a ceramic vase. “You know it will not grow here, it needs warmer and softer ground than ours.”

You nod before leaving the plant by the window, hoping it will absorb as much sunlight as it needs, as it can.

“I have to try.”

He remains silent for a few moments, before the rustling of him moving where he stands brings your gaze to him. The King extends a hand and motions with his head,

“Come with me.”

You frown, but still stand up and walk slowly to his side. Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, but you cannot bring yourself to take it, choosing instead to ask,

“What is it?”

He doesn’t reply, and his jaw clenches before his hand drops back to his side. Still, he insists with a gesture of his head that you follow him.

The paths through his home are familiar to you by now, and you follow blindly as you try scrubbing off the dirt from your hands. Selene’s chariot is high up in the skies, the people have already retired to their homes, the thralls are making quick work of the mess left behind after tonight’s dinner.

After crossing a doorway, you find yourself in a spacious room with only a hearth in the middle of it, and some chairs and lunges. Chairs where, expectantly, the sons of Ragnar sit.

Prince Hvitserk greets you with your name, and you smile faintly, and he smiles back as he states, “I’m surprised to see you.”

“Prince Hvi-…”

“What is she doing here, Ivar?” The older Prince interrupts, eyes burning on you with a distrust and a vitriol quite alike his brother’s but more contained.

And you know it is not a mere question. Years alongside mercenaries, alongside warriors and leaders, they let you know this is a public defiance, a test of both mettles.

The way Prince Ubbe speaks, with the same tone in his voice, the same carry of his loud words, that has made you fear before; it makes you stay frozen in the doorway for a moment too long.

The King only shrugs, walking ahead and taking a seat, absently using his crutch to move a chair at his side back so you can sit.

Before replying to his brother, he turns to you and motions for you to sit.

“She is my…advisor.”

His gesture may speak of nonchalance, but his words have that slight carry you have noticed before, the pride of authority and the will and strength to carry said authority.

But his brother still takes his words with a dismissive smile, shaking his head, “You take a Greek witch as an advisor?”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying that better men have tried better insults, and that nor your blood or your gifts, and the titles they warrant, call for you to feel offended at their mention, even if he wills it so.

Instead, you grit your teeth and swallow your pride to keep silent as you take your gaze to the King, studying his façade as he lifts purposely falsely innocent eyebrows at his brother, his mouth curved in a small mocking smile.

“I never did things the normal way, did I?” Some silent conversation seems to flow between the two sons of Ragnar, and you catch Hvitserk’s eyes for a moment.

He smiles, an apology, a gesture that says you ought to get used to this; and you offer a small smile in return, one of the first honest ones you’ve given the Prince.

“Why?” Ubbe insists.

Stithulf’s disgust as you are caught in the tent where they discuss war, his demand for answers when he turns to the man that would be your husband, “What is the witch doing here?”

“She is to be my wife, I trust her advice.” Narses replies simply. It irks of too little when the Gods know you are the reason he won against the Saracens, but you are still grateful, because you have to be.

“She is a smart woman,” Ivar replies, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, “I trust her judgement when it comes to Stithulf more than yours, brother.”

Before he can taunt his brother into throwing an axe to your face, you decide to intervene, voice low as you lean closer.

“Ivar…”

“Dublin is being hounded by Stithulf’s forces,” He explains without a second thought. He leans on the table before him, not turning to you as he speaks so you are left studying the way the light draws his profile, “We are leaving in two days.”

“We?”

“Hvitty will stay here with you.” He reassures, or attempts to at least, yet all he manages is to make you frown.

“Why are you going?” You hiss, and as he turns to you the King furrows his nose in annoyance, the beginning of a snarl starting to curl at his lip.

“Afraid the cripple can’t defend himself?”

“Stithulf couldn’t care less about Dublin. He wants your head, Viking.” You insist instead of replying to the obvious taunt. He opens his mouth to retort, clearly surprised by your revelation, but is interrupted before he can speak.

“Ivar, witch,” Ubbe calls out, startling you out of your conversation. He raises his eyebrows, “Share with the rest of us, will you?”

After a breath, you explain, “Stithulf is after the men that killed his King. He doesn’t care about cities, or land, or…fame. He wants the sons of Ragnar.”

“So you think he is trying to draw us out.”

I know so. You want to say, but you bite your tongue, you swallow your pride, your arrogance, even if you know that if you were a man they’d call it confidence.

“He reached my homeland searching for an edge over your armies, and found it in Arab and Greek forces. I doubt he will waste them destroying buildings, my Prince.” You answer with a nod, not missing the way Ivar’s eyes remain glued to you as you speak. It thrills you when it should make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

They continue talking to each other, discussing what they ought to do, how they are to approach the city. You doubt the reinforcements from Ivar’s army will hold the same element of surprise as they did the last time Stithulf readied his army near Dublin; and it seems they have the same idea for they don’t plan on being subtle about Kattegat’s navy supporting Dublin.

And as the moon travels through the skies, when you should be exhausted and ready to sleep; you are thrilled and beyond interested. The song of war, Athena’s boardgame, it all wraps around you like a familiar cloak.

So you soak in their talks about formations, about ways they can approach, you rejoice in listening to the way Dublin can be defended. With your elbows on the table and your head in your hands, you listen and observe, for once without fear of being told you are out of place.

____

And before you know it two days have passed. On the last night, when the ships are readied for the journey, the warriors celebrating their last night in Kattegat; you sit with Freydis and other women from the apothecary, exchanging laughs and stories as the feast goes on around you.

More than once during the night, your foolish heart makes your eyes roam the hall in search of the King, and you find yourself smiling like a fool at the sight of him drinking and laughing with his brothers, with his men.

The times where you look for him only to find him already with his eyes on you, those times make your foolish heart beat faster, but you will deny it if anyone asks.

You swirl the mead in your cup as you lay back on your chair, taking in the ongoing celebration and trying to remember the last time you felt this comfortable and safe and…

“You feel at home, witch.” Freydis states quietly, almost by your ear, interrupting your thoughts.

Wide eyes find hers, but she only smiles calmly, with that hint that she knows a secret you don’t.

Before you can ask her to kindly be a bit less cryptic for once, she looks at someone behind you, and a hand gently calling for your attention when it rests on your shoulder stops you.

You turn to meet the warm eyes of Prince Hvitserk, who offers you a silent greeting and a small smile.

“My brother calls for you.” He whispers, eyes on yours and the promise of what is to come written on them. You wonder how much of how you have come to become his brother’s wife is known to him.

Ivar stands before his throne and your heart lurches when you see another seat arranged besides it. You find his eyes, and he extends a hand.

“I will not sit there.” You hiss at him. He grits his teeth, the annoyance at how you are unwilling to follow even the simplest of commands clear in his expression.

“You will be at my side, get up here.”

Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, palm facing upwards, fingers open and vulnerable expecting the touch of your own. Rationally, you know there’s a feast going around you, you know there’s yells and songs and laughs, but you cannot hear anything but the ringing in your own ears.

You cannot see anything but his hand expecting the touch of your own, and his eyes searching yours.

And though you know it is the tug of the invisible binds set upon you what makes you take the steps necessary and hold his hand, the chains don’t feel as heavy as you thought they would.

Calloused but warm fingers close around your hand, and Ivar stands taller.

He calls for the attention of his people, and when the hall quietens and you feel all their eyes on the pair of you, it is you that grips tighter onto his hand on yours.

“My people,” He starts, proud and confident and infuriatingly performative, “Most of you already know of this fine woman I have at my side since our return from Dublin, Greek by birth but a daughter of one Sieghild Vorsdottir,” You hear the mumbled replies, the hushed whispers at the mention of your mother, and you narrow your eyes. Ivar continues, “You will all soon know her as your Queen, for when we return from Dublin again, she will be my wife, and Queen of Kattegat.”

You hold your head high as the Varangians lift their cups and horns and hands and voices in celebration and congratulations. Ivar thanks them with a smile and a gesture of his hand, and aside from a few men that approach to give their congratulations face to face, soon enough the aura of calm -or what calm has come to mean in these strange lands- returns to the room.

You eye the chair they set for you at the side of Ivar’s throne cautiously, but you will not lie to yourself and say it feels constricting to sit up there.

You make a point of letting go of the King’s hand as soon as you sit, though, and based on the way his jaw clenches and his head moves to the side in clear anger, you can tell he’s obviously noticed.

The feast lives on, and a few times -repeatedly, actually, which you will blame on the mead and ale- toasts arise to wish for the Gods’ favor on the incoming battles across the sea, to congratulate the King and his foreign bride, to celebrate the death that is to come and the death that might escape them.

It is all incredibly strange to you, painfully foreign. You have no choice but to remain at your seat, facing the loud and boastful warriors, listening to foreign tongues, trying to understand strange customs.

It makes you think of what Sieghild would make out of this. She always accused you of being too arrogant, too proud, too ambitious for a Greek woman. Boasted about it being her influence what taught you to stand straight and never bite your tongue.

What would she make out of her daughter being fated to become wife of one Ivar the Boneless?

“My mother,” You start, and almost startled the King turns to you. “You brought up her name twice now, as if she is…”

“Famous?” He supplies, beginning of a smirk in place, “She is.”

“Sieghild?”

“Women with hair and eyes like hers are not easily ignored. Doesn’t help she is taller and stronger than many men,” He shrugs, looking ahead, “King Rorik had to fight a bear to get her hand, or so the Danes say.

You have heard that name before, only once in your mother’s lips. It doesn’t cease to make disgust and hate churn at your stomach.

At your silence, Ivar insists,

“You know of him, don’t you? The only madman before my brother Bjorn to take sail to your Mediterranean.”

“He didn’t reach the Mediterranean,” You offer quietly, “His ships docked in a land colder than this one, many died because of cold or hunger. And though he and the warriors that were left founded Aldeigja, it is still a long way from the Mediterranean.”

“Did you ever meet him?” He asks, and your eyebrows raise in surprise. The King only shrugs, “You mentioned travelling a lot.”

You shake your head, “Sieghild…she was betrayed by him. She would never let him close to me.”

“But she told you of him.”

“To warn me of what men in power are capable of.”

“A woman made Anassa,” He retorts, the word still foreign on his lips but you find it oddly endearing that he tries speaking your tongue, using your titles, “wouldn’t have much to fear from men in power, now would she?”

You only raise your eyebrows in response, “You think I had any real power back in Greece?” Before he can answer, you shake your head with a chuckle, “Ivar, my own people didn’t take me as a leader until I died for them. Even that wasn’t enough, Anassa is only a title, it wouldn’t change their hearts. I am a woman that refuses to fight like a man to achieve my goals, I had no place being queen in their eyes.

He stays silent, one of his hands by his mouth and his eyes intent on yours, and you let your lip curl in anger as you lay your back once again on the backrest of your seat, looking ahead.

“Because of me and what I learned they managed to fend off the Saracen raiders, because of me and my blood Laconia came to their support with the finest warriors in the Mediterranean, because of me they had time to escape Eleusis when the Christians came,” You grit your teeth, and if it is bitterness and anger and hunger all that’s left within you once the veil of nostalgia is gone, then so be it. “And yet I had to prove myself more than any man, more than-…

More than Narses.

You stop yourself, stealing a glance at the Viking that still keeps unwavering interest in the words that leave your lips. You shake your head, and reach for the cup a thrall refilled a few moments ago.

“It doesn’t matter. Most of the free Attics are dead somewhere near Aneridge, the rest will perish when winter comes. It doesn’t matter.”

The King touches his own cup with yours, and you eye him carefully, wary of what the outburst might mean for you, but Ivar only smirks.

“If you say so.” He mocks, drinking from his own cup but with his expression still dripping mirth and skepticism.

You roll your eyes, and settling better in the undeserved seat, you let conversation between the two of you go somewhere else.

And so it does, because frustratingly enough the Viking will never cease to be fascinating to you, and no matter what the two of you talk about it always manages to fill you with curiosity and warmth.

The ruckus of the feast eventually dies down, although not that far from the time the sun will rise over the sea, and you shake off your drowsiness as you watch people take their leave from the main hall.

Ivar stands up from his throne and gestures the mock of a bow your way, mumbling his goodnight. You watch him leave, reminded of the ships that are to depart over the horizon soon.

So, stealing a glance at the few remaining people and guards around you, you stand up and follow.

____

A bit of a cliffhanger, ik, I’m sorry. If I continued the last scene till the end this chapter would be a 10k word beast, so cliffhanger it is.

Also yes Rorik (Rurik) as in Igor’s father, as in the King that sailed East and started the Rus dynasty is in my canon a Danish King and Sieghild’s former husband, whom she followed in that adventure to wherever-the-fuck. Then they parted ways, and she found herself in the Mediterranean. I will probably go in more detail about this in Sieghild’s PoV, which should be the spinoff chapter uploaded next Tuesday.

Anyway, hope you liked this chapter, I hope you don’t completely hate where the story goes after the Sieghild revelation and all that. But yeah, would love to hear back from you, thank you for reading, and have a nice day/night!!

[vegalocity]

Seperated (Red Groom AU)

The part of the Albino will now be played by -drumroll- Jin and Yin is that even a question? of course its Jin and Yin.

Also i rewatched this sequence a few times to get the dialogue right and... Am I on glue or are Humperdink and Count Rugen like... kinda into eachother?

--

Xiaotian awoke with pain. He pulled a hiss between his teeth as a rag—no doubt drenched with cleaning fluids for how much it stung—was pressed to his shoulder. The room he was in was dim when he forced his eyes open, but soon his gaze was met with the red eyes of a silver skinned demon.

“Who-” he croaked. “Where am I?”

“The pit of despair.” The demon hissed, his voice raspy and dim, it reminded Xiaotian of the whispers of a ghost. On some level it made him nervous. “Don't even think-”

“Yin, you gotta stay away from the guy while he's still injured, brother. You sound like a nightmare warmed over.” a far more normal voice made itself known, and Xiaotian watched a golden demon that other than the change in coloration seemed near identical to the silver one entered his vision.

“But Jin I-” The silver demon, Yin apparently, gasped. “Come on, I NEVER get to be the ominous assistant!”

“You're still ill, If you mess up the experiment by getting the prisoner sick Macaque is gonna ACTUALLY kill you, and I don't wanna be an only child.”

Yin huffed and puffed.

“Maybe he should go home.” Xiaotian offered weakly. Less guards meant less people to fight while he escaped after all.

“Pssh!” the gold brother, Jin apparently, waved a hand. “Like we'd EVER- Nah he's just gotta leave prisoner interactions to me. Speaking of!” He snagged the clean rag from his brother's hand. “You'd rather be treated by the one that ISN'T actively sick right now, wouldn't ya, prisoner?”

Yin let out a series of sneezes that nearly seemed to knock him off his feet. So Xiaotian was thankful when he finally shrugged and went over to a worktable while Jin leaned over and went to applying the cleaning fluid on his wound.

“Like my brother was saying though, don't even think to try and escape. Those chains could hold down the Monkey King, they're that strong.” The irony of that statement was lost on Jin, Xiaotian hadn't been in his monkey disguise when they'd captured him, it was unlikely anyone knew of his ruse. Even Red Son while surrendering (his heart still hurt at the memory of defeat in his voice) had been nonspecific about WHAT nearby mountain was his.  “And the entrance is like, super secret too, like top secret. Only the Boss, the Prince, and my brother and I know where it is, and Yin didn't even pay attention when we were being shown the way.”

“It was boring!” Yin defended himself from across the room. “You were barely paying attention yourself!” Jin turned around and likely made an ugly face at his brother, whom quickly returned it with one of his own, before he turned back to Xiaotian.

“You're gonna die down here my good fellow.”

“Then why heal my wounds?”

“I 'unno. The boss tells us he likes his test subjects in tip tops before he messes them up.”

“We generally leave between 'experiments'” Yin added on, before letting out a loud grunt as he moved some heavy looking contraption across the area. “He's like.... Super creepy when he gets into it. Gives Jin the willies.”

“Honestly there are some times when I can't remember why we even work for him.” Jin agreed with a visible shudder and a shake of his head.

“Cuz mother said she would force us out of the house if we didn't find work, and he pays well.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

He wasn't paying much attention to the brother's banter, he'd already put together what matters.

“So they're going to torture me down here?”  Jin hummed in agreement as he continued to clean him up of left over blood. “I can handle torture.”

Yin let out a raspy laugh that was somehow less disturbing than the audible shudder that went up Jin's spine.

“Look, my man, you're new here, you don't know.” There was something close to pity in Jin's voice and it almost immediately set off every alert in Xiaotian's nervous system. “that machine they rig people up to, it's no joke. We only heard the damn thing a few times and it's really, REALLY bad.”

“I still get nightmares!” Yin agreed.

But then Jin had finished cleaning up his wounds and went over to aid his brother in whatever he was doing moving things around, leaving Xiaotian to his thoughts.

Something so bad that it made demons recoil in fright? What sort of horror display was he in for? That Six-Eared Macaque did seem the sadistic type, but what did that entail?

He had to get out of here. He tested the chains, but no dice, his arm was still injured though the bleeding had stalled, and he was strapped down with both hands nearer his waist than his head so he couldn't even try to summon some backup in the form of a clone. And his shapeshifting was still rudimentary at best, he couldn't do any forms that would change his size quite yet and that was the one thing that could help him break out of here!

He'd have to stay put for just a little longer at least until he could figure something out.

At this point the Prince wasn't likely to kill Red Son until they were already married, and though his heart ached at the idea of his love being forced to play along with that cruel beast's games until he found a way around it, or managed to escape on his own—as he knew that he would at this point. Now that he knew that Red Son's heart had remained true, and Red Son knew he was alive, he knew his love would stop at nothing to get out of this arrangement and find him again, he was far too clever to simply go along with this and hope that those mercenaries were wrong or deceitful—he could find him on his own.

He knew he would. Red Son was far too intelligent for anything else.

–

Within three days time the Prince's father had died. And on that very night he and Red Son were married.

It was the day after the ceremony and Red Son, now a married man, was to be prepared not to be a demon king in his own right like he'd always assumed but-

–

“What? That's not right! Grandpa you're telling the story wrong!”

“What do you mean, little one?”

“Red Son doesn't marry the prince he marries Xiaotian! He's his true love not the prince!”

“But Red Son turned himself in to the Prince to save Xiaotian's life, remember?”

“But! But after the Forest-! And everything Xiaotian did to get back and save him from the mercenaries-!  After everything he did he doesn't even get to marry him in the end?! That's so unfair!”

“Whoever said life was fair? Where'd it ever get written down that life was fair?”

“B-But! But! Xiaotian is still in the Pit of Despair! He needs Red Son to save him like he saved him! ”

“You wanna know how this ends or not?”

“...Yes...”

“Thought so. No more interruptions, alright? Where was I...-”

–

-It was the day after the ceremony and Red Son, now a married man, was to be prepared not to be a demon king in his own right like he'd always assumed but the husband of another. And as such he didn't know his new court anywhere near as intimately as he did his own back home. So he was taken to oversee the goings on of this court and acquaint himself with the advisers and nobles within.

He was dressed now not in the warm tones that his family was known for, but the cool pale purples of his husband's own court and in his own opinion, it clashed horribly with his hair, if it were a darker purple maybe, but this simply wasn't a good shade for him.

But that was just one in a long, long line of things that were wrong about this situation, so he did his best to appear the unflappable demon prince he once was.

Examining the court before him he could only compare it to the one he knew back home, and in many ways he found it much the same. The same types of sniveling yes-men, the same kinds of conniving power-seekers, and the same sort of surprisingly wise elders.

And then just three steps away from him, one of the advisers snickered. A cruel, twisted sound, a mocking laugh.

Red Son... was on a bit of a hair trigger for obvious reasons and whirled around at the noise, approaching the previously assumed sniveling coward, and feeling his hair light aflame behind him.

“Is there a problem?” He tried to make his voice as unshaken as possible, but the rage that was so quick to boil in his gut was difficult to contain.

“Oh no, your highness-” the adviser gave an melodramatic mocking bow. “No problems here, I simply find it funny how everyone else here seems to think you worth our respect!” The Demon loosed another gale of laughter and didn't seem the least bit frightened when Red Son reached forward and grabbed him by the collar. He didn't even seem surprised.

“What was that, you infernal garbage?!”

“The only garbage here is you, Red Son!” The Demon howled with laughter, before looking among his fellows, trying to gain support. “Can you all even believe it? This cold hearted princeling had true love in his hands and he let it go!” His gut dropped. “After everything Xiaotian did for you! To come back to find you! To save you and keep you alive when you couldn't even summon a candle's worth of flame in that forest and you repaid him by betraying him!”

The demon slipped from his slack grasp as he chortled, and Red Son found his limbs very weak indeed, his anger replaced by a cold, sick feeling.

“They were- He was going to kill Xiaotian, I had to-”

“Oathbreaker! Xioatian lives and you marry another! You had love in your hands and you treated it like garbage!” The demon leaned against the side of another adviser, whom seemed frozen in place. Much like how Red Son felt.

“Because that's what you are your highness! Garbage! Prince of all refuse!” The Demon shook his neighbor's shoulder. “Bow to him if you want! Go ahead! Bow to the prince of all slime! The prince of all filth! Prince of all putrescence!”  His laughter never once abated, and when the demon took a step toward Red Son, he instinctively backed away.

“An oathbreaking fool! That's what you are!”

“Muck! Filth! Coward!”

His laughter was piercing.

Red Son awoke with a startle, heart thumping in his chest and a cold sweat across his brow. The King was still alive and the wedding was ten days away, yet his nightmares were getting worse. And on this morning he came to one conclusion:

“I cannot afford to bide time any longer.”

–

“See? I told you he'd never marry that rotten prince!”

“Yes you're very smart, shut up.”

–

As quick as he possibly could he changed from his sleep shirt into proper attire and began to plan his escape. His betrothed would attempt his life the second he let it slip that he knew of his plans, so he had to be quick, he had to be clever, and above all, he had to be sneaky.

He didn't know why his betrothed had decided to assume sincerity, but since he wasn't dead yet he could only guess that he was waiting until the wedding night to enact his plan and frame whoever he wanted to frame for Red Son's 'assassination'.

So he had ten days. Child's play, he could do it in three, tops.

The hard part would be keeping a low enough profile until he made it to Flower Fruit Mountain to evade whatever hunters his soon to be ex-fiance would send after him. How ironic, he thought to himself, that it was now his turn to make an impossible death defying escape and make his way back to his love.

He didn't have much by way of sewing skills, but the wardrobe of the rooms he was given had no mags with which to carry his supplies, so he had to make do with a spare blanket and what little he knew of hemming fabric until something resembling a traveling pack was made and ready.

It was about then that the prince made summons for him.

Red Son turned over what to do or say in his head as he approached the sitting room, and came to the conclusion that if he acted like he was alright with all of this then he would arouse suspicion. Red Son was well known for his temper, and he'd made it obvious that he had a love in Xiaotian. Though he'd willingly given himself up for his safety, the fact of the matter was that the prince had been willing to fight and hurt him, and if Red Son didn't already have plans to run then that would mean he'd be furious.

So he held himself as stiffly as possible and didn't hold back his scowl when the prince came into view.

“Ah! Beloved! How wonderful to see you!”

The prince seemed unshaken by Red Son's fury and remained unwavering as he stiffly marched over and sat across from him. It occurred to Red Son as he sat that the prince would likely expect him to try and call the wedding off at least once. He would do everything in his power to either try and convince Red Son to take back his announcement (he wouldn't be able to) or restrain him to the palace until he could force him to acquiesce.

“I refuse to lie to myself any longer.” He spoke only then, His betrothed's brow raised in curiosity. “I love Xiaotian, I have since long before my parents ever reached out to yours, and I always will.”

If anything this might be an interesting way to see if he's going to play along or not. “If I am forced to marry you in ten days you must understand that on the eleventh I will be dead.” There, if he set the assumed date afterward, then the Prince wouldn't think that he was moving the timetable of his own plans up-

“I could never cause you such greif.” He said after a sigh. “Consider the wedding off.”

He knew this was a ploy, he had a plan of some kind. But Still Red Son felt the tight clamps pressed to his chest loosen at the words being spoken aloud.

“You returned this 'Xiaotian' to his mountain?” The prince turned halfway and Red Son was startled to see the macaque standing in the shadows, he hadn't even seen him when he'd entered!

“I did.”

“Then we'll send a messenger for him.” They wouldn't. They'd sent Xiaotian back to Flower Fruit Mountain no doubt, lest they risked starting conflict with his own army. However Red Son knew the prince had no problems at all lying to him. Any messenger he oversaw a letter being handed off to would likely get out of sight and shred the note to bits before lying low for a time and returning. “But, Beloved, Can you be sure that he'd still take you back?”

The laughter of the demon in his dream echoed in the back of his mind. “What do you mean?”

“I simply mean that, it was you who did the leaving back in the forest.” Red Son couldn't fight back a flinch at the reminder. “And... kidnappers aren't exactly well known to keep their word.” Thankfully he didn't need to fake outrage.

“He didn't kidnap me!”

“Well... then may I suggest a deal?” The prince considered his tea before taking a sip. “How about this; I'll send my four fastest messengers along different routes to your Xiaotian's mountain, and you'll write four separate letters explaining the situation for them to deliver. To decrease the likeliness of the message getting lost due to bandits and the like. Your Xiaotian is sure to receive at least one of them by that. And if he accepts you back, then good fortune to you both.”

The Prince's brow furrowed with worry, and once again he reached out to try and take Red Son's hand. He pulled his hands back. “But if he doesn't, If your love decides this was one betrayal too many, then please at least consider me as an alternative to suicide.”

He was trying to get him to doubt himself, to doubt Xiaotian. Trying to put something like that in the back of his head so he'd be less convicted when he had some notary of some kind fake a letter of rejection.

“Are we agreed?”

“We are.”

He'd be gone in a few days time anyway. And if the prince was right, if Xiaotian did feel rejected and betrayed, and angry, and if he somehow did decide that he didn't want him back...

...then he'd just have to win his heart again. If that were the case it may be difficult, he hadn't exactly gone chasing him all that time ago in the Inn, He wasn't sure if he knew how. But he'd try, whatever it took.

He just had to get out of here first.

–

“You know, now that I've spent a time with the prince, I can see why so many other demon suitors were banging down his door for so long. A mote too angry for my own taste, but even for a more human-looking demon he's not too bad on the eyes.”

“Don't go falling in love with my groom Macaque. I'll not have you ruining my plans.”

“Pff! No worries there, highness.”

“...You know, when I'd hired the Spider Queen and her ilk to kill him on their way to my mountain I thought THAT was a work of genius, but it'll be so much more moving to cut his head off on our wedding night myself I do think.”

“His parents will be furious.”

“Especially once I blame the Monkey King when I send word to them about it! They'll insist on going to war and our combined forces will finally claim that eyesore of a mountain.”

“It's going to be a bloodbath.”

“Which I'm sure YOU'LL enjoy my six-eared friend.”

“Now.. where is that secret knot... damn thing's always changing locations I swear- Ah... Are you coming down? Xiaotian regained his strength, I'm going to be starting him on the machine tonight.”

“Macaque, You know how much I love watching you work; but I've two anniversaries for different alliances to plan the celebrations of, My wedding to arrange, my husband to murder, and the Monkey King to frame for it, I'm swamped!”

“Get some rest my prince. If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything.”

--

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.” Jin was mumbling over and over as he and Yin rolled the slab of wood Xiaotian had been strapped to this whole time across the ground, and up against an unmoving water wheel.

“By all means, quit if it upsets you so.” The Six Eared Macaque stated idly, and out of the corner of his eye Xiaotian could see him scribbling something down, some sort of notation.

“He doesn't mean that.” Yin assured his brother as he forced Xiaotian this way and that, tightening leather straps to his chest and head. Hollowed out iron funnels were affixed to small holes in the straps, the cone sides pressed to his skin while the nozzles were being slowly attached to a set of copper tubes. “He'd be without any assistants that can keep their mouths shut without us.”

He couldn't move with these stupid straps all up and down his body—well... he already couldn't move MUCH, but the lack of what little mobility he'd had from there lost further was upsetting.

“Got back to work you miscreants.” The macaque snapped before standing and approaching him. When those eerie purple eyes were peering down at him Xiaotian had the uncanniest of feelings that he was trying to look like the Monkey King.  Like some sort of crazy fan that wanted to steal his life or something. No wonder he hadn't realized that Xiaotian was actually disguising himself as such with Sun Wukong's blessing.

“Lovely machine isn't it? Been working on it for a solid century now.”  He patted the strange device affectionately, as though it were a beloved pet. “You probably know by now your 'love' isn't the only scientific mind among our kind. But where he's interested in any field of study he can get his hands on I'm more interested in... shall we say... the study of pain.”

“Made my living stealing other people's powers for my own ya see, and it's been fun, but it's maybe getting a bit old too. Because I've been doing that, basically my whole life, and I kinda wanted to change it up. So I decided to see how much I can make someone hurt. I'm still testing this thing out mind you, so...Be honest with how it feels, alright? It's for posterity's sake.

“Now, this being our first try, I'll ease you into it. We'll start on the first setting.”

Xiaotian tensed, steeling himself over for whatever pain would follow.

The Macaque pulled the lever-

The machine whirled to life-

And there was pain.

[bnhasimpgirltm]

It’s Enough (Dabi x Reader)

Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Warnings: a little bit of blood, kind of moves a little slow?, mild swearing

Genre: Angst (but not really)

Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 3452

A/N: Just another fic to fuel my newfound Dabi writing addiction. This idea has been nagging me for a week and a half so I’m glad I got the chance to write it. This is also my first new fic since all of the reposts! Reader’s quirk is that they can redirect and contain energy. 

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

The air around Japan’s most protected weapon development facility is still except for the occasional bird flying by. Most of the employees have gone home with the exception of a few night stragglers and the usual security team.

The perfect time for a certain team of villains to strike.

“Make way for the League of Villains!” Toga cackles, coming through Kurogiri’s warp gate, Dabi and Shigaraki following behind. 

“Be quiet, we don’t have time for your games,” Shigaraki hisses, “Go and do your job.”

“Why can’t Dabi just burn the door? It would be faster and easier,” whines Toga, twirling her knife between her fingers. 

“Did you not hear the mission briefing? We need to be discreet,” Kurogiri scoffs.

“You should have just opened a gate inside the building, then we could just skip this entire ‘breaking in’ stuff.” Looking at the horizon, Toga sticks the tip of her knife into the trunk of the closest tree.

“There are cameras in that building. If I were to create a gate inside the room with the weapon, authorities would automatically know that we stole it,” Kurogiri explains. “Plus, (y/n) works here on Saturday, and we promised Dabi that we wouldn’t impede on their relationship.”

“(Y/n)’s shift is from 8AM to 4PM,” Dabi peeks over at Kurogiri’s watch. “It’s 9PM.”

“We still have to be discreet,” Kurogiri swats Toga’s knife away from his face. “Shoudn’t you be inside already, assuming the identity of one of the employees?” 

“Say no more,” Toga takes a moment and looks around the corner, spotting a tall, brown-haired man walking into the parking lot.  “Perfect.”

Walking up to the man, Toga talks up the man and asks him to help her find her way to her car. 

“I’ve never seen you around here,” he says. “Are you a newbie?”

“Well, yes, I am new,” Tapping her chin, Toga mock thinks. “I mean, once I’m done here no one will know.”

“Excuse me?” The man glares at her, suspicious. “I’m going to need you to identify yourself.”

“I’m you!” Toga giggles like a little girl.

“This isn’t a jo-” he’s cut off by Toga pulling him down to her height and choking him. 

The League hears the man’s muffled cries for help as he falls unconscious. 

“Just a little bit and we’re good,” says Toga to the rest of the League members hiding on the other side of the corner.

Pricking the man’s finger, she licks the blood off the knife and transforms. 

Giddy from transforiming, Toga smiles and laughs. “Wow, I’m so tall.” She looks at the badge. Reading it, she identifies herself, “Daichi, interesting name.”

Ignoring her, Shigaraki speaks in a gravelly voice.“There should be a mercenary here right now, I already paid,” Shigaraki looks around. 

“I’m right here,” a small voice replies. “Name is Mira, last name Ju, and you only have a couple more hours before your time is up.”

“What’s her quirk?” Dabi asks. 

“She’s going to be useful. Her quirk allows her to change the physical  appearance of anything within a certain distance of her,” Kurogiri explains. 

“What are we waiting for then?” Dabi slaps his hand on the closest tree. “We don’t have all night.”

“Say no more,” Ju closes her eyes and the people who were the League of Villains transform into normal looking citizens. 

“How far can we wander while maintaining the disguises?” Kurogiri asks. 

“For the amount of time we have to keep these disguises up?” Ju pauses and thinks. “To be safe, keep it at six feet or less.”

“How are all of us going to get in there standing that close?” Dabi scoffs and starts to walk towards the side entrance. “That’s shady.”

“Dabi, we’re not all going in,” Shigaraki explains. 

“Well who then?” Dabi impatiently asks. 

“We need Toga, she’ll make us look less suspicious,” Kurogiri cuts in. “Ju is a must, obviously, and so am I. Without me, you have no chance of escape after the facility locks down.”

Dabi narrows his eyes and lets an annoyed noise escape from his throat. “Your point?” 

“We can only take one more person,” Kurogiri lets his eyes linger over every member of the League. “We can take Dabi. His quirk will be useful if we need to fight.”

“Step right up, Dabi, was it?” Dabi begins to walk towards the side entrance with Ju, Toga, and Kurogiri following. 

Using the man’s ID, Toga scans it on the door. The door makes a beep sound.

“Welcome, Daichi Sawamura,” the electronic pad responds. 

“Come on in everyone,” Toga slips her gloves over her hands and opens the door. 

Toga, Dabi, Ju, and Kurogiri step into the facility, waiting for alarms to sound.

“This place looks so dead,” Toga, looking like Daichi Sawamura from the parking lot, says with disgust. “Who could work here?” 

“We don’t have to appreciate this place, we just have to steal from it,” Kurogiri reminds. After walking halfway down the hallway, he opens another door. The group of villains sneak into the out-of-use closet. 

“We are going to get caught in here,” Toga reasons. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

“It’s 9:30, Toga,” Kurogiri says back. “Everyone has gone home, or at least we hope.”

“Quiet, Toga, start being useful,” Dabi points at the closet door. “Distract the people who are still here.”

Toga steps out, and as if on cue, a woman in a knee length, sleek, black pencil skirt rounds the corner, seeing Toga just as Toga begins to walk away from the closet.

“Daichi-san!” She calls. “What are you still doing here? I saw you leave a while ago.”

Lying smoothly, Toga smiles at the woman. “I forgot my water bottle.” 

“I can go get it if you want,” she turns back. “Where did you leave it?” 

“That’s okay,” Toga takes a glance at the woman’s ID badge, “Dama-san, I can get it myself.”

“It’s actually not a problem, just tell me where you put it,” Dama pushes further. 

“I actually don’t remember where I put it, I’m going to look,” Toga refines her lie. 

“Oh, okay, I’ll let you go look.” She pauses. “Do you need an ID to get into any of the offices? I heard some of the electronic door locks are misreading ID cards and not letting some people in.”

What a perfect opportunity! Toga thinks. “Thank you, that would be appreciated.”

“Here you go,” the severe-looking woman, Dama-san, hands her ID to Toga. “I must get going now, my family is waiting for me.” 

“Have a nice night,” Toga walks around the corner and looks behind her as the woman opens the side door. Backtracking, Toga turns, and opens the closet door. 

“This is better than we could have hoped! She gave me her ID!” Toga squeals. 

“Who is that woman?” Ju questions.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Kurogiri says. “Her ID will get us where we need to be.”

“Lets go before anyone else asks who we are,” Dabi recalls what Shigaraki explained during the briefing. “Two lefts and a right, then open the second door to your left,” he repeats to himself.

After following the directions, the small group arrives at a large metal door. 

“Can you melt it, Dabi?” Toga asks. 

“Absolutely not!” Kurogiri stops Dabi by shooting his arm between the door and Dabi. “We have sent this entire mission attempting to be discreet.” 

“Try the guy’s ID first,” Ju suggests. 

Toga lift’s Daichi’s ID to the scanner. After she lifts it, the scanner flashes red. 

“Unauthorized Employee, please try again.” 

Toga pockets Daichi’s ID, then, holding Dama’s ID up, the group hopes for the best. 

“Welcome, Dr. Dama Kana.”

Toga smiles and puts her gloves on again. 

“That wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Not at all, and suspiciously so,” Kurogiri looks around, ignoring the small model projects on the tables, then,  his eyes land on a large case resting flush to the wall. 

“Here it is.” Kurogiri picks the case up and inspects it. “A weapon created with a massive amount of energy. The person working on this must have a quirk that allows them to work with it and not be injured.” 

No more than five second later, the door opens. 

“Dr. Dama?” The security guard asks, looking at a handheld screen “What are you doing here so late?” Looking up, he realizes, “You’re not Dr. Dama.” 

“I’m Daichi, Dama-san gave me her ID, so I could look for my water bottle,” Toga hands the security guard Dama Kana’s ID. 

“I need your ID. That goes for all of you.” the guard motions for everyone to drop their IDs in his hand.

“We’re not from around here,” Ju steps forward. 

“What do you mean?” The guard asks. 

Ju lunges forward, releasing her quirk’s hold on the disguises, and the guard reaches for his taser. Three vials crash to the floor and boots thunder down the hallway, rapidly coming closer. 

“Take the weapon Kurogiri!” Dabi commands. “Open the gate, we’ll find a way out!” 

Kurogiri opens his warp gate and disappears with the weapon. As soon as it appears, it’s gone, leaving Dabi, Ju, and Toga to deal with the incoming barrage of security guards.

“Please remain still while we search you.”

“I did not sign up for this,” Ju complains. 

Toga frowns, “Me neither.” Then smiles. “But you know what’s always fun?”

“Miss, I’m going to need to see either your company or official Japan ID,” the man demands. 

“No,” Toga defies. 

“We are going to have to detain you and your accomplices if you resist any further,” he states sternly. 

“Detain this!” Toga yells, “Dabi!” 

Dabi lets out a trail of fire and the guards all jump back. 

“Use any force necessary!” The first one yells. “Blue fire, you must be part of the League.”

“You would be right,” Dabi says without thinking, then smirks and shoots another pillar of fire from his arm. 

His assailant jumps back, giving Dabi enough room to pull the door open. 

“Stop the flame guy!” Someone orders. “Call the lockdown! Close the exits!”

“Go Dabi, go!” Toga yells.

Dabi dashes out of the lab and slams the door. A moment later, a series of locks click into place, locking Toga, Ju, and the security team in the lab. 

“Lockdown Initiated,” the electronic lock’s small screen turns red.

Stopping to catch his breath, he scans the hall for a potential exit.

“Dabi?”

“(Y/N)?” He chokes out. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, “How did you know I was here?” 

Dabi can’t hide the shock on his face. “You’re supposed to be at home, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I was here doing extra work, and the lockdown happened,” worriedly, you ask, “And how did you even get into the building?” 

Dabi listens carefully to the noise coming from the floor above you two.

 More security personnel. 

“Come on,” Dabi grabs your hand and pulls you towards the glass window. “We’re on the first floor.”

“Dabi, stop, what are you doing?” You yell. 

“Just break the damn window!” Becoming more frusturated, Dabi yells back. “Break it!”

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me what is happening!” You stubbornly fold your arms over your chest and glare at Dabi. 

“Let (L/n)-san go, and come willingly. Then maybe we’ll think about being nice,” A voice calls from the middle of the hall, coming closer. 

“Dabi, tell me what’s happening right now!” You demand. 

He had been so careful. Keeping his name and appearance out of the news, making sure to destroy photographic evidence of him, and only using his quirk when he was sure no one was recording. How that security guard from earlier knew what his quirk and affiliations were was beyond him. 

“Dabi!” You dig your nails into his hand to get his attention. “Explain!” 

He wanted to tell you that this was a big misunderstanding. A very, very, very, big misunderstanding, but what slipped out was actually the exact opposite. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out earlier,” he drones. “Blue fire is my hint, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say.”

“I’m still not understanding.”

“Step away from (L/n)-san!” The voice says again. 

“Can you be quiet?” Dabi angrily asks. Impulsively, he activates his quirk. “This will shut you up.”

Before she can react, Dabi sends a long blue flame in the woman’s direction, and another creating a cerulean wall blocking the path of everyone else. 

“Where’s the fire extinguisher?” Someone shrills. 

“What the hell?” You cry out, stepping away from Dabi and backing into the window. “Dabi! You just set a person on fire.”

Stoically, Dabi replies, “It wouldn’t be the first,” 

“How many people have you burned?” You ask, “If there’s a problem, you could talk to me!”

Dabi scoffs. “It’s not a problem. Problems have to have solutions, and this doesn’t have a solution. Do you think the League of Villains forced me to join them? Do you think the League of Villains forces me to use my quirk to hurt people? ” As if what he said wasn’t already bad enough, Dabi continued. “Also, if you were wondering how many people I’ve burned, I can’t tell you, because I don’t keep count.”

“Tell me you’re joking, right now,” you take two steps and poke him in the chest. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“After a certain amount, the number doesn’t matter anymore.”

Crestfallen, you bite your buttom lip to contain the tears. “You’re not joking.”

“You’ll never be one of them,” he takes your hands and squeezes them. “I could never hurt you.”

“Not me, but what about everyone else?” You wailed. “How many people will die until you decide that you can’t do it anymore? Until you tell yourself that you’ve had enough?”

“I don’t know,” Dabi’s face becomes stoic again, “but you won’t be around to see.”

“Wait!” You scream. 

Dabi lets go of your hands and steps back towards the window. You’re about to grab his arm to stop him, but he pushes you back and ignites a wall of fire to keep you from going after him. You hear a shattering and heavy footsteps quickly fading.

Before you can even blink the tears away, he’s gone, and the only thing that even suggests that there was a fire is the white foam that coats the hallway. 

“(L/n)-san, I’m going to need you to come with me.”

~

The first thing Dabi thought when he stopped running was that he would never be able to see you again. 

“It’s for (y/n)’s protection,” he told himself repeatedly.

But no matter how many times he told himself, he still didn’t want to leave you behind. 

“It’s for (y/n)’s protection,” Dabi says once more. 

Nearing the League’s hideout, Dabi performed the knock that Shigaraki had demanded be created for security purposes.

“We’re closed for renovations,” Dabi hears from behind the door. “If you want to go to a bar, there are plenty of other ones in this city.”

Another security precaution, of course. You could never be too safe. 

“I want a Whiskey Sour, 75 degrees room temperature to start, with six ice cubes after, and an extra cherry,” Dabi recits. 

The door opens, revealing Kurogiri. 

“I was waiting. Where are Toga and Ju?” Kurogiri asks. 

“I don’t know,” Dabi admits. “I left them in the lab.” 

If he could, Kurogiri would have pursed his lips. “That is a matter to worry about later. We have the weapon, that’s what’s important.”

“Toga and Ju aren’t the only people that I left behind,” Dabi snaps. 

“What?” Kurogiri asks. 

“Nothing.”

~

After staying at the police department for six hours and being questioned for three, you were finally allowed to leave. It was so early in the morning that you didn’t even bother going back home. 

You had a different destination in mind. 

You got into your car and began to drive, not even feeling tired after the events of the night before. 

Finally, you arrived at your destination, Hawks’ Hero Agency. You had graduated a couple of years before him, and while he went and formed an agency after he graduated, you had decided to not become a hero, instead starting a new project. The project that was stolen from the lab that you worked in. While you were a third year, you had met Takami a couple of times, but he didn’t go to UA. 

Strolling into the agency, you addressed the receptionist. “I need to talk to Hawks.”

“You need an appointment, come back some other time,” he replied without looking up. 

“No, I need to see him now, it’s important,” you complained. 

“I told you to come back later!” He repeats. 

“Let them come in, I know them,” you hear above you. 

Looking up, you spot Hawks sitting on a ledge. 

“Hey Takami,” you greet. 

“How has it been (y/n)? Are you finally taking up my offer on joining my agency?” He asks. 

“Actually, yes, that’s exactly why I’m here,” you confirm. 

“Let's talk in my office.”

Hawks jumps from the ledge and motions for you to follow him. You enter a room through double doors, and he sits down at a mahogany desk. 

“I’d also like to request to be put on the League of Villains investigation,” you state clearly. 

“Interesting,” Hawks brandishes a Hawks themed pencil and a piece of paper. “I’m pulling up your resume from the UA alumni website, just standard protocall.”

You sit quietly until he speaks again. 

“Graduated from UA, excellent graduating test scores, top of your class, next biggest hero, went to go work on something else,” he reads off. “What did you go to work on anyways?” 

“I’m not authorized to say,” you reply sternly. 

“Fair enough,” Hawks looks back at his computer. 

“Can you get me on the investigation of the League?” You ask again. 

“Well, I am the boss around here, so I guess so,” he smiles at you. “You’d have to get your license again though, and you also need to pick a hero name.”

“Veritas,” you say, already knowing. 

“What?” Hawks says. “Can you repeat that?”

“Veritas, it means truth, and that’s what lights are for right? Illuminating the truth,” you explain. 

“Veritas,” Hawks repeats and clicks his tongue. “I like it. Welcome to my agency, Veritas.”

You and Hawks shake hands, then, you leave. 

Before you get into your car, you turn on your phone and open your messages app. 

Should I do it? You ask yourself. 

Quickly typing out a message, your fingers glide over the keyboard. Before you can think twice, you send the message. 

To: Dabi 

Be ready, I’m coming for you.

You didn’t expect him to respond, he rarely ever did, but this time seemed to be one of the rare exceptions. You felt your phone ping in your hand, and a new message appeared at the top of your screen.

From: Unknown

I’m always ready.

You grin at the message. 

“Alright then,” you say out loud, knowing exactly who it was. You opened the door of your car and got in, starting the ignition, then pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway. 

You had never thought about becoming a hero after UA, obviously starting a new project after graduation, but you would get your closure with Dabi. 

Whether it was good or bad would be up to fate. 

~

On the other side of the city, Dabi held his burner phone, connected to a new number. He had the League tracking the messages coming to his old number, and even though he was usually not able to respond, he made an exception. 

Things could be worse, he supposed. He still had you, and was better off than Toga and Ju, at least. Things could  actually be a lot worse. He might be running for his whole life, but at least he had something to keep him tethered to the ground.

Shigaraki, Toga, Kurogiri. They didn’t have anyone but the League. They would slowly decend into insanity as time passed, and chances were that he would too if he kept going the way he was.

Except unlike the others, he had control over whether that happened. 

Dabi tapped on your name in his phone and wrote another message. It was simple, and definitely not long, but it got the point across. 

To: (Y/N)

It won’t be long. I’ll see you soon.

He hit send, then turned his phone off. 

There and then, Dabi decided what he would do next.  

Maybe it was time to stop running. 

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three Chapter 21

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 107k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: Only one Xiang remains and her name is Merra. She hopes to unite the land by force and plow down anyone in her way—especially the people of Agni who she deems faithless and the native people of Terra who refuse to cooperate with her.

Raine continues to serve his Lord but he has taken to alcoholism to soothe his grief—a fact he keeps out of his letters with Heidi. Baiya has returned to mercenary work in order to keep his family safe while Kira is on the warpath. He, fully, takes on the title of Chaaya and means to defeat the Xiang he sees as false.

And, in a guarded castle in Enlil, a stir-crazy Princess dabbles in the dark arts, setting in motion something even Tiandi cannot see.

Full chapter 21 under the cut

Chapter XXI:

Most of the trip had been filled with May talking and explaining the situation from her point of view, even the more gruesome nature of her and her parents’ final “meeting”. Pangu did not miss the look his sister shot him but she did not seem too upset at least.

He wished he was able to hear more about her but there just was no time. What he did not know, she promised, would be filled in when they arrived back at the house.

It was dark by the time they made it but the terra cotta home was easy to spot on the horizon anyway. Pangu’s eyes drew directly toward it and he felt a twist in his stomach.

Still no memories, however.

Though, if he closed his eyes, he could almost see himself walking back and forth along the path with a couple of shadows cast over him. A heavy heart and a sense of purpose…

“Now, when they see you, they will hug you. No matter what I tell them…” Heidi warned as they approached the house.

“I want to hug my parents,” Pangu replied, “Even if I do not remember them, I want to see them.”

“Idris…will you get them?” Heidi passed her husband the medicinal herbs as well. She did not want to leave her brother’s side. Not if she could help it.

He nodded, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and walked up to the house, letting himself in. Muffled talking could be heard but no words were discernible.

Pangu set his hands over his stomach, feeling quite nauseated. He was not so much worried at his parents’ possible reactions but he was already upset over the fact he probably would not be able to recall a thing about them. If Heidi was not a trigger for his memories, he had little hope they would be any different.

Sha-parvati had said there was a very small chance of permanent amnesia but she was so confident his memories would come back to him.

She was no longer there to encourage him and his own optimism was starting to wane.

The door opened again and Idris walked out, carrying an infant in one of his arms while being followed by three other people. Two, an older man and woman, were clearly Pangu’s parents while the third, a young girl, must have been the other detail Heidi had promised to circle back to.

Their faces all dropped and silence gripped the scene.

The child was the first to speak and a huge grin spread across her face as she did so. “Pangu!”

“Hello.” He waved, not sure what else to do.

“Is this real?” The older woman, his mother, stepped forward. She looked at him as if he held the answers to the universe but she was too afraid to ask him. “My son…?”

“But he died…” the older man gasped.

“That was what we believed,” Heidi said and swallowed hard. “But these lovely people found him and have been taking care of him. He…he does not remember anything, mom.”

Her eyes snapped away from Pangu to look at her daughter. “Nothing?”

She shook her head.

The lie from Heidi about how Pangu was miraculously back was sudden but, thankfully, May did not correct her. The issue of Pangu’s memory took precedence anyway, as he suspected it would.

His mother stared at him again and her lip quivered. “You do not remember me? This house? Your father?”

The man she called his father said nothing and just hung his head.

Pangu turned his head from side to side with a frown. “I am sorry. I am trying…”

“Oh, Pangu,” her voice cracked into a sob and she covered her face. Despite what Heidi had warned, she did not seem eager for a hug but, perhaps, the shock was keeping her frozen in place. “What you remember does not matter as much as your safety. I…I am so happy…”

Her husband held her while she cried on his shoulder and the little girl was the one to approach Pangu further. He looked down at her and smiled. “And you are?”

“Wi Lady. We met in Kyrie. You actually showed up to stop me from being bad.”

Her blunt answer was surprising. “Yeah?” Pangu smiled.

“We met her the same time we met Sha-parvati,” Heidi said, keeping her voice down low. Whether it was because her parents did not know or she did not want to disturb their current moment, it was hard to tell.

“Oh?” May got excited just as she did every time Parvati was brought up. She looked down at Lady. “You knew her too?”

“Uh huh!” Lady swung her hands back and forth, “Actually I was—”

“Later, Lady,” Heidi stopped her with a grin but the kid seemed to catch the message behind her words. Pangu suspected that their parents did not know the full story and that Heidi never intended for them to. She quickly switched topics by asking, “Pangu, do you want to hold your nephew?”

“Oh…of course.”

Idris walked closer and slowly transferred the baby into his arms. He could not be sure whether he had ever held a baby before but it did not feel as though he had. He worried he was doing something wrong but no one stopped or corrected him.

His small body was very red in a lot of places and there was barely any hair on his head. The skin around his face was creased and it was difficult to see what he might look like as he aged but there was something oddly cute about him as well.

“You know,” May’s voice sounded from over his shoulder as she peered down at the infant, “I do not think I have ever seen a baby before.”

“Come to think of it, me neither,” Kaz seconded.

“Other than passing by one in Mythos, no,” Fujin added.

“You three are so cut off,” Heidi said with a laugh.

“I am so sorry,” Pangu and Heidi’s mother broke them apart and walked closer, face still wet with tears. She sniffed and turned to the group of strangers. “I have not thanked you for saving my son. Please, let me make you all something to eat. Karto brought home some great fish if that sounds good.”

“That sounds great,” May beamed and said, “We have not had anything to eat since this morning.”

The woman smiled and reached out to Pangu, almost touching his arm but stopping before she made contact. “I will, of course, make a vegetable medley for you. I still keep some of your favorites stocked…”

Her eyes became glassy and she finally brushed her fingers against his robe but that completely broke her. She returned to sobbing but, this time, pulled Pangu into a hug.

He had been expecting it from the start although, while he was ready for it, he was not sure Pangu Junior was ready to be squished. Luckily, Heidi was quick with the maneuvering and probably used the air to help lift the baby up and away.

Pangu used his newly freed arms to wrap around the woman and hold her back. Even if he had no knowledge of her, he still felt compelled to comfort her. His father stepped closer as well and put a hand on the both of them, silently offering his support.

“I had always known you would die…” His mother started, her words muffled against his robes, but he could still hear her, “I had accepted that you would die young…that is what I thought. When you left the last time…I really thought I would probably never see you again so…so…I was not surprised but…”

He rubbed along her back, occasionally bumping into his father’s hand as well.

She continued to cry for a time, periodically lamenting her absence in his life but then condemning herself for being a bad follower of Tiandi for doubting him. Pangu saw why Heidi had decided not to give her all the details of his death and revival.

It would be too much for her.

“We will start dinner, mom,” Heidi said after a while, referring to herself and Idris.

“No, no, you need to take care of your baby. Let me take care of mine.” The woman finally peeled herself away from Pangu, wiped her eyes, and headed back inside.

His father looked at him, reached out and squeezed his arm, and then joined her.

The rest of them stayed in the yard, exchanging silent glances for a long while. Too long, apparently, for Lady’s liking.

“So can I tell them now?” she asked and checked back on the door.

Heidi laughed, breathily, and rubbed her forehead. “Sure. You know I like to keep the dark details away from grandma.”

“I know,” the girl said and put her hands on her waist before facing up at the new group, “Basically, Parvati came to me when I was dying in a ditch. She gave me a cool ability that I am not allowed to use anymore—”

“Why not?” May asked.

Lady pointed at Pangu. “He said so. As long as I promised not to and Parvati promised not to take me to Shakti, we were allowed to leave. Then mom asked for me to be brought here so I could have a real family and I have been good…mostly.”

“What is your ability?” May probed even more.

The girl checked with Heidi and Idris, as if she was seeking permission to say. Heidi sighed and nodded so she turned back to the princess and grinned. “I can use my eye to make people do what I say.”

Pangu was surprised such a thing existed and he was even more impressed with a child’s ability to resist using it. What was not surprising was May’s enthusiasm.

“That. Is. Amazing.” Her entire face lit up. “Do it to me.”

“What part of not allowed do you not get?” Lady sassed.

Fujin laughed. “You are much stronger than May, little Lady, she would never stop using it.”

Kaz pinched the bridge of his nose, stressed at the mere concept. “She would not.”

“Can you teach me how you do it?” May asked, proving their points.

“I can’t,” Lady groaned, “I wouldn’t even know how.”

“Maybe when I see Parvati again…”

Heidi was the one to laugh this time. When everyone looked over at her, she explained, “I can see what attracted Sha-parvati to you.”

“They are alike,” Idris commented, shifting his eyes from the child to May.

“What?” May took offense immediately, “Are you saying I remind you of a little kid?”

“Hey, I’m almost eleven!”

“Well I am an adult—that is not even close!”

“What are you, like seventeen?” Lady guessed.

May scoffed. “Pfffft, seventeen? Try twenty. I am a mature and wise woman so you should show a little respect.”

“Maybe if you acted mature.”

“I do act mature! I am so mature!”

“May, stop arguing with the eleven year old,” Fujin sighed, effectively breaking them apart.

Pangu snickered and watched them with great amusement. He did not even think he needed context to fully enjoy the scene before him.

“I think Lady is calmer,” Idris said after a few rounds of May and Lady making increasingly more aggressive faces at each other.

Lady backed up his claim by stopping and asking, “How do you know Parvati anyway?”

May stuck her tongue out one extra time before saying, “She taught me a cool trick too.” She then looked to Heidi, almost giving her the same face Lady had when asking for permission to speak. “Am I allowed to tell her what happened? It might be too graphic for a kid.”

“I am not a kid,” Lady grumbled.

Heidi laughed and took the initiative, “Lady, Pangu was brought back through a ritual. He did die…just keep it a secret from grandma, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

The blonde siblings looked at one another with some concern but Pangu did not feel worried. As strange as it might have been, he did trust Wi Lady with his secrets.

Just as he trusted his sister and even Idris despite not speaking to him much. He had only his feelings to rely on but they were strong and they insisted that everyone around was safe.

Their late dinner was finished and Pangu’s parents took charge of the conversation now that his mother was all cried out. She smiled more and looked quite relaxed—the relief of having her son back and in front of her was finally at the forefront of her mind.

But they did not stay up for very long. Everyone was tired and, while there were no extra beds and the baby cried through most of the night, Pangu was glad to have a roof over them and company he loved. He tried to pull on that thread of love while he laid there, waiting for sleep, but he still could not find the end of it—only more feelings and impressions.

Part of him wished he could stay, just a few more days, to try and dig more and force himself to remember but there was simply no room for them and he did not want to put any more stress on his family by making them cater, not just to him, but to his new friends as well.

Heidi understood and she met with him in the morning, while everyone else was still asleep. She had just nursed her son back to sleep and, despite the dark circles under her eyes, she smiled.

“I think you should head toward Castelle when you can. One of your other disciples might be there.”

Pangu raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Other than filling him in on recent events and a few facts about his early life, Heidi really had not told him anything. She was keeping details to herself to not influence him in any way.

“I think…if you were to see him again, you might actually remember something. I won’t say much else but you spent the most time with him out of everyone.” Her smile grew as she spoke of him and it made Pangu more than a little curious.

“I do not even get to know his name?”

She chuckled. “No. Hopefully, you will see him and remember.”

Her confidence was reassuring but he would not raise his hopes too high. “We will see.”

Heidi moved her hands to her hair, tied up into a loose knot behind her head, and pulled at it. Her hair fell and she held in her hand a rather ornate clip. She grabbed Pangu and placed the clip in his palm, closing his fingers over it.

“You bought me this in Ultimos, a lifetime ago,” she spoke quietly and her touch became light. For a brief, almost starling second, Pangu could see a crowd of people, in a market, and hear their chatter. But, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Heidi continued, bringing him back to the present, “For the past year, I wore it every day or I at least kept it on me. It made me feel like you were with me so…I want you to take it with you. I am happy knowing you are okay but I cannot come with you, as much as I would love to. So, keep this to remember me by.”

“This is not a goodbye,” Pangu countered and shook his head. “I will come back and see you again.”

“I know.” Her eyes squinted when she smiled even wider. “That is why I am giving it to you. If I thought I would never see you again, I would keep it.”

Pangu clasped his other hand over hers, holding her there for a moment. He did not want to let go but he could not stay there forever either.

They had to part ways.

[sleepysailorghost]

home or something like it

The rad-rain was pouring over Diamond City. People hurried from the market, desperate to get inside and out of the storm. Takahashi and Percy were still attempting to vend their wares, seemingly unaware of every human customer's collective desire to be inside.

Only the Diamond City security guards remained, grumbling about how they were gonna have to have their power noodles with a side of Radaway.

"Knight," Danse said, and then paused. Not a knight anymore, and he was no longer their superior. "Pal-"

He cut himself off there. The fat drops of rain plinked heavily on the metal awning of the shop. It felt wrong for him to refer to the wastelander he had sponsored as a Paladin.

"We really should get inside." He finished lamely.

Tracey nodded. They hadn't been prepared for a rad-storm, and it was foolish of them to continue hunting through the market when nearly all the shops had been closed. Rain was already begining to make its way into Danse's power armor.

"I have a place. It's nearby."

When Tracey said nearby, it could mean anything. Sometimes it meant miles away, sometimes it was a few minute's walk. Luckily, this time it was the latter.

He followed her lead-she was much more familiar with this city than he was.

There was an empty power armor by the door. As far as he knew, this wasn't a Brotherhood safehouse. It wouldn't make sense for them to take shelter in one, not when he had been exiled. His brothers and sisters shot on sight now.

Tracey just happened to be a faster shot. She said that it was likely due to the diagnostic functions of her Pip-Boy, or maybe due to her enhanced abilities with her cybernetic eye.

He remembered how she had stumbled exiting the teleportation array. She was clutching at her eye. He had caught her in his arms before she hit the ground. Maxson had yelled for a medic. After that, it was many hours before he saw Tracey again. Hours that had been filled with Cade and Quinlan poking around her eye and into her head. She didn't like to talk about that.

Her hand fumbles a bit with a key, one with a Nuka-Cola keychain latched onto it. She steadies her arm, trying to halt a tremor that had crept into her movements.

"Come on in." She pushes the door open and steps in. "There's a bay for your armor in the house. I don't want it sitting out in the rain."

"That would make two of us." He says smoothly, following her. He frowns when they step inside. This isn't a safe house or even a warehouse of some sort. This is someone's home. There's a mat at the door, the type sometimes found in old world houses. A sign for Nuka-Floats, lights strung up to illuminate the dwelling.

"Paladin," He says, even if he doesn't feel right using that title, but needing to be serious with her for a second. "Who owns this house?"

Tracey's eyes narrow a bit, maybe in confusion.

"I do. I had the key, didn't I?" She respondes, although he knows that she doesn't need keys to get in. He's seen her crack open dozens of locks. She points him to the power armor bay.

He obliges. Wet power armor is a nightmare. He's going to be unsticking the joints for weeks.

"This wasn't really how I had planned bringing you here." Tracey says quietly. "Not that I had planned on bringing you here. That isn't how I meant that."

Danse sees Tracey differently in that moment. It's a moment where she's shed the cool exterior she puts on for the world. It's tender, and in that moment, Danse feels like he's very close to Tracey.

He thinks back to the Bunker, and her actions there. He still can't understand why she would react like that.

His clothes are wet and sticking to his skin. He had forgotten that in favor of observing Tracey. She hadn't been talking to herself persay, but her voice was muffled by her bandana.

She seems to notice their state of dress about the same time he does. He rummages through his supplies, but they are soaked through. Looks like he'll have to stick with what's on his back. He reminds himself that he's done it before and it hadn't killed him then. It's no different now, and he resigns himself to the thought.

Tracey, however, hasn't.

"Here." She hands him a set of dry clothes. What she hands him is men's clothing and he wonders for a second if she has a man in her life. Then he thinks that if she had, he'd have ran into him already. The mercenary she travels with sometimes comes to mind, and he wonders if that's Tracey's man. "You change behind that curtain."

With that, she books it back to the other room. He changes into the dry clothing she had provided and is shocked by the comfort it provides. They're very soft.

When he returns, Tracey is toweling her hair into a dryer state.

"Thank you for the clothing. I didn't know you had procured a house in Diamond City."

"You're welcome, Danse. Everything fits?"

"Yes, thank you." The mercenary's clothes wouldn't be able to fit Danse, would they? "Do you mind if I look around a bit?"

"No, that's fine." She's still trying to wring the rain from her blonde hair.

He does look around, although his observations are more field scouting than any other. He is curious to see if he can find any clues about Tracey's mystery man husband, and keeps an eye out for any possible clues.

There are three possible point of entry: two doors and a ladder to the roof. A stove and a worbench are propped up one wall and a hallway leads into a bedroom.

Tracey's bedroom, he thinks distantly. There are two beds pushed together along one wall. Above the beds, an orange and white Brotherhood of Steel banner is hung. Under the bed, he can see a suitcase.

It is improper to be standing in the initiate he sponsored's bedroom. His friend's bedroom, he corrects, but turns around and heads up the wooden stairs to the partial second floor.

There's a desk upstairs and another bed. A comfortable chair and a toolbox. Quite a lot in a small space. Then he sees the shelf full of toys and he grimmaces a little.

This is a child's bedroom. A bedroom for Tracey's child, a child who would never be able to sleep in the room his mother had prepared for him.

How many times had he commented about her stopping to pick up junk when she was picking up toys for her child?

He heads back down to where Tracey was.

"The location is secure." He says awkwardly.

"I suppose?" She says with a raised eyebrow.

"You should put on dry clothes." From experience, he knew that Tracey struggled to feel warm, and wet clothes weren't going to help. If he looked closely, weren't her lips starting to go blue?

She followed his request, walking over to the bedroom and retrieving a set of dry clothes. After she had changed, she started to work a comb through her tangled and damp hair.

"I don't think the storm will let up anytime soon. I think we should stay the night here."

"Fine by me." he agreed, and watched Tracey struggle to comb her hair. "Do you need assistance with that?"

"No, I can manage it on my own."

It wasn't often that Tracey accepted help from anyone, although she always seemed willing to offer it. Danse often thought that she was too stubborn for her own good.

"It might be easier if I did it?" He said, and she conceded.

And then they were sitting on Tracey's bed, and he was gently combing tangles from her hair.

It felt good being touched by someone who wasn't trying to kill you. Tracey had almost forgotten that. How many days had she lived without any sort of touch?

He carded his fingers through her hair. She didn't know why he had wanted to comb her hair. Maybe he didn't even know. It was such a soft, gentle touch that it left her wanting it to never end. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

She hoped Danse hadn't seen. How would she explain that? "Sorry, I'm just crying because I forgot what it felt like to be touched?".

"Sorry," Danse murmured. "Did I hurt you?"

It took Tracey a moment to find her voice.

"No." With that affirmation, he took up Tracey's comb and used it, gently turning her head to better reach.

How bizarre. He was sitting on Tracey's bed combing through her hair. Decorum didn't outline this particular scenario, but he knew he was acting a little too familiar for a sponsor. A twinge in his chest reminded him he wasn't required to adhere to the rules of the Brotherhood anymore.

He pulls the comb through her hair a little too sharply and she hisses a little.

"I didn't mean to do that." His voice is soft, barely audible, in that moment because it feels wrong to be anything else. "Sorry."

It's nice to comb through Tracey's hair, even if it was bizarre. In another life, she had been his knight. Eventually, her hair is combed through, and he feels reluctant to stop. As if he would lose something if this were to end.

When that thought occurs to him, he forces his hands to stop.

"I think I'm done." He says, and Tracey quickly smooths her hands over her hair, mussing it in several places.

"Thank you." She moves to stand, his knee grazing the back of her thigh. Both of them avoid eye contact. "I'll go fix dinner. I have supplies here that should be good."

He decided to check his power armor while she did that. It gave him something to do at the very least, and he wanted to make sure he had catalogued any repairs that needed to be made to his X-01.

He could see Tracey cooking in her little kitchen. She had a stove rigged up rather than one of the cooking spits found in the wastelands. It was was nothing pre-war, sure, but it was functional. She was bustling about and humming to herself, no bandana to muffle the noise.

He found that he liked it as he disassembled his power armor. In fact, Danse sort of lost himself in the process of repair and listening to Tracey hum absent-mindedly as she cooked. If it wasn't for the fact that they had spent plenty of evenings repairing their weapons or armor together, he would say that this evening was domestic.

A hand on his shoulder breaks him out of his reverie.

"It's time to eat." She offers him a hand up from where he was crouched on the ground, and he accepts it. She takes their chipped pre-war bowls off the stove and then, as if she's just realized it, says "I don't have a table."

She seems so flustered at this. Like she's somehow spurned him by not being a good host when they are taking shelter from the rain. It's sort of fascinating to watch her come to some solution.

"We can eat at the couch? Or in the bedroom, if you'd prefer that."

If it was coming from anyone else, Danse might have thought they were flirting. He wouldn't have known what to do if they were-not that he would know what to do if Tracey flirted with him either.

He doesn't entertain that thought any further.

"The couch will be fine." he says, coughing a little to clear his throat. "This looks delicious, thank you."

"No, of course." They sit on the couch and enjoy their simple meal.

"So you decorated your house and you forgot to get a table?"

"I'm not here that much. I basically bought and decorated the house one night. Before today, I hadn't been back here since I visited the Institute."

He blew on his next bite before he ate it.

"I sort of wish I hadn't bought the house. Seeing Kellogg's memories really gave me hope that I'd see Shaun again."

"You bought this house to live in with your son?" He feels a pang of sympathy for her. He had hoped she would be able to reunite with her son, but it ended up just deepening his hatred for the Institute.

"Yeah. I thought it would be the best place for him to live. There's a school here, and he'd grow up with other kids. It would be better than travelling with me all the time." She rested her fork on the bowl. "But it doesn't matter. I just haven't decided what to do with his things yet."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something." He patted her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. "What does the mercenary say?"

"Oh, MacCready?" She poked around her bowl with the fork. "I haven't asked him. Piper might have an idea though. I'll ask next time I see her. I don't want it all to go to waste."

How like Tracey, to think that. He knew that if a random wastelander asked for help creating something like this, she'd be ready to help in an instant.

"So he doesn't live with you?" He was prying, he knew.

"Only when we're travelling together. Don't tell him, but he's practically a brother to me. Why do you ask?"

"Security reasons." It was a logical enough explanation, he thought.

Tracey didn't question him any further. They finished their meal in companionable silence.

"I'm tired out. You can take the bed, I'll take the floor."

"There are two beds." He said plainly. "You don't need to sleep on the floor."

"I can't sleep in the bed. I'll get it dirty."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"And it won't get dirty if I sleep in it?"

"You don't have the same blood on your hands as I do."

He wanted to fire back that he did, in fact, have the same blood on his hands. He looked Tracey in the eyes. There was sincerity there, and he understood what it meant. She didn't think she was worthy of that comfort, as meager as it may be.

Taking one of her hands in his, he examined it.

"Your hands are clean. You can sleep in one bed and I'll sleep in the other."

She still looked reluctant. More drastic measures were needed then. Releasing her hand, he grabbed at her waste pulling her up into his arms. It was a little awkward, sure, but he settled her into a princess carry.

What a show of trust in him that she didn't fight him when he picked her up. Had it been anyone else, she'd have fought the whole way, broke their grip and then shot them.

Danse was plenty strong, but Tracey weighed less than he thought. Needed to eat more, he notes, pressing Tracey closer to his chest.

"You're on the bed now and it isn't dirty. You can rest now, soldier."

Later, he hears a response in the night. So quiet he might have missed it.

"Thank you, Danse."

Tracey's house wasn't home to either or them. But maybe one day, it could be

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XXIV

Prompto drove the snowmobile out of the facility. The vehicle sped across the snow as they tried to find a safe place away from the empire. (Y/n) unwound one of her arms from around him and conjured a few flaming throwing knives. She tossed them at the soldiers that were trying to stop them, knocking them out of the way. "You focus on driving! I'll handle the enemies!" She shouted over the engine.

"Gotcha!" Prompto guided the snowmobile through the opening she created. He tried his best to avoid the paths littered with imperial forces, but some of them he couldn't avoid at all.

(Y/n) continued to use her magic even though it was weak. They didn't make it far before they were being followed by airships. Seeing the incoming bombs, she instructed Prompto on which way to go in order to avoid being blown to smithereens. While giving him directions, she managed to conjure a large fiery vortex that consumed many of the airships. It was weak, but powerful enough to take down the air vessels.

Her body slumped against Prompto's back once they were in the clear for a short while. Her breathing was shallow and he could tell. "Hang in there a little longer, (Y/n)."

"Whatever they drugged me with hasn't completely worn off." She smiled weakly. "But I'll do my best."

As he drove off a ramp and off the cliffside, her grip tightened around his waist. She could feel the extent of her exhaustion and shook her head, trying to stave it off as long as she could. She was pulled from her tiredness the moment she spotted MA Hoplomachuses in the distance. Holding up her hand again, she formed her own fiery missiles and used them to intersect the mechs' projectiles. She saved them from being blown off the snowmobile.

As they sped past the mechs, (Y/n) could see the edges of her vision were turning black. She was beginning to lose consciousness and barely couldn't keep her eyes open. She closed her eyes for a brief second, but they shot open when she heard another MA Hoplomachus. Lifting her head from Prompto's back, she watched as the mech landed in the snow and blocked their path. It fired a barrage of missiles at them, which she was unable to protect them from.

Prompto expertly dodges the first three missile, but the fourth hits the ground just behind the snowmobile as he drove off a cliff. He lost his balance due to the blast from the explosion and wound up losing control of the vehicle. They both flew off the snowmobile and crashed into the snow at the bottom of the cliff. (Y/n) lost consciousness, her body slowly being covered with the fresh snowfall.

On the other hand, Prompto was still conscious. His body was in pain from the crash and he laid in the cold snow for a short while. Then, he slowly rolls onto his back and lays there looking up for a moment at the falling snow. He shuts his eyes for a brief moment. "Catch ya later, Aranea..."

After a quiet moment passes, Prompto pushes himself onto his hands and knees and crawls over to (Y/n). He checked her for injuries before sitting beside her with a heavy sigh once seeing she was uninjured. "At least I'm not alone..." Standing up, he pulled the snowmobile out of the snow and placed it right-side up.

Next, he returned to the spirit and scooped her up into his arms. He carries her over to the vehicle, placing her unconscious form behind him. Patting his pants, he found the bandana that was once tied around his arm. He grabbed her wrists and tied them together with it while they were hooked around his waist. "Hope it isn't too tight, (Y/n)," he whispered. Leaning forward, he grabbed the handles and started the snowmobile.

Carefully, Prompto drove the rest of the way to Decratom Haven. He parked the snowmobile right beside the runic stone before untying (Y/n)'s wrists and carrying her the rest of the way. He placed her down on the cold ground, already missing her warmth.

His next course of action was to start a fire. He managed to locate some sticks and ignited them by striking two rocks together. He tossed the rocks aside, huffing out a grunt. "What I wouldn't do for fire magic right about now..."

With the campfire now burning bright, Prompto searched for any provisions left behind by previous campers. Luckily, he found a single can and a spoon. He sat down beside the curled up (Y/n) and popped open the can to enjoy its contents.

As night fell over Eos, Prompto lowered the can. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he knew he would need sustenance after what all happened and what is to come. He took a few bites before leaving the rest for the spirit. "Almost as good as what Iggy used to make," he chuckled feebly. He sets the can down and looks around. His eyes landed on the unconscious girl. "Well, at least it's quiet for a change and you can get some rest, (Y/n)."

Prompto stared into the bright flames of the campfire for a moment before pulling up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal the barcode on the back of his wrist. He grunts and grits his teeth, then begins frantically trying to scratch the barcode away. "Damnit!" He cursed after seeing it was futile. Looking back into the fire, the boy reaches down and picks up a burning stick. He looks down at his barcode and begins lowering the stick toward it. He holds the burning wood above his barcode and begins breathing heavily.

Just before he could press the burning wood against his skin, it was snatched out of his grasp. His head shot up to see (Y/n) was conscious and had stopped him. He stared into her golden eyes with his turmoil-filled cerulean ones. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came from him.

"What were you planning to do, Prompto?" She demanded, her tone lower than he had ever heard before. She was scolding him like a child.

"I just... I just want this thing to go away," Prompto confessed, eyes looking back at the barcode on his wrist.

Her eyes narrowed. "And you thought burning it would be a good solution?"

"Yes..."

She quickly got to her feet with the burning stick in her grasp. "Let's test that solution then." She combed her (h/c) locks aside and pulled down the collar of her outfit to reveal the barcode on the back of her neck. She brought the burning stick up to it, but she was immediately stopped by Prompto.

"Stop!" He bellowed, flying to his feet and grabbing her wrist. "Please, don't burn yourself, (Y/n). I... I realize how stupid of an idea it was."

"Don't tell me you thought that would work," they heard Aranea say. Prompto releases the spirit's wrist and takes a few steps back from her to look at the ex-mercenary. (Y/n) kept her back to her as the woman addresses them both. ""Prompto" and "(Y/n)," right?"

The guardian turned around with an amused smile, tossing the stick back into the fire. "Wow, you actually used my name."

Aranea guffawed as she sits down by the fire. "Don't get used to it, firefly."

(Y/n) remained standing while Prompto sits down. The blonde didn't say anything and hung his head. This didn't go unnoticed by either woman. The youngest one said nothing while the older one tried to lighten the mood. "You could at least look happy to see me."

The (h/c)-haired girl hugged herself. Not only had the boy learned the truth of his origins, but hers as well. "It's...been a long day, Aranea."

"Hasn't it for all of us," she sighed.

Prompto just continues to look down, saying nothing. Aranea tried to spark up a conversation with him. "I ran into your buddies in Tenebrae." This got his attention and he looked up at her. "You and your girlfriend got 'em worried sick."

Prompto looks back down, his melancholic gaze focusing on the ground. He remained silent.

"You both gonna go see 'em or what?" Aranea questioned.

"I think we should," (Y/n) said, voicing her opinion.

The boy looked up at her for a brief second before hanging his head. "I... I can't."

The spirit's eyes widen in bewilderment. She could tell he was in despair over learning the truth, but she never expected it to stop him from seeing his friends ever again. "Prompto..."

He didn't dare look into her eyes as he explained why he couldn't see the others. "I can't... I'm not like them. I was born here—in Niflheim. All this time and I've never told them. And that's not even the worst part. I wasn't born into a happy family. I was made—created in some laboratory. The entire reason I exist is to make Noct and all of them miserable. How could I possibly see them? They'd never accept the real me."

The same went for (Y/n), but she had come to terms with her origins years ago. Unlike her, Prompto just learned the truth behind his existence. Feeling guilt knew at her heart, she turned and left the haven. She could feel eyes on her back as she trudged through the snow towards the nearby frozen lake.

Prompto and Aranea had both watched her leave, but the boy couldn't tear his eyes away from her until she was a mere speck in the distance. He turned his grief-stricken gaze back to the fire. While his words were meant to describe him, they also described her just as well. However, his emotions were torn asunder unlike hers who seemed to be intact.

Aranea, after a few moments of silence, smiles. "You spent all that time driving around together and you still don't know what kinda guys they really are. In case you forgot, your princely pal and I weren't always on such friendly terms. But you know what? He put all that aside and asked me to make sure you and firefly were safe."

Prompto was taken aback at the news. "He did?"

"Think he'd do that for someone who "makes him miserable"?" She remarked.

Prompto swallowed the lump forming in his throat and asked, "Is everybody okay?"

"All things considered, I guess. Sounds like they've been through a lot since you and firefly left, but they're still dead set on getting to the capital."

"Hope they make it..." He mumbled.

"They'd have a better shot with you two around."

Prompto became even more curious. "Did they say anything else about me or (Y/n)?"

"Not that I can recall," Aranea answered.

"Right..." He clutched his hands together tightly.

"His Highness was so worried about you two that he could barely speak, but don't worry—I whipped him into shape."

"So...he doesn't hate us after all..."

Aranea saw the turmoil of emotions in his eyes, but she could tell what he truly desired. She stood up with a sigh. "Look—I can tell you want to get back together with them. So why not let them know?" She begins walking away.

"You think they'd let me and (Y/n) back? After all this?" Prompto retorted. The ex-mercenary stops and turns back toward him. After a brief silence, he speaks again. "And even if they did let us back, we'd probably cause them nothing but trouble. I don't know how we could live with ourselves."

Aranea exclaims in frustration and begins walking back toward himself. "Because you're doing such a great job of living with yourself and firefly now." She kicks him onto his back and crouches down over him. "What do you want then? You worry so much about what other people want from you that you don't even know what you want anymore! Your life isn't yours to live! You're too busy wallowing in your own self pity that you can't see what's right in front of you! Are you really so blind that you can't see the one person who cares more about you than any other person on Eos is already here?!"

She grabs both sides of his face in her hands. "Forget about what everyone else thinks for a second. Figure out what it is you're really after here and see what you already have." She stands and takes a few steps back. "Now get your ass up and go talk to firefly. If you don't realize how lucky you are to have her, I'll take her off your hands."

Prompto's eyes widen at Aranea's declaration. He pushed himself off the ground and stood up. Looking towards the frozen lake, he saw the guardian was still there. Thanks to Aranea, he finally realized he wasn't truly alone in this world. Even if Noctis and the others didn't accept him, he still had the one person that mattered the most—(Y/n).

Leaving the warmth of the campfire, Prompto went to speak with her. Even with no light source, the snow provided the entire area with a semblance of illumination. When he reached her side, he stared out across the surface of the frozen lake. Before he could even say anything, she spoke up. "I'm so sorry, Prompto," she mumbled sorrowfully. Tears were forming in her eyes, her body shaking slightly. Prompto turned his head, eyes widening when seeing her current state. He reached out to touch her, but his hand froze midair when she continued. "I'm sorry for keeping everything a secret. I didn't want you to find out this way. I wanted to tell you about who we truly were years ago, b-but I could never build up the courage. I was afraid that if you learned the truth, you would want to get rid of me and you'd shut yourself away from the world. I should've told you so you would've been able to sort through your feelings and come to terms with it sooner. This is all my fault..." The floodgates were destroyed and tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body shook with sobs.

Prompto's heart shattered at her words. He felt his own tears forming and took action. He turned her so she was now facing him and cradled her face in his hands. He wiped away her tears, leaning his forehead against hers and staring into her tear-stricken eyes. Taking a couple steps closer, he pressed his body against hers. "None of this is your fault, (Y/n). Even if I did know sooner, there's no way I'd get rid of you. You mean too much to me, even more than the guys. You've been my world since we first met. Aranea's right... I'm the luckiest guy on Eos because I have you. Even if Noct and the others don't want us back after telling them the truth, we'll still have each other."

"Prompto..." (Y/n) whispered his name between sobs.

"I still need time to come to terms with all this and sort through my feelings. Will you help me, (Y/n)?"

She smiled through her tears. "Of course I will." She placed her hands over his.

"And if you don't mind... I'm super curious about you now. Think we could talk?"

"Yeah. Let's head back to the haven."

Back at Decratom Haven, Prompto and (Y/n) sat beside each other near the campfire. The girl hugged her knees to her chest as she listened to the crackling of the firewood. "I am...was the guardian of Verstael Besithia. What you saw was a warped version of the man I once knew. I used to help him with his research until his methods became inhumane. My plan was to betray him and share his secrets with Lucis. Verstael learned about my plan to betray him and...killed the real (Y/n)."

"So, that memory echo the guys and I saw in the quarry..." Prompto's voice trailed off.

"Was of my death. After killing the real (Y/n), Verstael dedicated most of his time to recreating her in his own image. His main goal was to overwrite her memories and have her remain loyal to only him. From what I discovered in the facility, he failed over and over again. For years, he continued to try and recreate her, but he would only make it so far before the clone perished. Even after so many failed attempts, he wouldn't give up. After many years passed, he eventually made an exact copy of (Y/n) with no memories of the past."

"And that's you," Prompto mumbled. "Then how do you remember all this if his experiment was a success?"

"He wasn't able to erase my memories, only lock them away. When I turned twelve, I remembered everything. When I first saw your barcode after I regained my memories, I knew exactly who you were. Of course, I never said anything and look where we are now..."

Prompto hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. "Well, now I understand why you're four years older than. I didn't question it at first until you told me the truth about guardians. If you were supposed to be a fragment of me, how are you four years older than me? But now I know." Remembering what Ardyn said earlier, he chuckled and leaned his head against hers. "Thank the Six both of us were taken away from the facility. I'm not sure what my life would be like without you."

"I wonder the same sometimes," (Y/n) confessed. "A life being raised by Verstael with those horrid memories in my head would've been awful..."

Prompto suddenly yawned. He snuggled closer to her and closed his eyes. Although his emotions were still a mess, he was more composed thanks to his chat with the guardian.

Seeing he was tired, (Y/n) released her knees. "You should get some rest, Prom."

"So should you. I can tell you're still exhausted," he said.

"You've no idea..." She huffed, laying down on her back once he released her. "That drug they injected me with is still kicking my ass..."

Prompto laughed before falling onto his back beside her. Although he was laughing and smiling on the surface, he was still a mess on the inside. He stared up at the cave ceiling for a few minutes, falling into deep thought. It wasn't long until he was brought back to reality when the chill of the snowy landscape gnawed at his bones. Not even his current set of clothes or the campfire could stave off all the cold.

Turning over onto his side, he faced (Y/n). He realized she had curled up on her side, facing away from him. It was the perfect position. Scooting closer, he snuggled up to her with an arm lazily wrapped around her waist. He pulled her closer until her back was flush against his body. Feeling her warmth made him sigh with content. "You're so warm, (Y/n)," he mumbled. When receiving no response, Prompto figured she was already fast asleep. He tucked her head under his chin. Her warmth eventually spread through his entire body, brining him comfort. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

[bonesaldente]

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 6: The Interrogation

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

words: ~1800

_____

He hears the prisoner before he sees her. The woman who was so inconspicuous in the throne room is now cursing him, the troopers, and the entire Republic out at the top of her longs, her voice echoing through the corridor. At least he highly suspects it is her voice; it is undistorted and clear, much lighter than the voice he remembers.

“... And your brothers and every single person who has taken part in this, no mercy, no survivors, and if you think you can-”

The angry ranting stops at once when Obi-Wan steps into the woman’s view.

For a moment, his breath is taken away. This face… It is like he is back on Naboo, carrying the lifeless body of Master Qui-Gon. The memory hits him hard and unexpectedly, causing him to falter in his step for the fraction of a second before he regains his composure.

“You,” the woman looks daggers at him through the force field that separates her from the outside, suddenly not looking like the woman he remembers at all but much more like how one would expect Spectress to look like under that signature mask, except for much more… human. And vulnerable.

He does not like the swell of pity he senses rising in himself when he catches a glimpse of her bloodshot eyes and the bruising on her cheek - after all, she stood by and watched as Satine was killed, slaughtered by Maul, and even appealed for his own execution.

But Revenge is not the Jedi Way… And neither is resentment, no matter the deed.

“General,” The guards salute him. “We have confiscated her belongings and searched them for any tracking devices.”

“And you are certain that she is unarmed?”

“We’ve run several scans, sir.”

“Good.”

He assesses the situation briefly, taking in her hands that are cuffed to the table.

“Open the cell, I wish to speak to her.”

She has stopped speaking, only glowering at him when he enters the claustrophobic space.

“You got a lot of nerve-”

“Please,” he interrupts, sitting down. “Do not make this any harder than it needs to be.”

“I am- It was you who kidnapped me!” Her features are contorted in rage and with it, her light accent shines through otherwise flawless Basic.

“Kidnapped?” Obi-Wan questions. “You have multiple open arrest warrants and were complicit in the violent takeover of Mandalorian rule-”

“That took place in a neutral system and is thus not under Republic jurisdiction if I have to remind you. Besides, it was Pre Vizsla who pushed your duchess off her throne,” Her voice takes on another, more malicious undertone while she widens her eyes mockingly sweet, “Obi.”

The old nickname stings more than he would like to admit, especially coming from someone who was there when it happened, but he forces himself to remain objective... and fair.

“We have a few questions for you. If you cooperate and answer them truthfully, we will be able to lower your sentence considerably.”

Considering she is responsible for the assassinations of multiple senators, her prison sentence is still going to be at least two digits, but there could be worse things. Aside from that, Obi-Wan has seen how quickly one could escape from prison. Somebody like Spectress, who is already known for being one of the... craftier faces of the underground could probably-

“Lower my sentence?” She sounds almost offended. “After you unlawfully took me from my planet? I don’t think so.”

His heart sinks when it becomes painfully obvious that she will do anything but cooperate, even though he expected that going into it.

The prisoner leans forward on her elbows, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You will regret this, Kenobi:”

“Look, as much as you may dislike this, we have the upper hand here. We can start simple. Your name?”

“None of your concern.”

“Since you have committed crimes against the Republic, it is, actually.”

She rolls her eyes shifting away from him again, unresponsive.

“Perhaps something else, then. What do you know of the creation of the clone army?”

“The clones?” The mercenary furrows her brows. “What would I know of them? And why would you care, isn’t it you they work for?”

He chooses to ignore her last question, instead pushing further.

“We know you were acquainted with Jango Fett, and that you’ve been to the facilities on Kamino.”

She only quirks an eyebrow, in turn ignoring him.

“Pardon my choice of words, the clones don’t work for you, I forgot. They don’t get paid, do they?”

“What was your relationship with Fett?”

“Again, none of your concern. Hey, you!” The woman looks over his shoulder at one of the two guards standing by the cell. “Do you get paid for this? And did you choose to risk your life for people who don’t even care about you?”

Obi-Wan glances at the trooper, Flamer if he recalls correctly, who remains unmoving, though his back straightens almost unnoticeably.

“Again, it is my concern. Were you related?” She scoffs in response. “Were you a client? Partners? Lovers?”

The last word makes her grimace in distaste.

“We were friends, Kenobi, a concept I’m sure must be quite foreign to the likes of you.”

“Friends?” He raises an eyebrow. At last, something to go off of. “Do you know who hired Fett as a genetic donor?”

Her eye twitches.

“I find it quite presumptuous of you to be asking me all these things… After all, it was one of your Jedi knights who decapitated him. Perhaps if you had been more considerate then, you’d now be able to ask him yourself.”

For a moment, heavy silence hangs in the room like a cloud of smoke. “But you can’t,” she concludes. “Because you murdered him.”

Oh, her tone is so bitter, Obi-Wan knows his death struck her hard, even though it had been years back.

“I do not believe he was solely a friend of yours,” He comments. “I think he was more than that, or you would not be so caught up on his passing.”

“His violent murder? You are correct, it was quite memorable, not only to me but also to his son,” she spits. “I believe you’ve met him, haven’t you? How does it feel knowing one of you slaughtered his father before his own two eyes? How can the Jedi be so morally condescending after all the families they have ripped apart?”

“Your family amongst them?”

“Numerous families, Kenobi. And yes, most recently, you have torn me from whatever I had on Mandalore.”

“Did you consider Jango Fett family?” He presses on further.

“Does it matter? Certainly not to you, right?”

“We are trying to get to the bottom of a case here,” he explains calmly. “And any information you have may prove to be useful.”

“Why would I help you?” She snorts. “To get one life sentence instead of two? A cell with a window? An autograph from the famed Jedi general himself?”

Obi-Wan has a strong urge to bury his face in his hands in frustration. Instead, he puts on the kindest smile he can muster at this moment.

“Because I believe that you, contrary to popular opinion, do have morals. We are looking into something that goes deeper than a simple feud you have with our order, even deeper than the hatred Maul harbors for it… and me.” He closes his eyes for a second to reflect.

“I am asking you, in all seriousness, if you can give us anything that could possibly point us in the right direction.”

The woman looks at him differently now. The constant scowl is gone from her features, replaced by a slight frown.

“You speak of the Sith.”

“What do you know of them?”

She glares at him. “More than you.”

“Then I take it you know who the master is?”

Something flashes across her face, brief enough to miss it if he blinked. Silence ensues as she seems to ponder, intense eyes focused on something invisible in the air

He holds his breath, feeling the revelation so close.

“I…” she finally begins hesitantly, “He is-” She gulps and goosebumps rise on Obi-Wan’s spine when he sees her fingertips tremble against the metal table, wondering who could have the ability to instill this much fear in a person.

Her mouth opens to continue, but no words come out. She blinks in confusion, trying again and looking down to the side when the words refuse to leave her mouth.

“He is… he controls…” The words come out in a strained voice, but before she reveals concrete information, she starts choking as if something is closing around her windpipe.

True, sincere panic fills her eyes when her hands struggle against their restraints as she attempts to claw at the invisible force around her throat. Intuitively, Obi-Wan reaches out, despite there being no physical enemy. His hand drops when she flinches away from him, too, but in that moment the invisible attack ceases and she gasps for air, slumping forward, facing the sterile floor.

Neither party speaks for a minute.

“I can’t help you,” the woman eventually states, voice hoarse. “Just know you face an evil of a scale that you can’t… comprehend yet.”

The atmosphere has gone through such a complete change that Obi-Wan feels it is unwise to continue the interrogation much longer.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I am not cooperating,” she hisses, right back to being the renowned mercenary. “I just know we have a common enemy. Which does not” Her glare tells him she knows he was about to make a hopeful comment about working together, “make us allies. I still despise you and everything you stand for.”

“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We will resume tomorrow.” He pushes the metal chair back, moving to stand up.

“Wait.”

The urgency in her voice makes him freeze for a moment.

“Something else you would like to tell me?”

“Give it back.”

“Give what back?”

“My stuff, Kenobi. You have taken several of my possessions, some of which were,” she curls her lip, “of value to me.” “What exactly are you talking about? Perhaps if you show more willingness to work with us in the future, something could be arranged.”

“For one, I want my anonymity back, but you destroyed that option when you took away my mask while I was unconscious.”

The last words are delivered with force, her gaze downright deadly.

“But that’s not all. You took something else, something of… sentimental value.”

She glances at her hands.

“When I was kidnapped by your rebel friends, I was wearing a ring on my right hand and somebody took it. All I want is to have it back, is that too much to ask for?”

A ring? He didn’t expect a request so… mundane.

He gives her one last look before turning and leaving the cell.

“We will talk tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

_____

notes: Whew, quite a bit of dialogue in this one, though I have to admit that I do really enjoy writing it :)

See you all next week ~

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d 

[ss9slb]

Part 3 Chapter 17a

This first of the 3 part final chapter - hoping that getting this part, that has been redrafted so many times, finally out will motivate me to finish the next bit.

---/---

3 months later….

---/---

If he needed to breathe Dracula would have been holding his breath.

As it was he could still feel the weight of Mycroft’s gaze on his back, the younger vampire almost gleeful…well for Mycroft…certainly brimming with pride for his own accomplishment, and Dracula would concede they never would have made it to this point so quickly and with so little bloodshed without Mycroft’s connections.

Yet it hadn’t been Mycroft at the negotiating table, charming and intimidating others into agreeing to this peace accord. The truce that would pull them back from the brink of civil war and sometimes hard, ruthless decisions had to made, and someone…him had to make them…that he was one of the few Elders left had eased that process greatly.

What had started as an opportunistic attack by the dregs of Clan de Rais had quickly escalated. The deaths of several prominent Elders at the ball had thrown their world into chaos; the lie of Elder superiority had been quickly and viscously exposed. It left battles for control raging within clans, as leaderless factions grappled for seniority, and provided an excuse for outright attacks between clans, who took advantage of the chaos to settle ancient blood feuds.

Fortunately for Dracula, Mycroft had resurfaced a few days after the ball, with a limp and a vicious looking scar to tell for his adventure. However, when he turned up without Agatha, or any word on her or Isabella, Dracula’s first instinct had been to gut him; fortunately for Mycroft he resisted that urge. Although that restraint was tested when news of Isabella’s staked body reached them. Dracula had practically ripped Mycroft’s head from his shoulders, knowing that of the two Agatha had already been injured, and if Isabella was dead…Only the reassuring presence of Agatha through their connection had saved Mycroft’s life.

Still competent allies were hard to come by, and other than finding Agatha Dracula’s priority had to be securing the other members of his clan by removing them to a remote safe location. Agatha would never let him live it down, if he abandoned them simply to run after her. His second priority was in trying to establish just who had survived the attack, working together to identify who was with them and who was against them, in that Mycroft had been invaluable…and it had been Mycroft’s idea that had brought stability to their government…

“Count Dracula it is now your turn to sign…” The young court clerk eyed the Elder vampire with some trepidation, handing him the quill that the other Elders had used, the scent of their blood still lingering on the nib.

Cutting open his own palm, Dracula dipped the nib in his blood before leaning down and signing his name to the truce agreement…there is was done, and his attention could finally shift to other matters. And there was only one matter left in Dracula’s mind, it was time he found his bride and brought her home.

---/---

“So, have you two boys finally finished playing war?”

It had already been a long night…no forget that a long month…and the last thing Count Dracula needed after a day of tricky negotiations was Lucy poking at him. That she was meant to be in her lessons with her sisters clearly meant nothing to the immature vampire. Dracula almost admired her single-minded determination in that way, or he would have, were not for this damn headache that wouldn’t go away…

“Ms Westenra we are in the middle of planning a new government we are not playing anything.” Mycroft interceded on Dracula’s behalf, their Elder had become increasingly prickly lately, and although Mycroft doubted Dracula would react with violence, it was his job to try and protect the younger members of their clan…not that Lucy seemed to notice, a more self-centred girl he had never come across.

“Fine then since you’re both too busy, why don’t you let me and some of my sisters out of this prison you call a mansion and we’ll go find Agatha.” Lucy countered almost airily, suppressing the urge to stick her tongue out at Mycroft, and concentrating on their Elder. Dracula at least seemed interested in finding Agatha.

Resisting the urge to swear and maintaining his polite expression only through sheer force of will, Mycroft inwardly cursed Lucy instead. It had taken quite some persuasion to distract Count Dracula from that very topic and onto the detail of the next steps of establishing a government, and now thanks to this church-bell, Dracula would once again be a nightmare to manage.

“It would be too dangerous to let you go by yourself and you know it Lucy.” Dracula sighed, leaning back in his leather desk chair, raising a hand to rub across his forehead, as he allowed himself to show a fraction of just how exhausted he truly felt. He was far more at home on a battlefield than he was the negotiating table.

“Then let me take some of the mortal mercenaries, let them take the fire instead of us, that was why you hired them right? To keep us safe, not to keep us locked up? Besides it’s been months Big D, Agatha’s going to think we don’t want her back, and as dangerous at it might be for us, how much more danger is she in out there all alone?” Lucy was tenacious when she had the bit between her fangs, at first, she had allowed them to fob her off. Knowing the threat of violence to their clan was real, or Big D wouldn’t have dragged them all out of London and stuck them in this mansion/fortress miles away from anywhere.

In fact, it had been three months and twenty-three days since he had last seen Agatha. Something that Count Dracula was more intimately aware of than any of his clan. He was the one who had to rise from his bed every day, having added another to the tally of nights he had spent alone; although not for the want of trying on some people’s part. Dracula had at first been amused by the number of proposals and later propositions that came his way, by the end he become rather less amused when he had been forced to evict naked vampires from his bed.

That was Agatha’s place, and Dracula was less than gentle with anyone who tried to usurp it.

“Miss Westenra might I remind you that is not the way to address your Elder…”

Rolling his eyes Dracula was almost comforted with the familiarity of their bickering. Dracula did not need Mycroft coming to his defence, especially when he knew it would do little to shut Lucy up…in fact quite the opposite was likely.

“Just because Big D somehow found time to bite you brother dearest does not mean I will start listening to you anytime soon.” Lucy huffed, rolling her eyes when Mycroft tutted and opened his mouth to start yet another one of his ‘corrections’.

This was another reason why he needed Agatha back, she was the only one who could manage these two, Dracula’s own preferred method of handling irritating underlings was to rip their throats out.

“Children…” Dracula growled, the warning clear and it at least stopped Mycroft before he could begin on one of rants about decorum.

“I don’t see why your stupid talks are more important than finding Agatha.”

“Agatha is smart and more than capable.” Mycroft insisted, a fact that Dracula didn’t dispute, even if he did find Mycroft’s lack of concern irritating. “I told her to hide until we were able to come and find her, that she is at least is able to follow instructions…”

“Oh, shove a sock in it Mycroft.”

“Honestly, I don’t even know who let you in here, you should have remained in the school room until you learnt some manners…”

“Children that is quite enough!” This time Dracula didn’t try to contain his anger, it had been a difficult few months, and their bickering was dancing on his very last nerve. Lucy was right they needed Agatha back, he needed Agatha back, the whole damn country needed her back; if only to stop him from going on a rampage and slaughtering the next person who suggested a political marriage.

“Lucy is right, there is nothing more important now than getting Agatha back. I am going after her…alone…I don’t want to hear any objections Mycroft.” Dracula added shooting his advisor a look at shut up even Mycroft’s objections, although he could tell from the buttoned-up expression on the younger vampire’s face that he was thinking them…loudly.

After-all what was the point of being in charge if you couldn’t occasionally do what you wanted?

----/---

[st-just]

Some writing from a game

Because I’m like..60% happy with it and I feel like it should have a potential audience of, like, at least a dozen people. 

(Also, if you look very closely you might be able to see the influence of the last couple things I read)

The palace of the Melquart was as poorly defended as she had been promised – the nephilim garrison were either dead or damned, depending on the rumour you believed, and either way far away in the old capital. The local troops were mostly gone as well, sent to suppress a rebellion among the hill tribes – by the time they realized the reports and requests for aid were forgeries, it would be far too late. Even the guards which remains wouldn’t prove much use, their evening meal having been liberally spiced with sedatives to leave them slow-witted and sluggish. Everything was, in short, exactly how Itireae ir’Naeh had been promised it would been, carefully arranged to ensure the once-princesses homecoming would be as smooth and frictionless as possible. Not that she looked much like a princess anymore, of course – months of exile in the badlands had taken their toll, even before the injections of quicksilver and adamant had left her with monochrome eyes and sickly blue veins pressing against her skin. Still, she would gladly make every sacrifice and compromise over again, if it brought her here. After all, what good was a child who wouldn’t do what was necessary to avenge their father? With her new sight, the iron frame of the palace’s upper windows shone in the pre-dawn light, and it was a simple matter of will pull herself towards them – by now the pulsing, burning pain from her veins was almost a comfort, as she gracefully flew through the night to alight on the windowsill. It hung open in the warm fall air, and it was barely any effort to pull herself inside. She moved fast. Even if she couldn’t see the golden treasures piled high in the Melquart’s bedroom, she knew her way their by heart. She passed five guards on her way, and four four didn’t break her stride – a handful of iron needles pulled from one of the pounces hanging off her belt and pushed with more force then an a longbow towards each made sure they never got up. The last was someone important – a royal bodyguard or captain, sleeping on a bed in the antechamber to the Malequart’s apartments. He she recognized – he had just as happy to have a place of honour at her fathers side, before the giants called down fire from the sky and massacred his entire host. And so she paused and drew her glass daggers, and took the time to make sure he recognized her before she let him die. The Melquart was a Lumor, god-blooded, close to three yards tall, with flowing, braided crimson hair and a matching beard which grew fiery in truth when he was enraged – as he was now, charging through the door of his apartments in nothing but a robe, sacred and deadly bronze axe held in both hands, to find his bodyguard bleeding out before him. Which nicely distracted him as Itireae sent the first barrage of iron needles and blades flying towards him from her perch on the ceiling. His roar as the blades dug into his back and spilled his sacred blood was so loud it was almost painful to hear. But then, she wasn’t the intended audience – and his divine grandfather seemed to understand perfectly. The room filled with a wrathful and ruddy light, and Itireae had to leap to the floor to avoid the blast of divine fire the lumor threw from his hands, letting out a gasp of pain at her awkward landing on the stone floor. The holy runes etched on the Melquart’s axe glowed with an angry red light as he approached her, nothing but pure, deadly rage in his words. “I don’t know what you are, but if you start begging now I’ll just cut you down. Keep fighting, and you’re going to suffer. Burning slow so all the other humans know the penalty for striking the blood of the Sun.” Whatever reaction he expected, Itireae’s unsteady laughter wasn’t it. Her hands trembled as she spoke, grabbing a thankfully unbroken vial off her belt. “Me? I’m no-one, not after tonight. Just one more debt you monsters never bothered to settle.” She poured the vial down her throat, and tried to ignore her body screaming in protest as she started burning its contents before they were metabolized. A thin trail of black, acrid smoke leaked from her mouth, as her veins began to glow an unearthly blue. And the Melquart, axe raised for a killing blow, staggered and gasped in pain. Her fingers were bloody, gripping the seams between stones on the floor to keep from being slammed into his chest – but it worked. His fire went out as the light faded from his eyes, the blades buried in his back pulled through his heart and lungs until they pierced the skin of his chest as well. She made sure, of course – used her glass daggers to cut his throat and put out his eyes, and open every major vein and artery. And then, satisfied, she set to work cleaning up after herself. It was close to noon when she finally limped to their meeting place, lightly scorched from divine flame and throat too raw to speak from rushed alchemy. Still, her patron was waiting for her, wearing the face of the well-fed caravan driver she had travelled here with – though that disguise was beginning to crack, every hair already a pristine white and eyes faintly glowing, color starting to fade from their outfit. Turning to her with a slight smile and a nod, they said “Given the fire at the palace, I trust you have settled your personal affairs?” At her nod she gestured to the horses “Then we should be going. You have a higher purpose now, and the journey will give you time to consider a suitable new name.” They made good time on the trip south, as behind them the last vestige of Phanosine rule in the far east collapsed into succession struggle and anarchy. ----------------------------------------------- Tymon Sol managed to survive in the forest on his own for nearly two weeks. As soon as the strange, massive ships had been sighted and the chief and captains ordered their men to assemble, he’d heard the whispers of ruin and disaster on the wind. By the time the strange, green-coated soldiers had arrived and demanded unconditional surrender, her had already donned his mother’s mask and cloak, and taken everything he could carry. By the time the first cannon fired, he was so far away he could barely hear them. He had found an ancient tree, and made a camp beneath its canopy, hiding it from man and beast, rain and wind, anything the flew or crawled or bit or stung. Since then he had almost never taken off the cloak or mask – hiding him from anything but the spirits, and letting him see their guidance to the food and water he needed. All of which was to say, he had finally begun to feel safe. And so he was not at all prepared when something was waiting for him. It was dressed like an officer of the soldiers who had invaded his village, though its uniform was decorated with gold brocade and some sort of extra decoration. And otherwise totally devoid of color – snow white hair, pale skin, and clothing that remained pristinely and perfectly white even as it stood in the mud and leaned against his tree. Its eyes glowed faintly with a cold light, and when he looked at it he saw all the spirits who had protected his camp had shied away from touching it. It, meanwhile, looked down at a pocketwatch in its hand with apparent fascination. Either unable to perceive Tymon beneath his cloak or unconcerned with his presence as he stared and froze in panic. After a long, terrifying minute the watch let out a chime and it spoke in a soft, pleasant voice. “You are quite difficult to find, ghost-child. Before your spirits gaze I swear not to harm you, but I hope you will not force me through this effort again.” Trying to remain calm, he circled around it, trying to see if there were any other soldiers. Eventually, satisfied to find no footprints or hidden men, he responded, speaking from the mouth of a bird perched above her. “What do you want, then? You’re one of them, aren’t you? The soldiers who destroyed my home?” It sounded genuinely sorrowful as it replied. “That should not have happened. My peer was here as a mercenary, a role which does not agree with them. They were needlessly harsh, in the interests of haste, and the marines followed their example as well as their commands.” “Then, what, you’re here to say you’re sorry? Offer to build me a new house? I swear I won’t accept an-” “Please listen before you speak rashly child. I am not here to offer empty words or simple blood money. Might you here my offer, before you reject it? If you do, then I will accept your answer, should you desire, leave you be.” “...alright, fine. Talk.” “Your family is fascinating. Five generations of power and worth carefully gathered, every action judged, the petty gods of nature whispering in your ear, whatever life you wished to have forgotten under the duty you inherit. It’s a great burden, for someone so young. And it will not grow any easier – the island’s new princes are brutes, liars and cheats. You could resist them, and see your family suffer, or serve them, and forsake every fragment of purpose within you.” “My family? Who do you mean? Have you done anything to them?” It smiled, slightly. “Yes. One hundred thirty-eight potential heirs, although beyond the first dozen they are wholly unprepared and would despoil your inheritance quite quickly. And absolutely nothing, beyond identifying them. I would like to help them, offer them new lives with warm homes, food and medicine, and the assurance that they will never have to worry about being hunted down. But for that, you will have to come with me first. You will do good on a grander scale, and in return none of them will ever want for safety or comfort. Would you not at least consider the deal?” It paused then, waiting for a response. Tymon didn’t have one. After a silent eternity, it closed the pocket watch and gave a slight shrug. “I will return at this time tomorrow. I hope you will be here.” It walked out of the tree’s canopy and stood in the sunlight, took a deep breath and looked directly at the sun. And then it was gone. Tymon spent the next day and night performing every augury who could think of – it had never been a talent of his, truthfully. But the answers were all resoundingly clear. When the soldier in white returned the next day, he was waiting for it. -------------------------------------------------------- Three months latter, and the people who had once been Itireae and Tymon were ready. The ritual was not exactly difficult – it did not take a great deal of power, and could theoretically be performed anywhere. But it was exceedingly intricate and precise. Hira stood before the two kneeling inductees, both dressed in the dull grey robe and bright red fez of a Janissary without official rank. The room they stood in had, minutes before, been almost claustrophobic. But as the seven layers of exactingly drawn circles on the floor began to glow and turn in time with some grand cosmic clockwork, the walls and ceiling faded away. They were outside, and the night sky was bright and full of stars – though the constellations were foreign to them, and the light cold and alien. “Do you forsake inheritance and legacy, kith and kin, family and tribe? Do you forswear all covenants you have made, and revile all those who would demand your loyalty by love or affection?” The two answered at once “I do.” “Do you pledge yourselves to the service of Principle, to the creation of a rational and compassionate world, and the interests of the Esheri Republic, selflessly and without expectation of or right to comfort, safety or power?” “I do.” “Do you accept your role as the agents of history, and that you will be called to use and expend yourselves as necessity requires, without regard for you own selfish wants or particular affections, and will die and be forgotten with no memorial but the world you will help create?” Again they replied “I do”. As they did, the alien starlight seemed to solidly around them, pouring down their throats as they spoke, marking them indelibly. Hira smiled widely, opening her arms in welcome as she spoke “Then rise, Avra and Erem, and join us in engineering paradise.”