#an alter brought it up with her before and she essentially told them they were overthinking

[raccoon-queer]

I am this close to going crazy kjfadlksj

[pluralaita]

AITA for experiencing alter fusion?

We (17 at the time) and another system (16 at the time) had alters dating online for nearly a year. Each system had one host, and they were dating each other at first. Ours will be called Rosada (it/its), and theirs, Azul (xe/xem). Azul's source was an OC universe, and xe often infodumped about xyr romantic partner from xyr source. We ended up introjecting said partner, Amarilla (she/her), within a few months, at which Azul was ecstatic. As time passed, Azul became increasingly codependent on Amarilla (which was already a problem with Rosada, but it got worse with Amarilla), and on multiple occasions waited until she was fronting before speaking about any problems, even though they never had anything to do with Rosada (Rosada had also helped xem whenever xe let it). Whether xe was talking to Rosa or Amarilla, said problems were almost always guaranteed to spiral into self-harm ideation for xyr partners' sakes. This is where our asshole moments come in. Insecure and feeling unfavored, Rosada became possessive of the front at the expense of Amarilla, worsening Azul's distress. Amarilla slowly started going along with this after Azul experienced an episode wherein xe spoke to her as if she were a goddess who would appreciate it if xe died for her. Granted, this didn't happen again after she told xem to stop, but neither of our involved alters started any in-depth conversation about feeling uncomfortable since. This lack of communication affected other interactions when it came to Azul's controversial coping strategies. When asked to be involved, our involved alters agreed as they thought they could handle it at the time, but they never went back on their word when they wanted to, with their excuses being "Well, the moment's passed" and other such claims. More months passed, and our systems drifted. Azul obtained an insystem partner who resembled Amarilla (who xe asked for permission to get with, and our involved alters said "yes" despite their concerns) and has gotten into drama in another server that currently has xem on the run from the entire rest of the internet. We were undergoing a host switch with new meatspace responsibilities taking up our time, and this all culminated in Amarilla convincing Rosada to initiate a "break" in the relationship, even though it knew that it was essentially a soft breakup, and Amarilla especially just didn't want to leave Azul hanging while xe was under the online firing squad.

During this "break", Azul mostly left messages for Amarilla. The majority of notable conversations with either of them were those wherein Azul was venting about xyr drama. Amarilla eventually became so anxious about things going into full swing again that she willingly fused into another alter with no warning to Azul, and Rosada agreed to break the news. Azul saw this as the "death" of Amarilla and accused Rosada (and the alter Amarilla fused into) of essentially murdering her (presumably as a way to get at xem for something, but the moment was too heated to get into deep reasoning). Xe broke up with both of them.

The fused alter approached Azul the next day in hopes of explaining herself and coming to a mutual understanding, but Azul once again accused her of basically murder and brought a different alter to the front, who threatened to doxx us before Rosada could attempt to say its apology to Azul. Rosada became completely apathetic to the situation after this, as it was getting to be during the "break" anyway, continually leaving Azul on read. The other system has the complete ability to doxx us since Rosada made a final (really stupid) asshole move during the "break" and gave them our address because Azul was going to buy us merchandise of a shared interest while Rosada and Amarilla were planning on actually breaking up with xem.

TLDR (still kind of long): Our previous host was dating another system's host, and when we introjected the other person's partner from their source, xyr already existing codependency issues became more intense and favorable to the new introject. Both of our involved alters drifted from xem as they didn't want to communicate their discomfort with a variety of the other person's behaviors. A "break" was also initiated from this fear of direct communication, and during it, the introject fused with a different alter of ours out of her own stress. The other person saw this as a sort of attack on both xem and her, and the next day, xe brought a different alter to talk to us, who threatened to doxx us. They only have the ability to doxx us because our old host wanted them to buy something for us while it was planning on breaking up with the other person.

[saltnpepperbunny]

Hi! Can you tell us more about Team Tempest? Is their story one that you've been developing for a while? Any fun facts? I haven't played a PMD game since the original for the GBA- does their story follow the plot of the more recent games? Loving your writing so far!

Hi, thanks so much for asking about em! Team Tempest are the worms that rot my brain. XD More under the cut, since this gets long!

I first conceived Selkie and Shadow as characters in uhhhh early 2018? They came from a nuzlocke run I was doing of Pokemon Ultra Sun that wiped on Akala lol. I originally designed them to be part of a collab PMD comic I was gonna make with a couple of friends, where we each had a team that we would right for. Team Tempest was my gang for the comic, and I essentially designed them to be the story's antagonists. They were basically the Team Skull of the story, the bully team that makes life hard for the good guys. However, the collab never got off the ground, but I fell in love with the characters and kept them around!

My original plan was to tell Selkie and Shadow's story through a PMD comic called Spectrum, that was going to be set in the same universe as Finding Your Roots. The comic was supposed to be part of a trilogy series that was going to include FYR and a Firered nuzlocke comic that I abandoned two updates in, and it was meant to be the ending to an overarching story that would be told with the three comics together. Spectrum included Selkie and Shadow essentially as villain protagonists, and Lyn, Margarine, and Thistletooth were the good guy characters who would save the world Selkie and Shadow were seeking to destroy.

Selkie, in her original conception, was both very similar and very different from her current iteration. She was not mentally ill so much as just a straight-up abusive monster. She was the terror of the guild, constantly bullying and abusing the guild's weakest members, and she would essentially make use of Shadow's illusion magic to psychologically torture other guild members and get them to obey her whims.

Shadow was originally Selkie's biggest victim in this. She was highly abusive of him, but he latched onto her hard for reasons I can't quite elaborate on yet because it's spoilers for Till World's End. Shadow's arc was originally going to heavily involve making new friends with Lyn's team and using these new connections to break out of the abusive relationship. By the end of Spectrum, Shadow was meant to turn against Selkie and help Lyn & co defeat her and save the world. In the end, he was actually supposed to get together with Margarine!

However, Spectrum never got off the ground! It was too large-scale of a project to take on at the time, since I was trying to draw FYR and was really overwhelmed with the scope of that project. Taking on another big comic at the time wouldn't have worked out for me. Eventually I started working on other comic projects aside from FYR, got busy with those, and permanently tabled Spectrum. It wasn't a comic I was interested in bringing to life anymore. My interests had moved on.

I came back to Selkie and Shadow because, a few years after tabling Spectrum, I became interested in writing about a certain brand of mental illness called personality disorders. I wanted to write a love story between two characters with heavy mental illness, and the exact nature of those mental illnesses brought Team Tempest back to mind. I always cherished those characters so dearly and wanted to properly finish their story someday, and I realized it was a perfect opportunity to tell their story through prose! I revamped the characters to make room for the new aspects I wanted to bring into them. Shadow's character was altered somewhat, but Selkie is the one who got the biggest revamp. She's still a pretty bad person and can be abusive, but her nature is significantly different from how it was before. Selkie, in this new iteration, isn't a complete abusive sadist. She's got her flaws, absolutely, but she is not the villain of her own story anymore.

Here is some original concept art of Selkie and Shadow from Spectrum, back from 2018-2019! A lot of the art of them is grayscale because Spectrum was gonna be a grayscale comic.

Anyways, I hope that answers the question! It was fun to talk about them, so thanks for asking. ^^

[ushidoux]

He, Hercules - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: What is Ushijima if not strong? (~2.0k words)

Warnings: accident, temporary disability, implied depression, some suggestive themes, hurt/comfort

A/N: I have limited experience with athletic injuries and mental illness so bear with me. If there is anything you find inaccurate or insensitive in my depiction, don’t hesitate to pm me! <3

---

“Mr. Ushijima?”

You perk up when you hear the secretary’s voice call out your husband’s name, only realizing now that in your long semi-long wait you’d ended up dozing off, resting your head against his shoulder. Clearly, you must have been exhausted, because it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and why you’re here.

There are very few others in this small office aside from the single middle-aged man in the corner who you realize is staring quite hard at you, and you wonder briefly if it’s because you somehow looked inappropriate or acted inappropriately while you were asleep. There shouldn’t be anything very noteworthy about a young couple inside a therapy practice.

You glance at Ushijima who is barely moving despite the fact that his name was just pronounced. He’s as still as a statue and his expression is neutral as is typical of him, but you still perceive the lack of intensity behind his eyes, a constant reminder that no matter how much he acts as though he’s fine, he’s not.

Why else would you be here in the first place?

You nudge him gently.

“Love, they called your name. It’s time for your session,” you whisper into his ear.

He had been staring off at a fixed point across from him, but he does still respond to your nudges. When he rises, it’s done slowly, and he walks besides you with a slight limp in his left leg. He doesn’t wince with any step but the arm you hold onto as you walk with him through the hallway down to the provider’s office is stiff. You wonder if he resents how clingy you’ve gotten since his injury, handling him with kid gloves as though he were the most fragile of glass. You can’t help it. You’d almost lost him.

The office is open when you arrive, and a man who looks only a few years older than Wakatoshi is seated in a cream armchair, waiting, a measured smile on his face. Ushijima doesn’t smile back but he doesn’t frown either. 

“Welcome! Please come in and make yourself comfortable,” the man says without missing a beat, rising to shake his hand. He also shoots a glance at you, but before he can ask you to introduce yourself before politely shooing you out of the room (this is not couples’ therapy after all, even if it will help the two of you), you squeeze your husband’s hand before quickly exiting.

“I’m his partner, I’ll see myself out, thank you!”

You worry slightly about leaving him alone in this stranger’s care, but Ushijima is not a child and this isn’t the first day of kindergarten, he’s a man recovering from a life-altering injury and has finally agreed to go to therapy. 

You’re not sure how optimistic to be, but you’ve done an extensive amount of research and this particular therapist boasted credentialing in sports psychology, was highly recommended and had worked with a lot of current and former athletes alike. 

Of course, this would all be meaningless if Ushijima refused to talk, but as you started your car to pass the next hour at a nearby mall, you gave yourself a little bit of hope.

---

“Tell me about yourself,” is the first question the therapist asks, after offering not much more than his own name, and Ushijima is slightly annoyed by the question.

He does not want to be here in the first place, he doesn’t need to be here, and now he’s asked a question as vague and audacious as ‘tell me about yourself’ like he’s expected to pour out his feelings to this stranger from the very second he sits in this admittedly comfortable couch.

He pauses. He’s not sure exactly what he would say. 

He’s nearing 30. He’s married, no kids. If it’s not obvious, he’s from Japan. He plays volleyball professionally… well, played, up until recently. 

He frowns. That’s why he’s here. Because you don’t think he is okay, even if all of his injuries have essentially healed aside from this annoying limp that makes it obvious that he’s in some way not in optimal shape, broken, vulnerable. This  limp is the reason why he can no longer play even if he feels fine otherwise, and why he’s not exactly sure what to do next. 

But that’s beyond the point. The question is about himself.

What else can he say? How would others describe him?

His friends call him serious, just as the media describes him. Quiet and serious. Dedicated. Strong. 

Maybe he’s not that last thing anymore, but that too is beyond the point.

You think he’s sweet; you say this repeatedly. You tell him that he’s kind and considerate.

He thinks for a moment that maybe he was too kind. Kindness is what got him in this predicament in the first place, isn’t it?

A moment of compassion - a likely exhausted mother whose eyes leave her child for a split second to rummage through her purse, a little girl whose tiny legs take her just a bit too far out into an open intersection, a speeding car that shows no signs of stopping…

He remembers the exact moment he is no longer jogging but sprinting to take the child out of harm’s way, as well as the exact moment he hears his bones snap on impact, and he’s too shocked initially to feel pain, eyes frantically searching for the kid who now is standing on the opposite side of the street, looking at him in curiosity because the toddler is too young to understand what it means to see a body crumple. She’s unharmed, so he’s successful.

A woman screams and she sounds nothing like you. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

The car speeds on.

---

You sit in a food court, poking at some fries, but you’re not exactly hungry, just anxious. Is the session going okay? 

Even if the man is a professional at getting people to talk, Wakatoshi is a hard nut to crack. You could envision him sitting silently until the hour passed completely, before getting up to bow and exit stage left. It had taken you months to get him to agree to go to anything other than physical therapy.

You hope this is not an exercise in futility.

---

“I’m fine,” he grunted, just a couple days out of the hospital, once you’d started nagging him for weight-bearing on the leg that had just been operated on.

“Your leg was literally shattered!” You shouted. “You’re lucky they didn’t amputate!”

He gave you a mildly fatigued look. All he’d wanted to do was walk to the kitchen by himself, without crutches in his own house, and he’d barely made it a couple of steps before you were standing in the bedroom, looking all sorts of stressed and concerned. 

He figured your concern was temporary, so he attempted to quell his stubbornness. He had already been benched for the season, possibly to likely forever and pouring out his frustration on you wouldn’t be helpful.

“What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

He frowned but he let you help him anyway.

---

“My name is Wakatoshi Ushijima. I moved here several years ago from Japan to play volleyball professionally. I was in a bad car accident a few months ago and my wife is concerned that I’m not adjusting well.”

The therapist offers a small smile again.

“Do you disagree with that assessment?”

Ushijima tilts his head slightly. He does disagree… he doesn’t? He’s not sure. He’s frustrated of course, who wouldn’t be, he had just been in the Olympics after all, but he’s fine. He’s strong.

He’s strong.

---

“We just wanted to thank you again.”

Wakatoshi glanced at the gifts the couple before them had brought,  a bouquet of flowers and stacks of cookies and pastries in boxes on the living room coffee table, before looking back at you. Your face remained polite and smiling but you were clearly uncomfortable from the way you were perched on the seat, nodding carefully as you listened to your visitors, your arms crossed over your midsection as you leaned forward in your chair.

He knew you wanted to be angry at them, well, her, the mother who looked at him pitifully initially then averted her eyes out of shame. But it wasn’t her fault but yet, it was her fault and still, it wasn’t. It was very complicated. No one was at fault. Her daughter was safe.

Everything was fine.

---

You’re back in your car again, ready to drive to pick up your husband from therapy. Things should get better from here on. 

Maybe he will no longer shut down like a brick wall when you suggest that now is a good time to start transitioning away from sports for the future. Maybe he’ll be less upset with small things like not being able to run as far, or lift as much or please you as much in the bedroom as he used to. 

They’re small things compared to losing his life.

---

“I would like to go back to playing but I’m told at every turn that it’s too dangerous, maybe even after a year of healing.”

The therapist nods, and scribbles something on a sheet of paper.

“How does that make you feel?”

The therapist notices even through Ushijima’s accented Polish that he’s naturally eloquent, but regardless he still lacks the words to appropriately talk about his feelings. 

His hands grip at his knees, the good and the bad one. The word ‘useless’ comes to mind but he can’t bring himself to say that to this stranger, even if these four walls come with the promise of understanding. 

For once, silence is uncomfortable for him, and the therapist is surprisingly good at staying quiet. They sit in silence for moments longer and surprisingly, Wakatoshi speaks up first.

“Weak,” he ekes out in a voice that is so small he barely recognizes it.

To that, the therapist leans just slightly forward, focusing his eyes on the man’s restricted range of motion and slightly hunched shoulders. It’s the posture of a man who’s normally stoic and confident, now made uncertain about the future.

“What’s wrong with weakness?” He says quickly, and Ushijima is somewhat stunned which then lends way to a small measure of anger.

Everything is wrong with being weak. Weakness was for other people. How could he protect himself, his livelihood, his team, you?

What is he if not strong?

---

“I love you.”

He says it less often than you do to him, but every time he does, he means every word. You shifted beneath him, weary from the lovemaking of just prior but still nevertheless craning your neck up to reach his lips. 

Your hands traveled down his shoulders and along the length of his bulky arms, playing with his biceps, drinking in the sight of his muscles flexing as he moved. He smiled and wrapped his arms tight around you, laying his head on your chest. 

“Aww, Toshi, you’ll crush me if you hold me so tight. You barely know your own strength,” you teased with a laugh, prompting him to loosen his grip ever so slightly, and lift up his head to show you the smallest of pouts.

“I love you more,” you added, giggling.

Pleased, he lay his head back down on the softness of your bosom, clinging to you more. He’d protect and take care of you forever.

---

You hold Ushijima’s hand tightly as you walked out of the building to your car, holding in your curiosity about the session the entire time. 

Would he go again?

He gives your hand a squeeze suddenly which surprises you, and when he turns to you, there’s a small upturn in the corner of his lips that approximates more of a smile than you’ve seen in recent weeks.

You’re elated enough that you immediately give him a hug, and maybe you’re a bit overzealous about it, but he stops and holds you close for just a moment.

“Thank you.”

There’s a lot in the thank you, and you shed a tear.

---

Strength is relative and inconstant, so our first task is to work on your definition of strength. 

But I would say, coming here in the first place is already evidence enough.

[thr-333]

Just Another Class Trip :)  Part 2

Marinette sacrifices Adrien and then steals his alter ego.

First<>Next

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

With the help of the staff Marinette is directed to the room she will be sharing with Chloe and Kagami. It was meant to be two to a room, but yada yada Lila yada yada medical condition yada yada tears= Lila gets her own room.

“Marinette,” Kagami spots her first, rising from the couch.

“Mari!” Chloe vaults over the couch and hug tackles her, Marinette barely moves an inch, “You should have heard all the shit Lila was saying on the way here, you’d think it be enough she got the class to leave you behind!”

“Perhaps it’s best if you do not,” Kagami pulls Chloe off her, “You didn’t answer your phone,”

“Flat,”

“Bags?”

“Stolen,”

“Lila?”

“Probably,”

“Well lucky for you housekeeping dropped this by earlier,” Chloe hands her a box, inside filled with essential items, tooth brush, hair brush, even a pair of pyjamas, along with a note

‘Courtesy of the Waynes, for Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng’

“Must be a generic package,” She had shrugged off the bellhops earlier saying her bags were lost.

“Well since you don’t have to unpack, help me with this,” Chloe leads her over to their kitchen that might actually be bigger than her houses.

On the counter beauty products are lined up along with random ingredients.

“We’re making face masks!”

“Correction, Chloe is making face masks,” Kagami scolds, “I argued that sleep would be more effective,”

“And yet you didn’t go to sleep,” Chloe teases, mashing up avocado.

“Well not without you,” Kagami smirks, making Chloe blush, but it’s not like her to back down.

“Awe, you’d wait for me~” Chloe relishes in the blush dusting Kagami's cheeks.

Marinette dry heaves, wondering how long they were going to keep pretending to flirt like this, each too stubborn to back down. They have been doing this more and more recently, great that they were more comfortable around each other but…

“How about we go to bed,” Marinette disturbs their challenging stares.

“Not without Kagami,”

“I already used that one,”

“I never said we’d use the bed for sleeping~”

“Hey!” Her exclamation doesn't get them to drop their staring contest, “Do either of you know what room Adrien is in?”

“End of the hall,” They both answer, not looking at her.

“Great,” Marinette hastily grabs her bag and the box, she could get ready in Adrien's room, away from the weirdness.

She practically runs down the hall, ignoring her Kwami’s snickering.

“Mari!” Adrien throws the door open for her, “Did everything go ok, you didn’t answer your phone, you look upset,”

“Sorted everything out with security no problems, Phones dead, Bag stolen,” She plops down on the couch next to Nino, “Chlo and Kags are driving me crazy,”

“How long have you been back?” She looks down at her watch.

“Three minutes,”

“Are they doing that thing again?” Adrien, Kwami bless him hands her a mug of coffee.

“Yep,” She takes a sip from the mug, she retracts that blessing “Betrayal! This isn’t coffee!”

“It’s hot chocolate,” Adrien is in the kitchen fixing another mug, “You need to go to bed, and coffee will keep you up,”

No she needed to go on patrol, and a coffee is vital to her surviving it.

“What’s up with Chloe and Kagami?” Nino takes off his headphones.

“They started teasing each other by jokingly flirting but their both too stubborn to back down," Marinette sighs, downing half the mug of hot chocolate so she can get herself a damn coffee, "So they get uncomfortable then we get uncomfortable and its overall very uncomfortable,”

“I think it’s kind of funny,” Adrien sits down next to her, mug in hand.

“It would be if they both weren’t horrible at flirting,” She steals the mug away from him taking a sip.

That is not coffee, that is sugar disguised as a liquid

“That’s the funny part,” Adrien smiles as she hands back the mug,

“Touche Agreste, Touche,”

“If you wanted you could sleep in my room,” Nino offers, oh so innocently.

“Thank’s Nino, but I would rather Alya not kill me,”

“Nah dude, I was going to stay with Alya anyway Madame Bustier wont mind,” Yeah their teacher really should learn not to trust teenagers, "So you can have my room,”

“Nino you are a godsent,”

Nino cleans up his few thrown about items and bids them adieu. Marinette was glad they could still talk, maybe they were even still friends. When you have the devil in one ear and her loyal sidekick in the other it is actually kind of impressive they still have a friendly relationship.

“So how’s your day been?” Marinette gathers up the strength to start a conversation after making her own coffee, and her mouth was only very burnt from chugging a hot drink.

“Good, Chloe took us to a supermarket, I brought a bunch of american snacks!”

Indeed he had, Marinette watches in mild horror as he plops bags full of junk food in front of her.

“I didn’t realise we were feeding an army,” Adrien starts rooting through the bags, “If a super villain comes after you because you brought all their favourite snacks in Gotham I’m not protecting you,”

“I’d just share with them,” Adrien hums, chomping down on a chocolate bar.

“... Yeah that could work,” Dear Kwami I have to protect this sunshine child,  “Maybe,”

“Oi, don’t eat too much, I don't want to have to re tailor your outfit for the runway,” She teases, regretting it immediately as Adrien's shoulders sag.

“Sorry,”

“Adri I’m kidding,”  She places a hand on his shoulder smiling gently, “I already made the measurements a bit bigger so you’re good.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best?”

“Not enough you haven't,” Marinette huffs in mock offence, “Now eat,”

She shoves the chocolate bag in his face, getting it all over his cheek. They both start laughing as Adrien tries to get his revenge. They end up falling off the couch, Marinette on top of him. Adrien is blushing a bright red, Marinette just grins and shoves the chocolate in his face before getting up.

She could almost laugh at how her younger self would react to that. It wasn't as if she didn’t like Adrien, well maybe not in that way anymore, she honestly hadn't put that much thought into it lately. Things just got busy she supposed, Akumas got harder, then she became the guardian, she started her fashion career. Actually her fashion career might be at fault.

Gabriel had started lending Adrien to model for her more and more. The man stepping further and further back from the fashion world, or the world in general, over the years for whatever the reason. At first she had been a blushing mess around Adrien, not directing him properly and making her work suffer for it. Overtime she had learnt how to handle it, getting less flustered every time they worked together. Now that she thought about it, when she had revealed her identity as MDC Adrien didn’t seem surprised; maybe her work attitude had bled into her regular life well before then.

Marinette is washing the chocolate off when a knock sounds at the door. Neither feel like walking to it so shout out ‘come in’. That turned out to be a mistake as Lila bursts into the room. How were they supposed to know Lila would actually knock?!

“Marinette you slut!” Lila all but screeches.

“Lila, you don’t have an audience and neither of us believe you,” Marinette comes out of the bathroom, already bored of the conversation she really needed to go, Lila and Marinette both.

“Well just wait, tomorrow the whole class is going to know what you did,” Lila gets up in her face, so close she can smell her perfume.

No not Lila's perfume her perfume.

“Right, sorry to say but there’s worse rumours than sleeping with a supermodel,” Marinette tries to edge her way around Lila, good excuse as any to dip out for patrol.

“Not if I say you forced him,” Lila looks way to self satisfied for what she is implying

I think the fuck not

“Nah,” Adrien shrugs, getting Lila’s ire turned on him, a noble sacrifice indeed.

“Nah?” Lila looks livid, “What do you mean Nah !”

“I’d just say I wanted to,” Adrien stays calm with Lila's face inches from him, Marinette gives him the thumbs up as she edges closer to the door, Adrien nods back.

She loved this version of the high road

“After all Marinette's super pretty and talented,” Adrien gushes, Marinette grins at the face Lila must be making, “Honestly your lie is so unbelievable, why would she ever go for someone like me?”

Marinette closes the door on Lila’s cursing response, saying a quick word of praise for Adrien's bravery and sacrifice.

At least he gets to see Lila’s reaction when she realises I’m gone

Marinette uses a back door of the hotel to get to the street, not wanting the staff to stop her and warn about the dangers. She skips along looking for a good place to change. The city was actually kind of beautiful at night, she feels drawn to it in a strange way.

“Marinette!” Tikki looks out from her scarf, “You forgot the Miracle box,”

“Shoot!” She looks back to the hotel, a few blocks away from it by now, “It’ll be fine Tikki I leave it at home all the time,”

“You’re not at home right now,” Tikki looks worried, those are her friends after all, “It’s a guardians duty-”

Marinette tries not to groan, she really does.

“I know Tikki, I know,” She looks over the buildings surrounding her, feeling a deep itch to see Gotham from the rooftops “But can’t I just be myself for once, not the guardian?”

“You are the guardian,” Tikki insists, before sighing, “Which means you can make your own decisions regarding the miracle box,”

“Thank you Tikki,” She hugs the little Kwami, “I promise to be back super quick, I just have to stop one bad guy, an eye witness account of Starling so I don’t just appear randomly, I won’t even need to go on patrol again after this,”

“Alright Marinette, I trust you,” Tikki nuzzles her cheek, easing Marinette's conscience.

With that she ducks out of sight to get changed. Her costume is pretty simple really. All she had to do was pull her infinity scarf up, discrete holes allowing her to see. She turns her skirt inside out to a black side, with white, purple, and blue detailing to stick to her Starling namesake. The skirt pulls over her shoulders, a zip down the middle allowing her more movement, and a zip to form a secret hood.

Ready to go she climbs up to the roof, super strength and speed making roof hopping easier. She supposed if someone looked too hard they would be able to piece together pieces of her costume but her ‘cape’ hides the detailing of her shirt. Besides if she has her way she won’t have to use this identity ever again, but she rarely has her way.

About ten minutes into her search through Gotham she spots a broken window. Not notable except that the lights are on. She lowers herself onto the fire escape and sure enough someone is being held at gunpoint.

“Excuse me,” Both people jump, spinning to look at Starling casual sitting on the broken glass on the window sill, “You seem to have a very rude house guest on your hands,”

“Who the hell are you!?” The burglar turns their gun on her.

“Just a stray passing through,” She gives a bright smile, and a very Chat like bow, “Starling at your service… milady,”

If I’m going Chat I might as go full Chat Noir, hope he doesn't file a lawsuit against me

“Ummm,” The woman looks very confused, but not as confused as the burglar.

“Would you like me to remove him from your home?”

“Ah… yes?”

With another smile Starling makes her move. In the split second it takes the burglar to register her offer she's standing in front of him. The gun moves a second too late as she ceases his arm, her strength being as good as handcuffs. She hits a pressure point her Aunt taught her to make him drop the gun, kicking it away. Pinning the man's arm behind his back she spins him around, zip tying his hands.

“What the fuck!!”

“That’s no kind of language,” Starling reprimands, pushing him towards the window, “Now apologise,”

“What?! No way fuck you!” Starling grins, hooking a bungee cord to his shirt.

“Alright then, bye!” She pushes him out the window.

His screaming doesn't stop even when she watches as he bounces back up, dangling out the window. She grins.

Ladybug would never get away with that

Tying the other end of the cord to a post, she double checks to make sure everything is secure before turning back to the victim.

“So sorry about the rude intrusion milady,” She bows again, in jest, “Have you contacted the police?”

“Yeah… what are you?”

“A Starling bird,” Starling spins, showing off her cape, the patterning placed to resemble wings, “I though the name would be a dead give away,”

“Yeah, but what are you? A Bat? Vigilante?”

“Vigilante yes, Bat not so much,” Starling can see as she looks more cautious after that, “Just happened to be passing through Gotham when I saw you in need of assistance,”

“Right... ok then...” She sits down, letting herself slump over the couch, “Ugh, this has been a terrible day,”

“How so?” Starling eyes up the kitchen, “Besides from mister bungee jump out there,”

“I was almost out of work this afternoon when a new rumour about the Wayne's blew up,” Starling nods along, turning the oven on and picking out ingredients.

“I work in the PR department at Wayne tower, do you have any idea how hard that is?!” Starling shakes her head finding a bowl but no measuring cups, she could just estimate.

“They have new bruises everyday,” Starling does look up to that, very concerned, “Don’t worry it’s not abuse or anything, they really are just dumbasses,”

Starling snickers a little bit at that, pouring in ingredients like second nature.

“I once asked mister Drake why he had a giant bruise on his forehead, he told me he passed out at his desk and just slammed into it!” Starling does laugh at that one, “Like?! How am I supposed to tell people that without sullying the Wayne name?”

“I think its funny,” She did clearly not agree, Starling changes the subject as she starts mixing “What was the problem today?”

“Nothin much really someone took pictures of mister Drake talking and giving a ride to some girl with black hair and blue eyes, and now everyone thinks she’s a Wayne,”

“That’s all it takes?” She starts placing the cookie dough on the baking tray, “Maybe I should apply?”

“Nah, you’d sooner be Batman's kid than Bruce Wayne's,” She cracks the first smile Starling has seen so far, “He’s got the same amount of kids, if not more,”

“Maybe they should share custody?” Starling puts the cookies in the oven, “Double the number each,”

“Yeah, how about no?” She smiles more, which is good, “I can’t imagine having to explain away the bruises the Bat kids get,”

Starling smiles, the sound of sirens now drawing close.

“I guess that's my cue to leave Milady,” Starling jumps up onto the window sill, the burglar still shouting below, “Take the cookies out in fifteen minutes,”

“Hey,” Starling looks back, “Thank you,”

“No problem,” Starling sends a dazzling smile, “Good night, Milady,”

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

Taglist (guess I’m doing these now, please let me know if theres any issues):

@smolplantmum @flufflepuffle296 @dawnwave16  @caffeinetheory   @g-arya   @Maribat-2k20   @ladybug-182    @Actual-disaster-human    @fusser90   @messrs-weasley   @soap-lady  @paintedhope7   @zeneralla    @mochegato     @random-nerd-3 @clumsy-owl-4178  @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen   @too0bsessedformyowngood @certifiedbidisaster  @Purplegeekypanda

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

In Session

This one is a doozy. Warnings: m/f sex, over stimulation, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, male masturbation, cum eating, use of mutant abilities in a sexual situation. 18+ please!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The three of you have been home for a couple of weeks now and, unfortunately for poor Bucky, the pixie dust has worn off. All Steve has to do is breathe near you and you go off. He has apologized and apologized but you refuse to let it go. Steve tries to be patient with you. He accepts that what he said gutted you. He is trying to make it up to you but you rebuke all of his attempts.

Quite frankly the whole thing gives Bucky anxiety. As soon as he hears “You know what, Steve?” He reaches for the antacids. In two weeks he was leaving for a semi long trip with Sam and Nat. He needed to set you on the path to healing before he left you two alone. That’s why he hijacked you both and brought you to his therapist.

Dr. Coleman is far more gentle than his VA therapist. She specializes in PTSD and has worked with many first responders and members of law enforcement. She also helps couples to reacclimate following traumatic experiences. Bucky thought that, with the amount of trauma the three of you had suffered, she would be perfect to help.

Neither of you were pleased to be there. The doctor spoke ok Bucky’s behalf at the start of the session. “Steve, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re here. This is an important first step on the path to healing. You are here for each other as much as you are here for yourselves. What we know is the three of you love each other very much. I would like you to keep that in the front of your minds as we go through this journey. I do have a few ground rules. First, we will not raise our voices or become physical here or at home. Second, we will not resort to name calling. Third, we will not shut down when confronted. We will speak on our feelings. Can I gain your agreement on those rules?” You all nodded. “Wonderful. I just need the two of you to sign some consent forms and we’ll be on our way.”

You hated therapists of any kind. You never had a good experience. Grant it, your only experiences were forty something years ago. You were sure there were advances. Still, you were wary of this woman. She does seem to help Bucky. If this is what he needed, you’d do it for him. When she asked Steve to speak first you nearly gagged.

“Steve, tell me why you think we’re all here today.”

He sighed loudly and spoke in a monotone voice like he was in trouble in the principal’s office. “We’re here because our bickering is upsetting Buck.”

“Ok. Can you tell me why you and Y/N have been bickering so much lately?”

“Because he’s impossible to live with.” You said not so under your breath. Steve was quick to react but Dr. Coleman stopped him.

“Y/N, you will have your turn to speak. Please give Steve the courtesy of having his time uninterrupted.” Steve smirked at you. You wanted to reach over and slap him in his smug face but Bucky rested his hand over yours.

“We’re bickering because I said a horrible thing to Y/N and she refuses to forgive me.”

“Right. And what did you say?” Fuck it was like pulling teeth.

“I told her in the heat of an argument that I didn’t want a whore for a wife. But I said I didn’t mean it and that I was sorry. She refuses to move on.”

Dr. Coleman listened to both of your sides and gave you some short term and long term goals. She asked you to open the door for better communication. She understood why you were so upset, especially since his admission was premeditated. She tasked Steve with finding a way to come to terms with what you do. Now that he knows why he feels the way he does, it is time to confront those feelings as his own and stop projecting them onto you. She also suggested that, while Bucky was gone, the two of you should do couple things. Your love was not linked exclusively through Bucky.

The three of you left feeling a little lighter. You made promises to each other and you intended to keep them. The couple of weeks leading up to Bucky’s trip were fine. There was something hanging in the air that made Bucky nervous. Like you two were just waiting for him to leave so you could unload on each other. Steve promised he wouldn’t make faces when you left for your appointments. You promised not to snap at him over every little thing. He didn’t believe either of you.

The night before he left, Steve fell asleep on the couch. You were already in bed half asleep yourself. It was rare when you had alone time. When they were in deep Avengers mode, you cherished your privacy. Maybe it was time to start thinking of getting a bigger place.

Bucky came out of the shower still warm and a little damp. He smelled like cedar and fresh rain. He dropped his towel and slipped under the covers. Compared to him your skin felt cool when you pressed your bare ass against him. “You’re so warm, daddy.”

“I needed that hot shower after the training session Steve and I had. I wore him out.”

“Mmmm. I bet you did. Did you fuck in the gym again?”

His laugh rumbled against your back. “Not this time. Should I go wake him?”

“No. We haven’t had a moment alone since he moved in. This is gonna sound disgusting but I kind of like it when you’re sweet with me.” You didn’t have to say anymore. He slid his hands under your arms to palm your breasts and pressed gentle kisses along your neck and spine. With his knee he parted your legs so he could stroke your warmth. You whined in his mouth when he ran your slick over your clit. He took his time pumping his fingers inside of you coaxing tiny whimpers and moans out of your body. “Fuck me, Jamie.”

You had never called him Jamie during sex until you told him you loved him. His name falling from your lips became his favorite sound. You invoked him like you were invoking God praying for peace. Your cunt fluttered and squeezed his cock bringing you both to your end. “I love you, Jamie.”

“Oh my…I love you too, baby. I’m gonna miss you so much.” He stayed inside of you keeping his spend deep inside of your channel and fell asleep. Sam would be there early.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Your calendar was pretty full the first week Bucky was gone. Most of your appointments were during the day. Steve was back and forth between the apartment and compound. You settled into a pleasant routine like a normal couple with typical careers and predictable schedules. You even got through a meeting when a realtor without a single clenched jaw.

“Do you have time for lunch?” He was so hopeful. You promised Bucky.

“Yeah. I think so.” He took your hand and held it all the way to a cute little spot down the street. “I like this neighborhood. Not far from the subway. Walkable.”

“I like it too. I’ve seen a ton of kids out and about.” That made you want to cringe but you held it in. None of you have had the cliche conversation about your futures. Since you were the only one who could bear children, you figured you should speak up.

“Do you want kids?” You kept your eyes on your salad.

“Yeah. I really do. Have you um, been checked out? Can you have children?” God this was awkward.

“I can. I wonder if Hydra has successfully bred a serum baby. Like, it altered our DNA. I wonder what would happen.” His brow furrowed. He really hadn’t thought about that.

“I will have to look into it. That’s something we need to know I guess. Why do we feel so weird around each other?”

“Right?!” You were so glad he felt it too.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” He asked so quiet and quickly that you almost didn’t hear.

“Before I answer that question can I ask a question?” He nodded. “Why are you ok with me having your babies but not being your wife? I know in therapy you said it scared you and you didn’t care for my clients. I get all of that. Those are valid things. I can’t help but think you don’t like the optics.” That was the million dollar question. Could Captain America be out as polyamorous? You felt like Steve might be a closet Republican. Most of the republicans that were your clients were the biggest freaks.

“There’s nothing our media team can’t spin. I’m not embarrassed by you and Buck. My reasons for disliking your job are exactly what I said. I feel like being out about our relationship puts a target on your back.”

“But that’s not what you said, Steve. You said ‘I don’t want a whore for a wife’. That implies something completely different. I like what I do. Those rich assholes and politicians put money in my purse. A lot of my clients are like us. Freaks of nature. They can’t have normal relationships. I help them. I don’t judge their abilities or physical mutations. We just fuck and they feel normal for a while. Like the guy I’m seeing tonight. He just wants to feel normal.”

Steve was quiet for the rest of lunch. You gave him a lot to think about. He had no idea you saw yourself as a freak of nature or that you saw him that way. Everyone celebrated what Steve was but essentially threw you away. The people on your client list who he saw as villains have been tossed out by the society he swore to protect. He guessed he jumped the shark a bit by even bringing up marriage. Not like you were there yet.

You and Bucky seemed to have a don’t ask don’t tell policy regarding your situation. That was not Steve. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew without a doubt that you were safe. Tonight he will follow you. If he ever wanted to move passed his own feelings, he had to know.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tonight you were seeing Erik Lensherr which meant you had to be prepared for anything. He never beat you like other idiots did. He wasn’t stupid. Why hit you when it doesn’t hurt? He liked to really bring you to the brink of pain with pleasure. Sometimes he edged you for hours. He loved when you were a drooling sobbing mess begging for relief. That’s what turned him on. After sessions with him, you always took the following day off.

You and Steve had dinner together. You were both much more relaxed. He sat in the bathroom while you got ready. You picked a dress and made sure to have lots of mascara on. Mascara tears were Erik’s favorite. While you put on your jewelry, he stood behind you and kissed your shoulders. You missed his touch. You leaned in and let him put his hands on you.

“You look beautiful, honey.” he said against the back of your neck.

“Thank you. Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow? We can stay in bed all day.”

He smiled that beautiful sunshine smile at you that made your insides liquid. “Really? Does that mean you forgive me?”

You giggled, “No. It means I want to get reacquainted. Forgiveness is not so easy for me. Maybe if you ever put a ring on it, I’ll forgive you.”

“I’ll take it. Will you be out late?” He kissed his way down your neck.

“I’m not really sure. If I know I won’t be coming home I’ll text you. I wouldn’t wait up.” You allowed him to really kiss you. My lord Steve Rogers is an amazing kisser. He is confident and strong in his movements. He kisses with his whole body. Hands roam your back and and shoulders while he presses your body into his. His eyes barely close, making his lashes flutter on the tops of his cheeks. And he softly moans which drives you crazy. Well, at least Erik won’t have to warm you up.

“I love you. Be safe. Call me if absolutely anything is off. Promise.”

“Yes, sir. I love you, too.”

He gave you a thirty second head start before he followed you on his bike. You met Erik at a beautiful brownstone. He held the door for you and kissed both of your cheeks. Steve saw him pour you a drink and direct you to the sofa by the small of your back. You looked comfortable enough. It was clear the two of you were friends. Then, he sat next to you. His movements became predatory. He always kept his hands on you.

Soon he was taking your drink and leading you up the stairs. It was the moment of truth. He could walk away satisfied that you were safe or climb the fire escape to watch. The thought of seeing you in flagrante was turning him on way more than he should have been. Option B it was.

He climbed to the second story where he sat stock still in a darkened corner. The window was cracked a bit so he could hear everything.

The two of you kissed passionately. Erik’s hands found your zipper and made quick work of shedding your dress. He pushed you to the bed which was decorated by an ornate metal head and footboard. He raised his hand and part of the bed broke off bending around your wrists to bind you.

“Too tight, Princess?”

“No, sir.” Next he attached a spreader bar to your ankles springing your legs open wide. “Color?”

“Green.” Your voice was steady but your breath was heaving in your chest. Steve wondered if it was nerves or excitement.

Erik knelt beside you and stroked your face. “How many times shall I make my Princess cum tonight hmm? Shall we try for six?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He produced a string of metal balls from his pocket and popped them one by one into your mouth. His lips were on yours again. His tongue moved the balls around your mouth clacking them on your teeth. When he was satisfied with their saturation he pried your mouth open with his thumb and removed them. He parted your folds and sunk the balls into your dripping hole one by one. His fingers danced swirling the orbs inside of your cunt. Your back arched off the bed. “Does that feel good, Princess?”

“Yes , sir. So good.”

“Excellent. Princess, I want you to count out loud each time you come. I will edge you for one hour if I don’t hear you.”

“Ah! Yes, sir.” The coil in your belly was building. Erik smiled down on your writhing body. You tried to bring your thighs together but the bar was made of steel. Unless you focused you couldn’t break it.

“Look at you. I bet if I touched you even a little you would cum.” He ran his index finger lightly over your clit and you fell apart.

“One! Oh my…one.” You moaned and that beautiful sound went right to Steve’s cock. He stroked himself outside of his pants at first. He wanted to last as long as you. It would be difficult.

“Good girl. That’s my good, Princess. Doing so well.”

He kept the balls swirling while he licked a stripe up your cunt. His lips closed over your clit. Your hips bucked wildly against his face. You threw your head back against the bed and screamed, “Fuck! Two!”

He pressed the pads of his fingers over your clit and rubbed furiously. “Three” you whimpered.

He smacked your pussy hard. “Didn’t hear you, love.”

“Three, sir.”

“You getting tired on me? You have three more. Color, darling.”

“Green, sir.”

“Oooh. She’s being a warrior tonight. Give me one more in my mouth and I’ll take two on my cock.”

“Yes, sir.”

He went back to licking your snatch. You were sonsensitive. His big hands held you still while he licked and nibbled. Steve leaned on the railing panting. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unsheathed his throbbing member and wrapped it tight in his fist.

You got to four and tears started streaking your face. Erik pulled out the balls and tossed them aside. You mewled at the emptiness in your pussy. Erik undressed. When his cock was free he ran the leaking tip around the hole pushing in ever so slightly. The stretch made you cry out.

“So wet for me. You’re leaking and I haven’t even pushed all the way in. Do you want more?” You nodded so he pulled away. “Use your words or you won’t get to cum.”

“More please, sir. I need it.” He slammed into you letting his pelvis hit your clit hard.

“Was that five, my darling?”

“N…no, sir. M’so close.”

“Give it to me.” His hips pumped faster and faster. You screamed and nearly arched yourself in half.

“Fiiiiive. Yellow, sir.”

“Oh you feel so good around my cock. One more and then I’ll paint your belly and tits.”

Steve pumped his fist in time with Erik’s hips. When you came the sixth time, so did he. Hot ropes of cum dribbled onto his hand. He kept stroking while Erik finished.

“Think you can go for seven? It would make me so proud.” You were much too sensitive.

“Red! Red red red.” Erik pulled out immediately and jerked himself all over your belly and breasts. Out of breath he fell over onto the bed next to you. You looked wrecked. With a wave of his hand your wrists were free. He undid the spreader and kissed you deeply.

“Water, Princess?”

“Yes, please.” He brought you a glass and held it to your lips. He tossed you your dress. You didn’t clean yourself up. That was part of the scene. You went home still sticky with his cum. Steve was feral at the thought of licking another man’s seed off of you. He made it down and onto his bike before you got to the door.

You took your payment and kissed Erik goodbye.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Steve made it into the house moments before you. He changed his clothes and acted like he had been home all night. His heart thumped loud in his ears when he heard your keys in the door.

“Hey, honey. Didn’t expect you so early.” You patted him on the head as you limped into the bathroom.

“Need a shower.”

“Can I join you?” The thought of cumming again nearly made you cry.

“Yes, but only to shower.” He jumped up and followed you. You shook out your hair and went to unzip your dress but his hands were there already.

“You look so pretty right now. All fucked out. You were such a good girl tonight.” Every nerve in your body prickled. He kissed down your neck and the top of your spine.

“Steve, did you follow me?” Your voice was low. Your expression unreadable.

“Are you mad? I just wanted peace of mind. I got a lot more than that. I’m not saying I’ll be ok every time. But, if I’m honest, I’ve been thinking about licking that cum off of you.” Your whole body went warm. A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips as you edged down your dress.

“Did you like what you saw, sweet boy?”

“Mmm. Very much.”

“Did you make yourself cum watching us?”

“I did.” He ground his hard cock into your ass cheek.

“I’m so sticky. Clean me up before we shower.” He knelt in front of you and licked all of the dried cum off of your belly. “Mmm. Good boy.”

“I need to be inside of you so bad. Please can I fuck you?”

“Please fuck me, Steve.”’ He brought you into the shower and soaped you up. After the two of you were clean he kissed you fiercely. He lifted your hips and drove into you. “I can’t wait until Jamie gets home so I can tie you to the chair while he fucks my brains out. Wanna watch Jamie fuck me, sweet boy?” He moaned loudly.

“Yes, ma’am. Wanna watch him pound this pretty pussy.” It wasn’t long before you both lost it.

You got into bed and stretched out on his chest. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea I would like that.”

You giggled, “We learn something new about ourselves every day.” You both completely passed out.

The next morning Bucky got home early. He was shocked that Steve wasn’t already up. He found the two of you sleeping soundly. He nearly cried at how content you were. Steve opened his eyes and pressed his finger to his lips. Bucky got undressed and crawled in behind you. He pressed a kiss onto your shoulder and laid an arm across your back. He and Steve laced their fingers together.

“Did you make up?” He whispered.

“Something like that. It’s a long story.” You stirred a little.

“Jamie?”

“I’m home, baby doll. Go back to sleep.” He kissed you again and pulled the covers over you.

“K. Steve’s a kinky freak.” You buried your face into Steve to shield you from the sun streaming in from the curtains.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and smiled. Steve kept his eyes closed. “What the fuck happened?”

“Get some sleep. I promise we’ll show you later.” He kissed the back of Bucky’s hand and fell back to sleep. Bucky forced himself to close his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what was going to happen but he couldn’t wait to find out.

[zdux]

Thank you for letting me know ^^ I’d like to request Xiefan (romantic) hcs and Eli+Aesop (platonic) hcs ☺️☺️

Of course! Sorry it took me a while to get around to this, my classes started up again recently.

XieFan (Romantic)

God I think about them everyday

I care them so much

I'm gonna talk about them both before and after the flood

Before the flood:

They were inseparable. No matter what happened or what they were ordered to do, they would find a way to do it together.

They were together for a longgg time. They stopped calling it "dating" after about the first year, because at that point they knew it was forever.

Unfortunately they did work at the same place, so it needed to be a little professional

But that wouldn't stop them from sneaking kisses during patrols, or running off during their breaks to go cuddle under a tree

That was actually their favorite thing to do, sit under that tree together. They had two different ways of sitting there.

Sometimes Xie would sit with is back again the tree, his legs criss-cross-apple-sauce. Fan would lay his head into Xie's lap, and Xie would play with his hair or hold his hands.

The other days, Fan would sit with his back against the tree, with his legs almost the same way. Xie would then crawl into his lap and rest his head on Fan's shoulder/chest. Fan would wrap an arm around him, gently doing the little thumb rub on either Xie's waist or upper thigh. Every once and a while he would plant a kiss on his forehead, or tell him to look up and kiss his lips. Xie would keep his hands and legs tucked into himself and just lean on Fan as much as he could.

After the flood:

It was all pain for a while, with only one of them being able to be in the real world at a time.

The only time they ever got close to seeing each other was when they would switch places. As they sank and rose through that muddy goo, they would reach out and try to grab each other's hands, but they were always just an inch too far apart.

Eventually, they had no other option but to look for help.

And so they met Yidhra.

When Xie first saw her servant wandering the manner, he thought she was a survivor who got lost on the hunter side.

But they began talking, and eventually Fan was brought out to show Yihdra what exactly they meant.

When she saw their transformation, she knew immediately that she could help, and her follower told them this.

Though there was a price.

As Yidhra herself was not allowed in Duo matches, they would have to do them for her and bring her as many different things that they could from the matches, which was quite the fair price for what she was doing for them.

She was able to alter their curse and allow them to both be in the real world. So long as the moon was visible at night, the curse would be weakened.

Once she did this for them, Fan eagerly sprinted back to his room, opening the window and beaming when he could clearly see the moon.

He sat on his bed, placing the umbrella in front of him, closed his eyes, and whispered Xie's name.

He sat there, eyes still closed. He heard nothing, he had no idea if it had worked, when suddenly there was a cold hand on his cheek.

He opened his eyes in a flash to see Xie sitting in front of him, smiling so big with tears pouring down his face.

He also began to cry, grabbing Xie and pulling him into a hug.

They wrapped their arms around each other, crawling onto one and other, getting as close as they could in order to make up for years of lost touch. They both sat there on their bed, crying and smiling and kissing the tears off each other's faces.

After that, things were a lot easier on the two of them.

They still were apart a lot, as the curse was wrong during the day, and on night's where one couldn't see the moon they couldn't be together, but every night they could they cherished.

Aesop & Eli (platonic)

These two made for quite interesting friends, that no one really expected.

Aesop was quiet, and very private. Eli was shy, but sociable once he felt comfortable with someone.

Somehow, the two kept being put together in a million different situations, which made Eli comfortable enough to talk to him.

At first it was just small talk, which Aesop despised, and after a while he told Eli to either talk about something worth talking about or shut up.

Eli wasn't expecting this, and out of surprise ended up quieting down

Aesop then realized that what he said may have come off harsher than intended, so he quietly asked what the snake on Eli's blind fold meant.

Eli was happy to talk, and did most of it.

Cue that one meme that's like: Talks a lot Listens

with the characters doodled underneath

As they hung out more and more, Aesop had started to explain embalming to Eli, and while it did make Eli a bit nervous, he recognized and admitted that it was a stable job. Sadly, people passed away every day, and embalming was an essential part of the post-mortem process

He actually ended up apprenticing under Aesop, and learning how to become an embalmer.

It was through this that Aesop started to question some of the things about death that Carl had taught him.

While Eli would be working, studying, or observing Aesop, he would make little hopeful comments about how he hoped their soul rested well, or that they lived a full life, or that they were in the after life they believed in.

These comments made Aesop start to question his view on death, and for that he appreciated Eli, he always appreciated those who's words could make the mind real, even if it wasn't intentional.

Personally, I like to believe that they were both able to leave the manor and start a new embalmer's office in a new city together, where Eli would have his soon-to-be wife move to, and finally live the life he wanted, with his best friend and the love of his life by his side.

As for Aesop, he also wanted this. Though he was used to it, he did not enjoy being alone. Corpses could only provide so much company before it wore a person down, and he enjoyed the idea of working alongside Eli for the foreseeable future.

I really liked writing these, and I thought it was a strange coincidence that Eli and Aesop were the first two survivors I ever really played in IDV & they were who you asked for. I hope you like it!!

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

Disclaimer: Dick was adopted when he was 12 in this fic. Just for math’s sake.

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

Damian stared at his father, face carefully blank. Bruce grimaced, shifting.

“I said, you have a half sister. Biological.”

Four sets of eyes bored into him, from all of his sons. They were gathered not in the Batcave for once, but just one of the sitting rooms in the Manor.

“... and what, Father, does that have to do with the French class visiting Gotham?” Damian asked again, posture steadily growing stiffer and more and more stone like. He was trying hard to suppress emotions, but not even he was quite sure what those emotions were yet. Anger? Fear? Resentment? Probably. He might have detected some excitement there too, deep, deep down. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this.

“Well. I’ve kept up with her life, but last time I checked she had no idea that she was adopted. When her birth mother died, it was right around the time I adopted Dick. She was still an infant, and I knew I was not equipped to handle taking care of a baby—“

“Father,” Damian interrupted again. “You sent her off. Have her up for adoption,” he said slowly, as if realizing that that would have been his fate had his father known about his existence earlier, as well. It was almost ironic, considering how Bruce seemed to have a problem with adopting other children nowadays. Bruce nodded.

“She was adopted by a couple in France. Paris, to be exact. I’ve kept up to date, asking them to just send me a letter or email once or twice a year about the general stuff she’s been up to. Nothing too invasive. A few pictures. And last time I asked them, they said that she had no idea about being adopted or that I was her father,” Bruce sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But I think she does.”

“Why?” Jason asked, confused as everyone else to the change in subject. Except Tim and Damian, who seemed to be quickly connecting the dots.

“Oh boy,” Tim breathed. Bruce just nodded.

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is the one who organized the trip for her class to come here, to Gotham. She is the one who entered and won our international internship competition, and turned that into an excuse to get her entire class to come here for two weeks. To get to know the place she will be living for her internship next year, after she graduates Lycee, France’s version of highschool essentially.”

Tim winced. He had been in charge of the internship competition, and Bruce had given him free reign. He had chosen the winner without even thinking to run it by his adoptive father.

“Bruce—“ Tim tried, but the man just held up a hand.

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been paying too much attention to her life, and I didn’t expect her to do something like this. But we know now that, if she does know and this isn’t a giant coincidence,”

“Unlikely,” Dick agreed, wincing. “Possible, but unlikely.”

Bruce huffed in agreement. “Then, we know she is very resourceful, determined, and has skills that impressed Tim enough to choose her out of tens of thousands of contest participants worldwide.”

“The minimum requirement for a Wayne,” Damian finally managed to bite out, still coping with this proverbial slap in the face but doing his best to handle it. He was seventeen damn it, and had come a long way from who he used to be. He could handle this. He could. He would.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Okay. So now we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” Jason asked, frowning. “For how you’re gonna tell her without getting your faces plastered over every tabloid in the city right?”

“No,” the older man shook his head. “Plans to keep her alive, unharmed, and unaffiliated with us until she leaves. I will not be making any public appearances unless absolutely necessary, so trips to the Tower are out of the question—“

“Are you…” Jason’s eyes were wide. “Trying to keep her out of our Shitshow? Because yeah, kudos to you even if it took you way too long to learn, but if she went through all this trouble to come here then it's probably too late.”

Dick nodded. “If she’s anything like you and Damian, there’s no way she’ll back off easy. Avoiding her will only make it worse on you, and probably the rest of us too.”

Damian stared straight into his father's eyes, glare sharp and searching. “What is this about, Father? You have not worried this much about any of us—“

“Because none of you were as naive!” He barked, quickly catching himself and taking a breath. “You all had a way you could benefit from this life. A way I could help you. But Marinette has both of the parents she has known her whole life, they treat her wonderfully. They care. She’s never had to worry about constantly moving, or fighting, or going hungry. The only deaths she has ever experienced have been from afar and due to natural causes. She designs as a hobby and has no problem with socializing or handling emotions in a healthy way— introducing her to our life holds no benefit for her. The only thing it can give her is unnecessary danger and risk and secrets.”

“Yeah, well. I guess Batman doesn’t know everything, does he?” A new voice startled them all from the doorway, making everyone's head whip over to see who had managed the near-impossible and snuck up on all of them.

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, was a short part-Asian woman in her late teens. Her midnight black hair was cascading down her back in one thick braid, tied off at the end with an indigo ribbon. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue, matching those of Bruce perfectly. Her jaw was clenched, and the infamous Bat-glare coming from her was directed right at the person who made the expression infamous in the first place.

“Marinette,” Bruce breathed, shoulders squaring. “Your plane isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“It won’t,” she agreed. “I took a portal here. You see, my extensive research into Batman’s known habits and tactics, which I started after I figured out about your alter ego last year, informed me that you tend to go to the extremes to protect people you deem incapable of protecting themselves, and are also prone to idiotic self-sacrificing behavior in the form of purposely making yourself look like an ass.”

Jason chuckled. “She’s got you down to a T, B,” he quipped with a grin despite the caution still in his eyes. “But let’s back up a bit, little Spitfire. What’s this about a portal?”

Marinette pushed off the doorframe, walking closer to the scattered group. Tim and Jason were spread across one sofa, Damian on the other with Dick, and Bruce was occupying an armchair. Marinette just walked until she stood where she could easily be seen by everyone, but also had nobody at her back.

“The portal is part of a bigger story. Like, the fact that father dearest wanted to protect me so badly that he placed the JLE in Paris, but didn’t realize that relations with that branch were so bad that the JLE never informed him or the JLA about getting kicked out of France and reassigning themselves to Italy. Bruce never kept a close enough eye on the city, because he wanted to keep emotional distance, and therefore was completely blind to when a supervillain showed up and terrorized Paris for almost five years,” she continued, her glare never leaving Bruce’s face.

“I found out about being adopted when I was eight. I found out who my biological father was when I was thirteen. Last year, I finally put in the work to connect Bruce Wayne to Batman. And yeah, I never told Maman and Papan, because they have never completely understood me. They wouldn’t have understood that I was fine with having no contact with you, back then. That my snooping had nothing to do with being unhappy with them as my parents. They would have immediately assumed they were inadequate when I am merely curious by nature. But then I ended up being chosen to be one of the child heroes that fought said domestic terrorist that showed up five years ago. And I sure as hell couldn't tell them that a magical artifact showed up on my desk one day and that the god inhabiting it told me to fight the monsters the villain made and just, just go with it. I couldn’t tell them when I went from being one of two Parisian heroes to being the leader of a team. I couldn’t tell them when my elderly mentor, unable to fight by our side but who had at least provided emotional support and knowledge, passed away and gave me his title and responsibilities. I’m sick and tired of being protected, Monsieur Wayne,” Marinette didn’t seem to notice the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m sick of it. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I fought a war I wasn’t prepared for. I died, thousands of times. But my own powers and the powers I have my partners brought me back to life. Over and over. I don’t need protection, damn it. I don’t need you to distance yourself, because you're the only fucking person I can call a parent who might understand,” she held out a hand, her scowl turning into a gentle smile. “I have so much I need to talk about. Before I drown under all these secrets. Please. I’ll go back through another portal before my parents notice I’m gone, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow when my plane lands. Just. Please, don’t push me away. That’s all I ask. I want to get to know you, all of you. I… I need family who understands.”

“Thousands.” Bruce repeated, all of them still recovering from Marinette’s very sudden, info-dumping speech. “You died… thousands of times?”

Marinette laughed, but it was a sad sound. No mirth there. “I gave my friend a magical artifact that reverses time, and the artifact that gives me my own powers can reverse any damage from a fight I use it in. Even death. Sending untrained teenagers to fight a villain three times their age makes some kind of failsafe like that kind of necessary.”

“Fuck,” Jason cursed under his breath. “Well. You’re welcome to join the living Zombie club,” he offered. The girl snorted, giving him a watery grin in thanks.

“I’m sure you know about my stance on powers and metas,” Bruce decided to say, wincing immediately after. That wasn’t what he meant to say. At all. He earned another brief glare for it.

“I’m not a meta, and I only have powers when I use the artifact to transform, thereby borrowing powers from the miniature god that the artifact houses. Think of it like doctor fate, but my gods are actually not parasites and my powers are much more… specialized. I had to learn combat on my own, and I was able to train in my sleep with the past users of this artifact. That includes people like Fa Mulan, Joan of Arc, and someone you actually know— Hippolyta. I’ve mastered more fighting styles by now than I care to remember, and I’ve done gymnastics since I was three. I don’t know if my parents told you that in their letters. I even won the gold in the nationwide France gymnastics competition two years ago. I assure you, I don’t rely on my powers nearly as much as you might think.”

Bruce swallowed. “I can… greet you when your class arrives.”

Marinette grinned. “Well, that’s a start.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Idk what happened, I don’t know if I like this at all but oh well. I’m posting it anyway. Maybe one of you will like it. I… couldn’t really find any other way to do this so oh well. Also, I think Mulan was a past Dragon..? But I put her as a Ladybug because I Can.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy @meme991001

[dessarious]

What Makes a Family? Pt15

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Marinette couldn’t speak because it felt like her throat was locked in a vice. Instead she threw her arms around her twin knowing she’d understand. When they’d looked into each other’s eyes it was like coming home, but more. She couldn’t describe it. All of a sudden she realized a piece of her had been missing and now she was whole. When Cass hesitantly returned the hug she felt her anger spike. Her sister should not be so touch starved that a hug was abnormal.

“It’s okay.” She pulled back to pin the other girl with a dry look.

“No it’s not, but it will be. Now that we’re together we can buffer each other from the way fate and chance have been screwing with us.” Cass just gave an acknowledging hum. Looking closer Marinette could see an alarming amount of faded scars. She reached out to trace one just below her right ear. “I’m so sorry… If I had known…” What? What could she have possibly done to help? Nothing, but she couldn’t shake the guilt.

“Me too.” It took her a minute to figure out why Cass would be sorry. Then she remembered that Alfred told her Cass had escaped the League when she was eight.

“As much as I wish you had found me, you couldn’t have known. We were kept apart and kept ignorant of each other. But nothing is going to separate us again.” And anyone who tried was going to be in for a very rude awakening.

“Yeah, they’re definitely related. No one else could understand Mari’s cryptic speech patterns.” Chloe’s comment got chuckles out of Selina and Luka. Kagami and Alfred had almost identical small smiles. Poor Bruce just still looked confused. Before she could comment the Mayor exited an elevator and stormed over.

“Chloe! What have I told you about letting your friends bother guests? If you insist on bringing them here at least take them to your room.” Marinette couldn’t help the eyeroll. She wasn’t certain what had caused him to start thinking that way but every time they came to the hotel now, this was the result. “Mr. Wayne I’m so sorry. Please don’t hesitate to tell them if they’re bothering you, or call me to deal with it.” You would think a man so entrenched in politics would be able to read the room better.

“Your concern is appreciated though unnecessary Mayor Bourgeois. Your daughter has been essential in facilitating our stay and has done a wonderful job of making sure we’re all comfortable.” Bruce’s words seemed to stun the man. As she watched her father analyze the Mayor she could see why his alter ego could be deemed the world's greatest detective. She could also see the moment he decided to go for the kill shot. “Besides, given that Chloe is best friends with my daughter she could never be a bother.” She fought not to laugh as it looked like he’d swallowed his tongue.

As they waited for the man to regain speech, Marinette gauged everyone else’s reactions. Chloe shot Bruce a grateful look while Alfred simply wore a proud smile. Luka and Kagami both looked like they were struggling not to laugh. Selina… she looked like it was her birthday. Cass was studying the Mayor and Marinette had a feeling it was to decide if he was a threat. Once his brain started working the Mayor’s eyes immediately darted to Cass before he put on one of the fakest smiles she’d ever seen.

“That’s wonderful to hear. Chloe you should have told us you were friends with a Wayne.” There was an edge to his voice that everyone caught. The look on Bruce and Selina’s faces was somewhere in between annoyance and disgust. Chloe had apparently just had enough of his shit.

“I’ve been friends with Mari for years and you’ve never cared.” The man glared at his daughter and Marinette almost cringed at what she knew was coming next. At least it would be entertaining.

“That’s different and you know it. She’s beneath you and you’re only friends with her because it annoys your mother. Just like you keeping this information from us is an act of immaturity. It’s time for you to grow up and stop all this nonsense.” Chloe’s face went oddly blank and she knew the girl was trying to keep her emotions in check. Mostly so she wouldn’t get Akumatized but probably a little so she didn’t attack her father. Selina pulled her into a protective side hug and glared at the Mayor. Marinette fully expected the woman to go off on him.

“So you think your daughter should only choose friends based on the amount of money or influence their parents have?” Bruce’s voice was neutral but it still made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Once again, the Mayor didn't pick up on the mood.

“There are other considerations of course. Public image and such. But surely you of all people understand worrying about people taking advantage of your children to further their own ambitions.”

“I do worry about that. I warn them extensively against attaching themselves to people like you who see nothing but what they can get out of them. In my experience the more someone has the more they want and feel entitled to. Thankfully your daughter doesn’t seem to have inherited your greed. Otherwise I’d have to advise my daughter, Marinette, to rethink their friendship.” The Mayor’s eyes darted to her and Marinette just smiled sweetly at him. He paled drastically and she could see him trying to come up with something to fix the situation. When that didn’t seem to work he mumbled something about needing to see to city business and went back the way he’d come. Cass snickered beside her but Chloe looked worried.

“Why don’t we go up to your suite? That way the boys won't be able to find us, we’ll have more privacy, and you can pack anything you’re afraid your parents will mess with.” Selina’s suggestion helped Chloe relax. Luka and Kagami were trading looks again before Kagami spoke.

“We can help her with that so you can speak to Mr. Wayne and your sister.” They obviously knew she was keeping things from them, but at least they trusted her enough to not push the issue. As much as she hated unnecessary secrets, she couldn’t just out other heroes without their permission.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll make sure the boys stay occupied until you’re ready for them.” Alfred’s statement caused a slightly panicked expression to appear on Bruce’s face. The older man just pinned him with a stern look. “You’ll have Miss Kyle to act as a buffer. Not to mention Miss Marinette is far less feral than most of your children.”

“I said I’d have the kitchen redone however you wish. It was due for a remodel anyway.” Alfred just glared at him before making his way to the elevator. 

“Honestly Bruce, he was only gone for a few days and that kitchen turned into a warzone. I still want to know how Jason managed to set the fridge on fire.” Selina’s amusement brought a glare from Bruce and given the way his posture stiffened Alfred heard her too. Marinette couldn’t wait to hear that story.

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[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 3

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.4k chapters: 3/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. 

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the gall to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous.  

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous.  

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators.  

He’d never been called a manipulator before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… cunning than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms suave or charismatic, if he was being honest. Deltas were charming, dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him.  

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.”  

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it.  

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.”  

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?”  

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, very few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.”  

“Or,” Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went extremely scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.”  

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.”  

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity.  

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?”  

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.”  

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a fucking machete from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?”  

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.”  

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.”  

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.”  

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.”  

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags.  

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.”  

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.”  

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.”  

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.”  

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.”  

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.”  

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?”  

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.”  

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint.  

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—”  

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any nonsense, “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.”  

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances.  

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through while she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on provoked, “and you were being antagonistic.”  

“I was not, I was just—”  

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond.  

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.” 

“You don’t even know what charm is yah fuckin’ grifter.”  

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence.  

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.”  

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?”  

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.” 

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—what the fuck, Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates. I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.”  

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.”  

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.” 

“They are library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?”  

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.”  

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.”  

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.”  

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.”  

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.”  

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?”  

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.”  

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega—their omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival.  

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things.  

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s struggled when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega.  

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently.  

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom.  

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head.  

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined. She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.”  

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—”  

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.”  

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by his clothing first.  

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He missed the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien (especially if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles.  

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and scented. He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first.  

It was a good thing he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, he needed to prove he deserved it more—Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime.  

“Sure thing, any in particular?”  

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.”  

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience­—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s mingled scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, communicated like real people. The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d known there was something too much about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t share. They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out quickly, before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever. 

[akampana]

Can you tell us more about the harem au? 👉👈

I had to take some time on this ask bec my THOUGHGHGHGGHTS but ill probably make several posts on this and make a masterpost just to keep it all in one place.

But first things first, as a general rule: If they've met before, they retain their memories of each other. Furthermore, the Harem au follows the FZ->FSN->FGO continuity.

How did it start?

Messy. It was extremely messy.

The harem AU has a lot to do with the order that each member appeared in Chaldea, and it definitely wouldn't have happened if they hadn't come home in this order.

Also I have one Arturia at NP1 (AND BOI DID I TRY SO HARD TO GET ANOTHER ONE BUT ALAS, the world has decided to preserve the harem)

Note: there is a significant gap between Lancer Diarmuid and CasGil

At the start, there was a large period of time when it was just Gilgamesh, Cú, Arturia and (Before the Fire)CasCu. And since she remembers the 5th HGW (FSN) she was most inclined to spend time with Lancer Cú over Gil.

Lancer Cú was essentially the first person to get close to her, but at the time she was still hung up on her first love and Cú wasn't too serious about his flirting. To him, she was a frequent sparring partner and a cute little outlet for teasing. That was it.

Gil tried (as far as his pride would allow), but it would be a long time before Arturia ever even gave him a chance.

Especially since the next person that arrived was Diarmuid. But not her Diarmuid. Saber Diarmuid.

More below

Saber Diarmuid was never shy about his affection for the King of Knights, but as much as she enjoyed his company, their memories differed. He, for one, could not understand why she always looked so guilty around him, while she did not understand why he had no reservations against her.

Saber Diarmuid came closest to starting something with the King of Knights' healing heart, but her feelings of guilt combined with the lingering love she still had for Shirou ultimately prevented them from moving forward. So, he instead got closer to someone who similarly had memories of a slightly different version of the King of Knights: (BtF)CasCu.

Then, there came Cú Alter

Because of her good relationship with the other Cú's, Arturia respects and protects Alter the same way, which pisses off the Mad King to no end because she treats him like a human. Plus, everything about her beliefs messes him up. He was forced to accept a crown of thorns and tried to raze the world to the ground knowing there couldn't be a crowd that would want him as king. She willingly accepted the burden of kingship and still ended up wanting to save her kingdom when her country turned their back to her.

This clash created a lot of tension between the two, but rather than drive them apart, it brought them closer. Close enough that Alter had the monopoly on her time. Close enough that even Master thought she would up with him after all.

Close enough to snap the other Cú's out of their stupor, because how could they lose Arturia to a corrupted version of themselves?

Saber Diarmuid was trying to spend as much time with her at this point, but suddenly master came out of the summoning room with the very person he thought could destroy all his chances.

Himself.

So now, everyone was faced with a problem. Even straight out of the summoning room, Lancer Diarmuid did not hesitate to pick up where he left off.

Gil had the disadvantage of his ill treatment of Saber during the 5th HGW, the Cú's only started bonding with her in Chaldea, but Diarmuid?

She and Diarmuid had a history that ran deep. It was obvious Lancer was full on in love with Arturia from the very start. There was no awkwardness, no transition, just Diarmuid fully taking advantage of being reunited with his Arturia.

He was the first to tell her he loved her.

And this is where Gilgamesh, who'd been slowly earning her trust be accompanying her on missions and speaking with her whenever he was able, finally snapped.

Gil could excuse her having friends. He also understood the unworthy mongrel's desire for her, because of course his dear queen would be so widely coveted.

But he was not going to stand by and watch as another mongrel took her away.

So he told her everything. How he really felt about her kingship from back in the 4th HGW, how he waited for the 5th, how bloody mad she drove him when she was away, how he felt.

And now Arturia was faced with a slew of emotions that would take time to unravel.

Gil and Diarmuid admitted their feelings. Saber Diarmuid and CasCu were beyond confused about theirs. Cú Alter was off somewhere dismissing every possibility that he was worthy of her love in the first place.

And Arturia...did not understand. She'd been so focused on the love she lost that the possibility of starting a new one was novel to her. Yes, she'd come to care for all these people so deeply, but she was hesitant to let herself feel anything more.

Maybe Shirou had gotten through to her because of his stubborn naivete, but she was still technically the same person who was accused of being unempathetic, who's to say how this would even go--

And Fujimaru Ritsuka was getting tired of their collective shit.

So like the good Master Ritsuka is, they basically ordered them to forget the drama and figure it all out. Clearly, everyone had issues they needed to settle with her, and clearly Arturia also had to figure things out on her own.

So, everyone hit the metaphorical restart button, installed a patience driver, and began again, this time with Arturia mostly aware of how they felt about her.

And that's how the Harem AU starts.

I'll continue with Part 2, including the others later on :>

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter One (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 3,700

Author’s Note: I decided to set this a few years after the war, when Zuko is Firelord. I didn’t want to stray too far from what was canon in the series - what with Katara being the only bender left in the Southern Tribe and also trying not to add extra family members because that always feels weird to me - so the reader in this story is a girl from the village who lost her parents to a raid and was essentially adopted into Sokka and Katara’s family; she stayed behind to watch after the tribe when they left to help Aang, and now, as the chief’s surrogate daughter, is arranged to marry the Firelord to help bring the two nations together. Chaos and sweet, tender romance ensues. This is also going to be a mini series! I have no real plot and no idea how long it’s going to be, but that just adds to the fun of it all. Stay tuned.

~ Muerta 

“You can’t be serious.” 

Sokka, seated beside you, instinctively offers you his hand, which you willingly, eagerly take, gripping it tightly in your lap. You can’t decide if you feel anger or fear; the two mix sourly in your stomach. 

“I am,” Chief Hakoda says. His tone is even, and infuriatingly understanding. It makes you want to scream. “Your presence in the Fire Nation will be key to unite the nations in peace once again. They’ve been closed off from the rest of the world for too long - you’ll be an ambassador for our people.” 

“Then make me an ambassador,” you snap. “Marrying me off to the Firelord is no better than letting him come here and colonize us.” 

Hakoda glowers sternly at you. You shrink back, Sokka giving your hand an assuring squeeze.

“Firelord Zuko has made great strides to restore what his ancestors destroyed in the years since the war,” Hakoda scolds. “He’s an honorable, respectable man. I expect you to treat him as such.” 

You look back up at him, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh. 

“I don’t have a choice in this, do I?” you ask softly. Your voice quivers, revealing the terror behind your rage. 

Hakoda’s expression softens as he stands. He helps you onto your feet, holding you gently at the elbows and looking apologetically into your eyes, one of his hands reaching to brush your hair behind your ear. 

“Just because the war is over, it doesn’t mean the need for sacrifice is,” he tenderly says. “You’ll do great things as the queen of the Fire Nation. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t trust Zuko to treat you well.” 

In Hakoda’s eyes, you see the man you knew as a child, the man who brought you into his family when you lost your own to a Fire Nation raid. You love him as much as you loved your own father, and know he loves you as much as his flesh and blood children; you trust that he would never put you in harm’s way. 

Hakoda leans forward and kisses your forehead, holding you close for a long moment before letting go, breaking contact with you completely. The pain on his face tears a gaping hole in your heart. 

“You leave in three days,” he tells you. “You’ll be in good hands - I promise.” 

Though you know it isn’t for the last time, leaving the Southern Water Tribe hurts so much you think it might kill you. 

You cruise across a calm ocean in a Fire Navy ship; luckily Sokka was allowed to come with you as emotional support, as well as to represent the tribe at your wedding. The presence of Zuko’s uncle is also calming to you, despite how little you know him, and how not long ago you would have considered him an enemy. There’s just something about Iroh that makes you feel safe, and you only hope the same holds true when you meet your husband to be. 

“Zuko sent me to ensure your safe passage,” Iroh told you when you first boarded the ship. “Think of me as your guardian spirit.” 

You stand on the deck, basking in the newly warm weather and taking deep breaths of fresh ocean breeze. The peace of the moment helps you lose yourself, forgetting your fate entirely, if only for a moment. 

“How ya feeling?” 

Sokka sidles up next to you, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder. You reach up and curl your fingers around his, sighing.  

“Awful, now that you’re here,” you tease. 

Sokka chuckles. 

“I could still make good on that promise I made when we were kids,” he offers, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into the side of his sturdy, familiar body. “I don’t think Suki or Dad would be really happy about it, though.” 

You let out a huff of laughter, remembering all the times you used to play together before the war brought you closer; you used to have intense crushes on each other, and Sokka always promised that he would marry you when you both got older - plans that changed when you effectively became siblings. You lean your head into his shoulder, finding comfort in his presence.  

“I’m just scared,” you tell him. “I always planned for great adventure in my life, and to help people, but… this doesn’t seem like the right way. It feels like I’m being taken prisoner.” 

“They say that having too many plans for one’s life keeps one from finding their true potential.” 

You turn, meeting Iroh’s gaze as he crosses the deck to where you stand. You part with Sokka and bow respectfully, trying to hide the embarrassment that heats your skin. 

“I apologize, General Iroh,” you greet him. “I didn’t mean any offense.” 

Iroh tuts at you, placing a hand on your shoulder to gently straighten you up. He meets you with a kind gaze and a soft smile. 

“Fear is to be expected, my dear,” he says. “You can’t have a great adventure without also facing a great fear.” 

He turns and peers out across the water, inhaling and releasing a deep, contented sigh. 

“The weather is lovely today,” he notes. “Why don’t we all enjoy it together, with a pot of tea?” 

And so a tea set is brought, along with a table and cushions, and you and Sokka join Iroh as he demonstrates how to brew the perfect pot of jasmine green, generously serving each cup. He toasts to your being together, and you drink heartily, savoring the exquisite taste of his famous tea. 

“I understand how you must feel,” Iroh addresses you once you’ve all settled. “Coming to a strange country, among people responsible for so much of the pain you’ve experienced; you’re exceptionally brave for doing what is best for your people.”

Iroh takes your hand, cradling it between both of his. 

“I am sorry for how my nation - my family - has hurt you,” he says. “My nephew and I only want happiness for you with us, and we will do all we can to ensure it; I give you this vow among his.” 

He squeezes your hand tightly, and you grip back, accepting his promise. You bow again, lowering yourself so that your face is almost level with the deck of the ship. 

“Thank you, General Iroh,” you reply. “Your generosity means everything to me.”

When you sit up, Sokka places a hand at your back, giving you a comforting smile. 

“Zuko’s a good guy,” he assures you. “I really think you’ll learn to like him.” 

Your arrival in the Fire Nation, much to your surprise, is met with celebration. As your ship pulls into port, army and navy officers in full ceremonial regalia perform displays of their bending, a traditional band playing cheerful, joyous music to welcome you to shore. A procession of military vehicles escorts you through the streets of the capital to the palace, citizens emerging from their homes and businesses to catch a glimpse as your carriage rolls by. The people who manage to see you are elated, if not curious, staring at you with wide eyes and rapt attention; Iroh explains that many of them have never seen a foreigner, as travel to the nation is only just starting to become somewhat commonplace. You’re confronted by the beauty and grandeur of the city - the tall, elegant buildings with their ornate details are far from anything you’ve ever seen in person, even with the rapid development of the Southern Tribe. 

In the palace, you’re immediately whisked away to your own wing, your quarters designated to a set of quaint buildings circling a scenic courtyard. Tradition dictates that, from the time of your engagement, you aren’t allowed to see the man you’re meant to marry until you’re both at the alter; the first few days of your time in the Fire Nation are spent in seclusion, resting off the fatigue of travel and acquainting yourself with the new culture you must now call your own. Though you have to keep your distance, you’re relieved when, on your first morning in the palace, you find a letter on your doorstep, scrawled in a refined, graceful hand and addressed from the Firelord himself. 

Hello, it says, Zuko here.

I wish I could introduce myself in person, but unfortunately, this will have to do for now. Sokka has told me much about you in the years we’ve known each other, and he always speaks of you highly. My uncle is also already enamored with you, and tells me he already considers you family, so I hope this brings as much comfort to you as it does to me. I don’t think I could have chosen a better woman to rule at my side. 

I have to admit that I’m nervous about getting married. I still feel like I’m too young, and still just figuring things out. But I guess if I can lead a country and make peace after a hundred years of war, I can have a wife and make her happy. I hope I do make you happy - I hope we can be close friends and lead the nation strongly together, for the better of both our homes. 

Please write to me if you need anything. Sincerely yours, Firelord Zuko. 

The candidity and awkwardness of his writing makes you smile, your mind at ease being able to put a voice to his name. You decide to write him back immediately. 

Hello, Zuko, you write. 

Your letter has already made me feel much better. Your uncle is a very sweet, very wise man, and I’m thankful that you sent him to watch over me - he makes me feel like I already have a little piece of a home and a family here. Meeting the man who raised you, I have faith that you’ll be a good husband to me. 

I’m very scared because, unlike you, I’ve never led a country or had to negotiate peace - getting married is the biggest responsibility I’ve ever had. I want to help people, though, and if I can help people by leading them out of the darkness of war, I’m very happy to do it. It isn’t as terrifying knowing you’re also nervous; I’m glad we can be nervous together. 

Please write to me as much as possible until the wedding. It would be nice to get to know my husband before I marry him. Sincerely yours, the bride.”

For the following days, you and Zuko exchange multiple letters; you have one waiting for you every morning, receive a reply by midday, and end each night wishing him pleasant dreams. You learn that he’s very intelligent and, though quite subdued, has a sense of humor much like your own. He has a passion for weaponry and the art of combat, as well as for storytelling and music (he tells you that dancing has recently been unbanned in the Fire Nation, and wonders if you’ll be able to teach him any Water Tribe dances; you promise to help as much as you can). The more you write to him, the less daunting the idea of your marriage seems, and you find yourself feeling excited by the idea of finally meeting him. 

The day of your wedding starts early. You’re woken at dawn, fed a breakfast of tea and jook (both prepared by Iroh, and sent on a tray beside a polished wooden box - inside is a traditional hair comb and a note from the old man, explaining that the comb was given to his mother by his father on their wedding day; the gesture sends you to tears), then sent to the palace baths to be buffed  and primed for your wedding attire. 

You’re stripped down and steeped in multiple perfumed liquids, scrubbed with an array of soaps and exfoliants, and washed so thoroughly you think your handlers might have exposed an entirely new layer of skin. They wax every single hair from your body as well; you only attempt to draw the line when they reach your nether area. 

“Please don’t,” you request, firm but not commanding. “I don’t think I’ll need it.” 

The beautician scoffs at you, pushing you back onto the waxing table and forcefully spreading your legs apart. 

“Foolish girl,” she huffs. “Of course you will. Royal marriages must always be consummated on the wedding night - the Firelord will want as many heirs as you can give him, as soon as possible.” 

Her brute words make you sick to your stomach, and as she rips away the hair between your thighs, tears roll down your cheeks from both pain and horror. You want to believe the man who’s been writing to you for the past five days would never force himself onto you in the name of tradition, but it dawns on you once again that you don’t truly know him, and can’t anticipate his actions. 

Once you’ve been wrung out from your time at the bath house, you’re sent back to your sleeping chambers, where you’re pleased to find not only lunch waiting for you, but visitors as well. 

“Katara!” you cry, flying across the room and into her arms. She laughs, hugging you so tightly you can hardly breathe. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” Katara cries, whirling you around a few times before setting you back onto your feet. “You already look so beautiful! How do you feel?” 

“I’m terrified,” you tell her, “but so much happier now that you’re here.” 

“Don’t forget me!” 

Aang waves from behind Katara and you shout with glee, greeting him in the same manner you did her. He also crushes himself against you, and when you pull away, you cup his face between your hands. 

“You look older!” you exclaim, squeezing his cheeks. “You grow every time I see you!” 

Aang laughs, pushing your hands away with a pink blush creeping over his nose and ears. 

“I’m a grown man, and the avatar,” he says, teasingly poking your shoulder. “You can’t keep treating me like I’m still twelve.” 

“I can and I will,” you jest, lightly punching him in the stomach. He cackles and puts you in a (gentle) headlock, rubbing his knuckles into your skull to tangle your freshly washed hair. 

“Hey, kids, that’s enough,” Sokka scolds playfully as he enters the room. “Let’s eat, otherwise I’ll be way too tempted by the spread at the reception tonight.” 

Lunch with your siblings is the last moment of relative calm you have before the wedding and its reality truly start to set in. After the meal, Sokka and Aang leave to help Zuko with his own preparations, Katara staying to help you with yours. Your handlers navigate you into your dress, a traditional gown and robes made of many layers of fine silk and embroidered with dragons and native Fire Nation flowers; the train and sleeves fall so far behind you, you worry about tripping or scuffing the fabric. Once you’re dressed, your face is painted white, your features then outlined as if they were being drawn anew into your skin. You hardly recognize yourself once the handlers are finished with you, the anxiety you felt upon learning of your engagement returning with newfound ferocity. 

Katara is the one to style your hair. Keeping with custom, she knots a portion of it atop your head in a tight bun, using the comb Iroh gave you to hold it in place. She then takes the remainder of your hair and braids it into two sections on each side of your face, the way it would be worn in the Water Tribe; she laces each braid with a string of beads from home, crystalline blue totems to ensure happiness and long life hanging at the end of each, contrasting beautifully with your gown. She cries when she steps back to look at you, carefully dabbing at her tears so as not to ruin her own makeup and dress. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” she tells you. “I’m so glad Sokka never married you like he said he would, he would look awful at the alter next to you.” 

You laugh, opening your arms and hugging her tightly, forcing your own tears back for the sake of the effort that’s been put into your costume. 

For the last few minutes before the wedding, you’re alone; you stand outside the doors of the palace’s grand courtyard, flanked on both sides by guards, listening nervously as Iroh (who’s officiating, per his nephew’s request) praises you and recites a poem in your honor. His sentiments are exceedingly affectionate and should move you, but all you can think of is Zuko; what will he think of you? Will he like you as much in person as he did in writing? Was he just pretending to like you for the sake of your union? What if he didn’t think you were pretty? What if, like the beautician said, he forced you to sleep with him tonight, simply because it’s what’s meant to be done? You chew at your nails, biting them so hard that some of them start to bleed. 

Music swells from inside the courtyard, and suddenly the doors before you swing open. You hold your head as high as you can, stepping forward with as much grace as you can manage and beginning to traverse the impossibly long aisle to the wedding altar. You breathe deeply, scanning the group of people standing before it - you see Katara first, and she nods encouragingly, looking like she’s about to cry all over again. Your eyes sweep over to Sokka, standing beside her, and he seems somewhat shocked by your appearance - not that you blame him, seeing as you look like a complete stranger, even to yourself. Iroh gazes at you from the center of the altar, wearing the expression of a proud father that makes you wish Hakoda were there. Aang stands beside Zuko, and you can tell from his face that he was bored by this whole display until you emerged from hiding; you stifle your laughter at his predictable, endearing disposition. 

Finally, your eyes fall on the groom. The first thing you notice is his stare, cutting into you as he watches you approach; his chiseled, angular features have fallen into an awed expression, one that causes a giddy tickle in your chest. He’s tall, slim, with broad shoulders that carry his wedding robes proudly - his clothing matches yours, the only difference being the armored sheath across his chest that signals his status as ruler of the Fire Nation. You’re reminded that his father wore it before him, and a shudder runs through you as you recall all you suffered at his hands; you push it from your mind, climbing the altar steps to stand beside your betrothed. He gently takes your arm, a warm, timid smile breaking across his lips. 

“Spirits,” Iroh addresses the crowd, “we gather before you to join this man, this woman, and our two great nations in a union of peace and prosperity. With your blessing and guidance, their souls will form two halves of a great whole, coming together to foster a new era of love and commitment not just for their people, but for each other. The bride and groom will now recite their vows.” 

Iroh nods towards you, and you lower yourself onto your knees, bowing before the Firelord. You clear your throat, hoping that the entire country doesn’t hear the quiver in your voice. 

“My lord,” you begin, “I give myself to you as completely as I give myself to my tribe. I swear, from this day forward, to walk confidently by your side in all your endeavors, to uphold the honor of our nations and families, and to be a guiding light into the future for every citizen of the Fire Nation. I will be your support, your comfort, and your ally in all aspects of our life together, and will serve you as loyally and dutifully as you serve me.” 

You stand, taking one of the rings that sits upon the altar and slipping it onto Zuko’s finger; his skin is warm, his palms rough, and he shakes as violently as you do. 

“I give you this ring as a symbol of our union, to represent the bond that holds us for all our days.” 

Once you finish, thankful you didn’t stumble over your words or forget them completely, Zuko kneels, mirroring the way you bowed to him. 

“My lady,” he recites, “by my word, I will serve you honorably and affectionately for all our time together. If you should ask for my compassion, I will give it; if you should seek after my heart, I will offer it willingly; and if I should stray from my path, I will follow you back onto it. I vow to you my devotion, and to bring you happiness and freedom. I trust in you the power to lead and govern my people as justly as I do.”

He stands and takes the other ring, delicately placing it as you did his. 

“I give you this ring as a symbol of our union, to represent the bond that holds us for all our days.” 

In most weddings, this would be the moment when the bride and groom embrace each other in a devoted, passionate kiss; instead, Zuko takes your arm and you face the court of respected leaders and diplomats from across the four nations, gripping each other tightly - you hold each other as if you’re the only support the other has to keep standing. Iroh’s typically soft, pleasant voice booms from behind you:

“I present the lord and lady of the great Fire Nation.” 

Everyone in attendance folds onto their hands and knees, bowing as the band once again begins to play. You descend from the altar, your head feeling like it’s floating miles above your body, and exit through the doors you’d been shivering behind only minutes before - this time, with your husband beside you.

[silkling]

Au prompts

No rush, just throwin some thoughts out

I really like your falsely accused au, any more of that would be consumed as if it were the finest chocolate

(More g1 ish) Prowl is SpecOps in some way not just a strat-tac mech (love me some BAMF Prowl)

Prowl has a secret identity, and his pseudonym is that of a reknown orchestral composer. Meanwhile Jazz thinks Prowl knows jack sh*t about music....maybe Prowl writes him a symphony as a surprise anniversary (could be bonding or maybe a post war milestone) gift? (This is indulgent fluff of mine that i think about but never actually write XD)

No worries, friend! The falsely accused AU will return soon! I’m debating whether I should make a long fic for the next reveal or keep it short like I did the first one. I plan to have things in this AU change the canon at large, so prepare for that. :P

As for your other prompts, how about I mash ‘em together? :D

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Prowl hadn’t always been involved in battle tactics. When he’d come online, he had realized that his tac-net was good for organizing and structuring and controlling anything large and complicated. Most bots assumed that meant a battlefield, or something else to that degree. It was why he’d initially joined the Praxus Enforcer Corps. He had excelled there, and his tac-net had helped him cut crime rates down to a tiny fraction of what they’d once been. But…after he’d done that, and his programs and procedures were in place and settled, things had calmed and he’d had nothing to do. He had hated it. So, in an effort to break up the monotony, he’d gone to view an orchestra performance. After that, he’d been hooked. He’d watched the conductor control and guide the flow of the music and the musicians, and his processor had roared to life.

The next day, he’d handed in his formal resignation from the Enforcers, and had been allowed to leave with full honors. His Chief knew he hadn’t been happy, knew he’d been stagnating. Highwire had only wished him luck before she’d sent him off. Then, Prowl had devoted himself to music. He learned all he could, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he’d managed to work his way from a music writer, to a small time musician, to a small time conductor. And then he had had his first show as a proper orchestra conductor, small and non-essential as it was, and his tac-net had settled and quieted, it’s systems purring as it allowed him to direct the flow of the orchestra with perfect precision. He hadn’t known at the time, but his show had been watched by one of the most well-known and oldest conductors on Cybertron. After his show, Treble had approached him and introduced himself, and offered to take Prowl on as a protege.

He had agreed, and his next show had been bigger. He’d written the music himself, the orchestra he was conducting was much larger, and Treble had used his vast influence to promote it. That was the first time he’s taken to the stage as Baton. He had decided shortly after he’d begun training under Treble that he didn’t want to use his real name when on stage. He enjoyed his privacy, and if all of Cybertron knew Prowl as a conductor he wouldn’t get much peace. So, on stage, he was Baton, and as Baton he also used a temporary paint to change his colors and used some fabric to drape over shoulders and hips. It was enough to disguise him.

And to his delight, his first show had been a massive hit. His tac-net had enjoyed this even more, the larger scale giving him more to work with, more to control and direct, and he reveled in it. Then, after the show, Treble had revealed to the audience that Baton had written all the music that had been played that night, and with that single performance his career was set. Over the following vorns, he’d grown more and more popular, and he’d eventually finished his tutelage under Treble. As time passed, he’d quickly become the most well known conductor on Cybertron. His orchestra had grown too, and had become known as the largest on the planet. Prowl, or rather Baton, led a orchestra of over a thousand mechs and femmes through songs he himself wrote. He had loved every minute of it.

Prowl wasn’t an emotional mech. In fact, emotion was something he struggled with. He thrived on order and structure, and emotions were not organized or structured, but music…music was. And music was also emotional. Through music, he had been able to give his emotions the order and structure he desperately needed in order to express them properly. Prowl had loved his life as Baton. It wasn’t grand, and he didn’t serve much of a higher purpose, but he brought joy to his orchestra, and to his audience, and for him that was enough.

But then…the whispers started. Now, Prowl wasn’t a fool. Most mechs who hadn’t been involved in the inner workings of Cybertron would claim that Megatron had risen from practically nothing and started the war on on his own. He knew that wasn’t true. Megatron had risen from a well-established foundation, a foundation that had built itself long before he gunmetal warlord had even given thought to revolution and war. No, the war had started millennia before the rise of the Decepticons. It had started on the quiet whispers among the lower castes, it had started on the stirrings of the beaten down and the starving. It had started at the rising tide of outrage and horror in face of the Senate’s cruel and extreme punishments for any tiny hit to their authority. It had started in the discontent at the tighter and tighter stranglehold the Senate had began to employ as they grabbed for and more power for themselves, and more and more of the mechs in lower society suffered and died. No, the war didn’t start with Megatron. Megatron was merely the catalyst. If he hadn’t come along and done what he had, Prowl had no doubts that a full scale revolt would have occurred. The fuel for the war had already soaked into the roots of Cybertron. Megatron had only been the spark that lit the blaze,

Prowl had heard the whispers, the growing discontent. He’d seen how the civil unrest got worse with each passing stellar cycle. He knew it was only a matter of time before something in his life changed again. So, when Covert approached him, he hadn’t been surprised. She told him she was the head of an independent group of Special Ops bots, unaffiliated with any political group and who worked only to keep Cybertron as a whole safe and stable. They weren’t much liked by the Senate, since they were not under any mech’s control, but the Senate also couldn’t do anything about them since, apparently, the group had been operating as they had since before the Senate itself had even existed. Covert had told him she’d seen some of his shows, seen the way he directed the orchestra, and she had dug in and found his public records as Prowl. She’d read about what he’d done as an Enforcer, had read about what information there was available on his tac-net, and realized she needed him. She told him that the civil unrest was growing worse, that things were even more dire than they appeared on the surface. That she wanted him to join her, to train him as an agent and a spy, and she wanted him to use his tac-net and his other abilities to help keep Cybertron safe.

Prowl had floundered. He understood why she was doing it. His logic centers agreed that her points were sound, that it would be best for everyone’s future if he went with her. His tac-net ran probability outcomes, spitting out percentages at him of what would happen if he accepted her offer, what would happen if he didn’t, what would happen if the unrest grew to proper war and what would happen if war could not be contained or controlled. The numbers weren’t good. His logic centers had screamed even louder at him to accept. His emotional cortex had protested. He didn’t want to leave his orchestra, his music. But…he was needed. As much as he loved what he was now…he couldn’t let others suffer if he had a way to help. So, with a heavy spark, he had taken her hand.

The next day had come, and Prowl had announced to the world as Baton that he was temporarily leaving the music scene. Baton was having issues with his health, and until they were resolved he would not write music or conduct again. And so with the well-wishes of fans and his musicians alike, Baton faded into the background of Prowl’s spark, and Operative had taken his place. Once again, he had had to disguise himself. This time, he’d taken more permanent measures, a dark blue visor and a battle mask that covered the lower half of his face. A radical paint change, and even alterations to his armor itself to make him sleeker and slimmer. Covert herself had trained him, and shortly thereafter he had gone on his first mission. Prowl had found he had a natural aptitude for spy work. He was small, quick, and stealthy, and he had a knack for processing, deconstructing, and disseminating information. It didn’t take long for him to become known as one of the most accomplished SpecOps agents on the planet. It also wasn’t long before he took his first life. He still remembered that mech’s face. It haunted him, in ways his subsequent kills didn’t. After that, he had also been sent on the occasional assassination, though his work as a spy always came first.

And then, just has he had predicted…war.

It had erupted swiftly and violently, and it wasn’t long before his unit had been forced to make a choice. Most of the agents had allowed themselves to be folded into the ranks of Autobot SpecOps. Prowl, or rather Operative, had not. He had continued to act independently, knowing that if he joined the Autobots officially and his affiliation was known in the event of possible capture by Decepticons, it would make things worse, so he’d remained officially neutral. Though, most of his work had been for the benefit of Cybertron’s neutrals and civilians, with information tossed to the Autobots occasionally.

It was his acting in this way that allowed him to prevent a larger tragedy from occurring in Praxus. He had had to fight Soundwave to get to the information, and he’d taken out all the mech’s cassettes and shattered his optics in the resulting fight, and he had managed to get the information about the attack on his home city. He hadn’t been able to stop it, but he’d sent the information along with a warning ahead to the city itself and to the Autobots. It had allowed Praxus to evacuate all its Youth Centers and even a fair amount of its civilian citizens before the city was destroyed. He hadn’t been able to save his home from being razed to the ground, but his actions had saved the next generation of Praxus’s children.

It was shortly after that that Covert, now head of Autobot SpecOps, had approached him again. The head of the Autobot Tactical Division had recently been offlined, and the faction was starting to buckle and struggle in their fights. Prowl had known what he had to do. So, once more, Operative had retreated to the shadows of his spark, and Prowl had stepped forward as himself for the first time since his days as an Enforcer. Covert had taken him directly to the Prime, where she’d laid out his life story and explained the situation. Together, the three of the, had created two files for him. One, that detailed his life as Prowl and as an Enforcer, and everything he’d accomplished as one, which would be open for public access. The other, which contained the life he’d lived and the things he’d done as Operative, would only be a accessible to Prime and himself, and the head of SpecOps with previous permission from the Prowl of Optimus. Baton would not be put into any files at his request, since at the time he’d been a civilian. He wanted to keep his happiest times to himself.

And then, Covert had been offlined in a mission, and her second in command had taken her place. That was when Prowl had met Jazz. Their initial meeting had been….less than stellar.

(“So, yer the head of Tactics? Gotta say, I’m surprised an Enforcer managed to do anythin’ worth much to a military group like this one. Didn’t think workin’ petty criminals on the streets would translate to bein’ able to lead proper soldiers.”

Rage, quick and burning.

“And I am surprised a mech as carefree as yourself is capable of leading a group like SpecOps. Doesn’t that require delicacy?”)

After that, their relationship had been…rocky. It didn’t help that Jazz couldn’t access Prowl’s sealed file. Not that the mech necessarily knew the file was about Prowl, he just knew it involved the tactician in some way. Still, it had taken them a few vorns before they’d been able to patch up their relationship and work things out. And after that point…things had simply grown. Prowl had come to realize that Jazz was an easy mech to get along with. He was pleasant and adaptable, and he didn’t push beyond the Praxian’s comfort zone. He was also fiercely intelligent, and Prowl had been delighted to learn that the saboteur was actually a rather brilliant tactician in his own right. In fact, because Jazz understood emotions and the inner workings of a bots’s mind better than Prowl, it wasn’t uncommon for him to go to the Polyhexian for advice on his plans if he felt it was needed. It was also why he never took it too personally if Jazz ever criticized his proposed plans in meetings.

Things had kept moving forward, and forward, until…

(“Ya look real pretty under the stars, there, Prowler.”

“I believe I told you not to call me that.”

A frame, settling next to him.

“Ain’t gonna stop me, mech.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Silence, then a breath.

“Can I kiss ya, Prowl?”

More silence. A huff, and a smile.

“I would like that very much, Jazz.”)

Their relationship had taken work. They had been friends first, which certainly helped, but they were both mechs of secrets. Jazz’s secrets were a byproduct of his work, and Prowl’s a byproduct of his life. It had taken time for them to accept and understand that some such secrets are okay. Eventually, they had worked it out, and their bond had only grown. Prowl was startled at just how easy it was to love Jazz, just how easy it was to give his spark to the other mech and not fear it being hurt. Jazz was…a soft lover. He was gentle and doting and so tender it almost made Prowl ache. One of his favorite things was curling up into Jazz’s chest, the spy’s hands smoothing over his doorwings as they simply enjoyed each other’s closeness and affection.

It was peaceful. A type of peace he hadn’t known since before Operative. Perhaps, one he’d never really known at all. They were strong together, with Prowl as the Autobot SIC and Jazz the TIC. They had the trust of their Prime, and the respect of their soldiers. The Decepticons hadn’t had the upper hand in centuries. So, their next step was only logical, given how rare joy was in these days, and how little they knew of the certainty of their own future.

(“My Spark and your spark, forever as one.”

“Bonded together, until the stars wink out and the world collapses.”

“In this life and the next, I am yours, as you are mine.”

“For all of eternity, I shall remain at your side, and you shall remain at mine.”)

They bonded. Under the eyes of Optimus and with the approval of their Prime, they bound their very sparks, tying themselves together for the rest of time. They had asked to keep the information secret. Only the Officers on Optimus’s personal team knew. And so that way they stayed, until the war forced them from their home. Prowl hadn’t ever expected to wake, after the crash. But he did. And Jazz, too. Everyone had. So, the war continued, only now it was on a small organic planet rich with energon. Prowl was only slightly surprised that the scale and brutality of the war was much, much less here.

But then….things went wrong. They had been on Earth for several of the planet’s years when the DJD had come. Apparently, they were only there to drop off a traitor for Megatron to deal with. But then Tarn had decided he wanted to do his Lord one more favor, and…Jazz’s team had been captured on a supply run. The rest of the base quickly gave up hope. No one wanted to fight the DJD, and even if they did no one was sure there was even anything left of their comrades to rescue. Prowl knew, though. He still felt the echo of Jazz’s spark brushing his.

So, for the first time in mega-cycles…Operative roared to the forefront. Prowl returned to the room he shared with Jazz, opening the secret compartment behind his desk that not even Jazz had been aware off. In it, was everything he needed to become Operative again, as well as anything he had kept that had to do with Operative as a whole. He removed the visor from its case, clicking it onto his face, and his battle mask slid out in three pieces from the armor at his chin and cheeks to cover his mouth and nose. He grabbed the pain from the small compartment, covering his current colors in quick, sure movements. Then, he put everything back and retreated to the shadows, leaving the base and driving off.

He knew where the DJD’s ship was. He knew how they operated. They wouldn’t take Jazz’s team to Megatron until they had worthwhile information to go along with it. He also knew that Tarn was the only one who was on board, having done preliminary probing earlier that day. Now, it was time to act. He drove in silence, until he finally arrived at his location. It didn’t take him long to find a way into the ship. It was one of the external vents, usually used for pumping contaminated air out of the ship. If he was careful, he could force it open and sneak in.

Once he had entered the ship, he stuck to corners and shadows, doorwings angled upwards and sensors dialed up to their max in order to pick up the minute charge that signaled where any cameras were. Using that, the was able to avoid detection, until he got to the brig. He saw the team there, but more importantly, Jazz was there. They were all a little roughed up, and he knew he had to hurry. He had already sent a short message back to base informing them of his mission and telling them to come for retrieval. He knew he’d get into some trouble for his rogue actions, but at the moment he didn’t care.

Looking over the team, he realized his initial plan wouldn’t work. He had hoped to sneak them back through the ship, but they were all injured in some manner or another and he could tell they wouldn’t be able to pull their processors together enough to be as stealthy as they needed to be. Which left Plan B. Explosives. He pulled one of his favorite explosive disks from his subspace, setting the timer and sticking it to the far wall of the brig. He activated it, then hurried to open the cell door. At his reveal, three sets of tired optics locked onto him. Immediately, recognition flickered. They knew Operative from the stories, even if none of them had ever met him in person. He was a SpecOps legend, after all.

He gestured quickly, making a motion to where the explosive was ticking, and hurried in to help Jazz up. He was the most injured of the three, and Mirage quickly moved to his other side to help keep the saboteur steady. The four mech group hurried as fast as they were able out of the cell, and the explosive went off. It took out the ship wall, and then they were dragging themselves to freedom. The impact with the ground was rough, and he knew their time was limited. Tarn would be coming to investigate soon, and he had to buy time until the retrieval team arrived. He managed to get the three SpecOps mechs settled against a large boulder, just as he heard heavy pede steps approaching behind him.

He straightened, turning around and lifting his gaze to meet Tarn optics-to-visor.

“So,” Tarn hummed, tilting his head. “The fabled Operative makes his return. You know, it was always assumed you’d perished before the war left Cybertron.” He said smoothly.

He said nothing, expression unreadable behind mask and visor. His posture gave nothing away, either. Under the light of the sun, his deep blue and burnt copper colors seemed to absorb the light. His wings were held at a neutral angle, though they were tilted just so to pick up any signals or changes in the air. His hands were folded behind his back, and he merely stared at the larger mech in front of him.

There was a long beat of silence, and then it was broken by the sound of approaching engines.

Neither mech looked away.

He heard the sound of transformation behind him, and heard Ironhide’s gruff voice speaking to the three downed Autobots. It was as he heard movement indicating they were being pulled away that Tarn finally shifted. It drew the attention of the retrieval team, who up to that point had been more focused on getting their comrades to safety and had been ignoring the SpecOps mechs attempts to make them look at the other two bots present. He could feel the static of Ironhide’s surprise on his doorwing sensors, and he heard Hound let out a frazzled exclamation of surprise.

“Who-“ Ironhide’s began, but Jazz was the one who cut him off.

“Operative. That’s Operative.”

“Who?”

“The greatest spy Cybertron has ever known.” Tarn said, voice oily and dark. “Responsible for revealing Senator Crankshaft’s illegal activities, for breaking up the slave trading ring in Uraya, and most known for stealing the information from the Decepticons that allowed Praxus to save its Sparklings and Younglings.”

There was silence, before Trailbreaker’s voice could be heard. “Holy scrap, one mech did all that?”

“That, and much, much more.” Jazz spoke, voice rough. “Operative is a legend, ‘Hide. And he may not be one of ours, but he is on our side.”

At that, he merely dipped his head in acknowledgment of his bonded’s words. He still didn’t remove his gaze from Tarn.

“Well, and enlightening as this was,” Tarn spoke, taking a step towards the Autobots. “I’d like my prisoners back now, though I certainly wouldn’t mind bringing more Autobot helms to my Lord.” he all but purred, one servo lifting.

It was then that he moved. The Praxian flared his wings, and the armor in his back shifted and made way for hidden boosters. They flared to life, and he sped forward faster than anyone could react, grabbing a length of metal wire from his sub space as he blurred towards Tarn. He snatched the ‘Con’s wrist, dropping his weight down to force Tarn over, and as he moved he slid between the larger mech’s legs while looping the wire around the caught wrist. In the same movement, he slammed his other elbow into the back of Tarn’s knee, forcing it to buckle, and then he twisted and threw his weight, tossing the purple mech to the ground with a heavy, hard impact.

Before he could move, he was rolling on his heels, a wrist flicking and sending a sharp knife into his palm from the sheath hidden in his forearm, and he used the hand still holding the wire to quickly loop the rest of its length around Tarn’s neck. Hand freed, he grabbed the arm the Decepticon was trying to use to get up, twisting it and forcing him onto his front with one arm trapped under his own weight, and pressed a knee to his spinal strut. He finished it by pressing the tip of the sharp blade to the back of Tarn’s head, right into a chink in the heavy armor and against the fragile protoform underneath. Like this, it would be all to easy to force the blade forward and straight into Tarn’s processor. It would kill him in an instant, and it was a maneuver he could pull off before Tarn would be able to throw him off, since positioned like he was, he could feel every shift and tense in the larger mech’s frame. The whole thing had taken barley 10 seconds.

“You will be taking no prisoners today.” he said tonelessly. “You will leave. I will not hesitate to offline your should you attempt otherwise.”

There was silence, and then a low chuckle rose from the trapped ‘Con. “My, I am surprised. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so soundly beaten. It seemed rumors of your skill weren’t exaggerated. Though, what can I expect, from the mech who offlined Sentinel Prime?”

He pressed the knife down harder, engine rumbling in warning as he tried to ignore the gasps from the Autobots behind them.

Tarn clearly got the message. “Alright, little mech. I’m leaving.” he agreed.

He stayed where he was for only a moment, then shifted off the larger mech. As Tarn stood, the blade flashed around him to slice through the wire, and then Operative was moving away.

“Go.” the spy stated, voice cold.

Tarn only chuckled once more, turning a speculative look on to the group in front him, before he boarded his ship. A few moments later, it took off.

“Did you really offline Sentinel Prime?” It was Hound.

He turned, then tilted his head. “I did.”

“Why?” Mirage’s voice was rough, his tone demanding.

“Sentinel was corrupt.” To everyone’s surprise, it was Jazz who spoke. “He not only was aware of the Senate’s actions before the war, he approved and even took part himself. He let the power of the Matrix and the Primacy go to his helm, and he stopped protectin’ and leadin’ Cybertron like he should’ve.” he rasped. “Prime told me. He said Sentinel’s death wasn’t the tragedy the media made it out to be. The Matrix showed him some o’ the stuff the old mech did, and apparently it would be enough to disgust even the Unmaker himself.”

There was shocked silence, and Trailbreaker’s voice was weak. “Seriously?”

“Sentinel Prime was not a true Prime. He was chosen by the Senate and by the Prime before him, not by the Matrix. Before Optimus Prime, there had not been a true Prime since the last of the Thirteen.” Operative revealed.

“How do you know that?” Mirage demanded.

His question was met with a stony silence.

The Towers mech bristled, looking ready to say something else, and then Ironhide’s cleared his throat. “Right. Well. We gotta get these guys back to base.” He turned to the Praxian. “What about you?”

“My mission is done. I will take my leave now.” he said. Then paused. “You will find your second in command back at your base.” And then he slipped backwards into the shadows of a nearby cliff and was gone.

“Wait, how the Pit did he even know it was Prowl who’s missing and sent that message?”

“It’s Operative, Hound.” Skids, the final member of the missing team, sounded tired as he spoke. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows every Autobot and Deception secret.”

========================

Back at base, the missing team had been patched up and were recovering in the medbay. It was midnight, and Mirage and Skids were deep in recharge. Jazz was not. He was waiting. Soon, a mech slipped from the shadows, blue and copper colors had changed to black and white, and the visor and mask were both gone. Jazz turned to stare are his bondmate approached, his optics unreadable behind his visor.

“So.” he murmured. “Yer Operative. I’m guessing that’s what’s in that file you never let me get into. Did Covert know?”

“She was the one who recruited me.” Prowl answered. His spark felt heavy and he couldn’t meet Jazz’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Jazz hummed, going quiet. “Not gonna lie, Prowler. I’m a little hurt.” he sighed. “But…I get it.” Prowl turned startled optics to his mate. “I’m SpecOps too, remember? I know how important secrets are. Plus, I can understand why you wouldn’t say anythin’. The war needs Prowl the tactician, not Operative the spy.” he mused. “Sure, Operative would help big time, but the Autobots can survive without him, we can’t survive without you, Prowl.”

The Praxian was quiet for a moment, and then his doorwings slumped in relief and he reached out to curl his hand around Jazz’s fingers. “I’m relieved. I was worried you would wish to have nothing to do with me.” he whispered.

Jazz softened. His visor slid away, revealing shining, open optics. “Never, lover.” he purred. “‘Until the stars wink out and the world collapses’, remember? Now pull up a chair and sit. I get the feelin’ you need the closeness as much as I do.”

Prowl did just as Jazz asked, once he’d gotten settled, he folded one arm on the edge of the medical berth, resting his helm on it and once more curling the fingers of his other hand into Jazz’s.

That night, the two bonded mechs recharged just like that, assured once more of their love and devotion for one another.

========================

A couple weeks later, and Jazz had been released from the medbay, given strict orders to finish his recovery in his room. He was on medical leave until such time that Ratchet said otherwise. Prowl had an plan, though. The anniversary of their bonding was today, and he knew his mate loved music of all kinds. He was ready to share his final and more treasured secret with the spy. But he wanted to do more than just tell him the truth. He wanted to show Jazz exactly how much he meant to him. He had a plan for that. He had spent the past many, many days writing a piece of music for the first time since he’d been forced to leave his life as Baton behind. Once he’d finished, he’d just needed a way to play it.

He didn’t have a Cybertronian orchestra, and the few Cybertronian instruments available wouldn’t be enough for a piece of this scale, which left…an Earth orchestra. And luckily for him, he knew exactly what do to. A couple years back, Prowl had rescued a famous human conductor, and had offered him a ride to his home. It was on the way he’d ended up revealing he too had once been a conductor, as his spark had been aching to reminisce with someone who understood, and the two had bonded. Zachary, the human, had been ecstatic when he learned that Prowl wrote his own music. He had told that Autobot that if he ever wrote something again, he would be glad and honored to have his orchestra play it.

Prowl had taken him up on the offer the moment he’d finished piece. They had organized it, and Prowl had even written in a piece for a Cybertronian instrument to be included, which he himself would play. It had taken days of practice but Zachary, the orchestra, and Prowl had managed to play the full song. It wasn’t anything like a Cybertronian symphony, but…Prowl had a feeling Jazz would love it all the same. They’d recorded the full piece for Prowl to take with him, and the Autobot had promised to write Zachary a song as well when the human had come to him after the performance, teary eyed and awed.

Now, it was the morning of their anniversary, and Prowl rose first. He had to get to work, but he knew Jazz was still bed bound. He simply wrote quick note, and left his gift on Jazz’s bedside before leaving. All day, his processor raced and raced. Would Jazz like the gift? Would he recognize that it was a Baton piece even if the instrumentation was different? Did he even know who Baton was? For once, Prowl found his work to be lacking, and by the time he was heading back to their room that night his logic center and emotional cortex were clashing horribly.

The door to his room opened as he stopped in front of it, and closed when he stepped inside. Immediately, blue optics slid to the form on the berth. Jazz was staring at him, visor gone and gaze intense. The mech slowly shifted out of the berth, and Prowl was frozen where he stood. Jazz approached him, and then he pulled the Praxian into a hard kiss.

When they separated several moments later, Jazz’s voice shook. “Did you know,” he whispered. “That Baton was my first crush? I saw his first performance, before his name was known to the public and before Treble took him under wing. I’ve loved him ever since. When he took a break, and then the war happened, I always figured he’d been offlined.” he whispered. “Then I met you.” he grinned, his expression so open and adoring it made Prowl’s spark ache. “And you became my first true love.” he leaned in to kiss his mate fiercely more before pulling back. “You know what that means, my spark?”

“What?” Prowl asked, voice soft.

“It means,” He purred. “That I’ve always loved you, since the moment I first saw you, even if I didn’t know you were you.”

Prowl blinked, then laughed, staticky and relieved. “You liked the music, then?” he asked. He hoped Jazz understood what he had been saying with the symphony. He’d written it from the spark.

Jazz just grinned, kissing him firmly once more before dragging him back to the berth. “It was perfect, lover. Just perfect.” he smiled. He got them both settled on the berth, tucked in close to one another. “And Prowl?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch39: The Reunion Part 1: As Long As There’s Hope, We Have A Chance.

Intro: As the remaining Avengers continue their search for Tony, Steve and Natasha take a trip to Clint’s farm to find out what happened to the Archer and his family.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Discussions of miscarriage- if this is a trigger please stay away)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Please heed the warnings…biggedy up to my girl @angrybirdcr​

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 38

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

It was eleven days post the Snap when Nat decided she couldn’t take it anymore and told Steve she wanted to go to Clint’s.

“I have to know.” She pleaded, looking at Steve. He sighed and glanced over her shoulder to Katie who merely shrugged offering him no back up. She knew where Nat was coming from, it was killing her not knowing what had happened to Tony.  

“Alright.” He acquiesced. “Let me grab a jacket.”

“I’ll meet you on the jet?” She asked. Steve nodded and watched her go before he turned to his wife who was studying him over her coffee. “If Barton was alive he would have been here by now.” Steve dragged a hand down over his beard as he dropped onto the sofa next to Katie. “I don’t understand why she doesn’t see or get that?”

"Put yourself in her shoes.” Katie sighed as she curled in on herself under a blanket on the sofa as a particularly nasty cramp hit her stomach. “You’d do the same thing for Bucky, or Sam, or me.”

"You know that I would.” He replied, noticing her shift in position and he frowned, but before he could say anything she placed her hand on his bearded cheek.

“Then just go, let her see. Plus, you could be wrong.”

“I suppose it’s happened from time to time.” He quipped and Katie smiled as he leaned over to press their foreheads together.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really.” She replied honestly, “But I’ve taken some painkillers, and Dr Kellet is coming over later. Thank fuck she wasn’t snapped.”

“I can ask Thor to go with Nat instead.” Steve looked at his wife who shook her head. “She asked you for a reason.” Katie said gently, “She trusts you. And I think if its bad news, she’s gonna need you, not Thor.”

“Are you sure?” He looked at her again and she nodded. He gave her a soft kiss, bumping his nose against hers, a soft smile on his face. “I love you, Doll.”

“I know.” She smiled back. “And I love you too, Soldier. Now go.”

As Steve had predicted, Barton’s farm was deserted. The two of them walked around, checking for any signs of life and Steve found his attention drawn to the picnic table not too far from where they had landed. It was loaded with condiments, plates, cutlery and scraps of food as a squirrel darted off the top from where it had been scratching through whatever other animals had left. Steve couldn’t help but remember the first time he had visited, when he had marvelled at the normality of Barton’s life outside the Avengers. Clint had kids, a wife, a complete alter ego. At the time Steve had almost been jealous, wondering if he and Katie could ever get that life. And then he’d gone and caused them both to be on the run, essentially ending that domestic dream.

And if he hadn’t, then Thanos certainly had when he’d snapped away their baby.

Natasha, meanwhile, had stalked straight into the house. Steve, hearing the door snap shut behind her turned and watched as she stomped straight back out and over to the barn at the far side of the yard

“Natasha?” he called.

She didn’t respond. With a sigh, Steve jogged after her, his boots slapping the damp grass of the lawn as he followed her into the barn. She dodged round the tractor in the middle, making her way to a door at the far side. Steve noticed a key pad at the side and Natasha clearly knew the code as a moment later there was a beep and it swung open to reveal what he supposed could only be referred to as an office of sorts, or as Katie would call it, a ‘man-cave’. There was a desk which sported some hi tech coms devices along with a computer. At the other side was a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall, a small couch, a stereo but none of that was what Natasha was looking at. She’d headed directly to some form of smaller room at the back and opened that to reveal a shelving unit of sorts. On one of them was an empty case that had clearly held a bow and arrow. Natasha then bent over and when she stood up Steve noticed she was holding a government issued ankle bracelet that had obviously at one point been around Clint’s ankle.

Not anymore, it was in two pieces.

“He’s alive,” Nat’s voice cracked. “Steve. he’s…he’s alive"

It was good news in a way, but then again, where was he? Surely if he and his family had survived then Clint would have brought them to the compound to find the rest of the team. But this looked like he had left in a hurry. Alone.

Which made Steve think that his family hadn’t been so lucky.

Natasha, satisfied that Clint was alive but clearly nowhere to be found at the farm, suggested they head home and see if they could track him from the compound. Steve hadn’t the heart to tell her that he didn’t think they’d have much of a chance and he knew deep down that if she was being honest, she probably thought the same thing. Instead, he nodded and they headed back over to the jet, which is when the pair of them heard something skulking around the side of the house. Natasha whipped out her gun as Steve spun, drawing himself up to full height. Exchanging a look, they both rounded the porch, cautiously approached, but as soon as Steve saw what it was, he relaxed.

“Hey buddy.” He courched down to pet the sandy coloured one-eyed dog that belonged to Clint, scratching behind his ear as the dog gave a little, desperate whine.

“Clint just left him.” Nat sighed, blinking back her tears. “He loved that dog, I don’t understand.”

“He won’t have been thinking straight, Nat.” Steve looked up at her, then around slightly, chewing the inside of his cheek before he made a decision. “We’ll take him home with us.” He stood up and, giving a sharp whistle, he was pleased to find the dog simply trotted behind him, up the ramp and happily curled up in a corner on a fleece Steve laid out for him.

“Do you know how old he is?” Steve asked, scratching the dog who rolled over, offering up his belly for a rub.

“Well when they found him the vets estimated he was about six months old…so seven now, give or take.” Natasha watched Steve who smiled, and made a cooing noise at the dog as he continued to pet him. “Never had you down as an animal lover, Rogers.”

“Always liked dogs.” He smiled. “I used to beg Ma for one all the time when I was a kid so she let us dog sit the neighbours. It set my asthma off, damned near killed me. So that put paid to that.” He took a deep breath and stood up, looking down at Lucky who flipped himself the right way up, pulling himself to a sitting position, his head cocking to the left. “Besides, I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Katie’s right about you.” Natasha smiled. “You’re nothing but a huge softy under all that muscle.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.” His brow raised. “I got a reputation to uphold.”

As they settled into the cockpit, Steve glanced at Natasha who was looking at the pieces of Clint’s ankle tag which she’d brought with her for some reason. But as he watched her turn them over in her hands, he had a sudden thought that there was someone else they should probably check in on as well. He voiced his thoughts to Natasha who nodded, and plugged in the co-ordinates for an airfield in San Francisco which was about thirty miles away from the address Scott Lang had listed on his house arrest details.

In little over an hour and forty later they pulled up outside Lang’s house and both hopped off the bike. No one answered so Steve simply kicked the door in and, once they were inside, they found it had been deserted some time ago. The remnants of a breakfast lay on a plate on the side growing mold and there was a mug and a plate in the sink. Natasha headed up the stairs, as Steve checked around the ground floor to see if there was anything that might give them a clue. The only thing he noticed was a calendar. The date of the Snap was circled, 23rd April, and next to it was written ‘QR- Research’. He didn’t have a clue what that meant. Letting out a deep breath he walked back into the hall and Nat came back down the stairs.

“No sign of anything being packed from his closet and his bed wasn’t made.”

“Well, his calendar seems to suggest he had a research date or something but other than that…” Steve trailed off as he spotted the red-light on the answer phone was blinking. He glanced at Natasha who inclined her head towards it and he reached out hitting the play button.

“Hi, Daddy” a little girls voice spoke and Steve and Natasha exchanged a look. Steve knew Scott had a daughter, but it struck him then that he had never even bothered to ask her name. “I tried your mobile but you’re obviously busy doing cool stuff with Hope and Dr Pymm…Mom said that you should come over tonight for five now your tag is off and it’s your favourite for tea. Oh and I got a new ant farm for you to try out. I love you, byeeeee!”

“Scott took two years house arrest to be with his daughter.” Steve shook his head, raising his eyebrows. “He wouldn’t just run out.”

“Think we’ve seen enough?” Nat sighed.

“Yeah.” Steve looked at her. “Let’s go home.”

***** “Well,” Dr Kellet looked at Katie as she sat up on the bed in the medical area of the compound, “there’s nothing physically wrong. Everything looks okay. I expect the cramps will settle down soon. It’s not uncommon with miscarriages, Mrs Rogers to feel some discomfort, especially when there’s been a procedure involved. And this, well, it wasn’t a normal miscarriage either so…”

Katie nodded and looked at her hands.

“How are you?” The Doctor asked and Katie looked up. “And I don’t mean physically.”

“I’m okay, I suppose.” Katie let out a deep breath. “I mean, I know there’s nothing I can do about it but it doesn’t stop me wondering you know, if I could have done something or-”

“Even in the case with normal miscarriages there’s nothing that anyone can do.” The Doctor spoke softly. “It’s a natural reaction, Mrs Rogers, you’re still in the grief cycle.” She clicked her bag shut. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Give it time.”

“That’s what Steve keeps saying.” Katie mused, softly.

“How has he been?” “Amazing.” Katie smiled instantly. “He’s been an absolute rock, I know he’s upset himself but he just…” she trailed off. “It’s good that you have one another.” Dr Kellet smiled as she handed Katie her bag containing her pill. Neither of them spoke much, it was a silent gesture that made them both feel a little strange. They hadn’t even discussed the subject of her birth control going forward, but with everything that was going on Katie was suddenly struck with the thought that even the simple things like obtaining medical treatment was going to be much more difficult as they’d lost half the people that kept medical centres open.

Doctors, Nurses, receptionists, porters…

“I’m going to be meeting with the Local Authorities.” Dr Kellet looked at Katie as if she had read her mind. “All the remaining specialists have talked about how we need a, well, sort of a how we go forward planning session.” “Let me know if we can help in anyway.” Katie nodded. “That’s what we have the Stark Relief fund for.” Dr Kellet smiled before the two exchanged goodbyes and the Ob-Gyn left, leaving Katie alone with her thoughts which were disrupted when she heard her phone going. It was a message from Steve to tell her they were on their way home with good and bad news. Katie wasn’t sure if she wanted to know, to be honest, but she assumed the good news was Clint was alive, the bad news well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Deciding she would rather hear it in person, she replied and told him she’d leave some dinner for them both in the communal kitchen, and with that she headed off to find something he could cook.

****

Steve and Natasha landed home at just gone eight in the evening. And, given that they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, they headed straight to the kitchen with Lucky in tow and found two plates of lasagne waiting for them in the fridge, one substantially larger portion than the other. Whilst it was warming up. Steve gave Lucky a drink and then found some left over chicken and scraps of vegetables from the roast dinner the night before and placed them down in a dish for him to eat. Lucky wolfed his make shift dinner down, and so did they. Between them they ate their helpings, plus the leftovers, along with a helping of salad and then walked down the dimly lit corridors, dog on their heels. It was completely deserted.

“Feels odd doesn’t it?” Nat remarked “I mean it was always so busy.” “We will fix this Nat.” Steve spoke, and he wasn’t sure where his optimism was coming from, but seeing Clint was alive gave him more hope than he’d had that morning.

“Thank you for coming.” She said as they stopped by the stairs that led to her apartment.“I really appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Nat.” Steve smiled, giving her a hug.  “Do you wanna take our guest or should I?” he gestured down to the dog. She shook her head. “Katie has a soft spot for that dog, plus you said yourself you’re a dog person. I prefer cats.”

That didn’t surprise Steve in the slightest and he found himself smiling slightly as he replied. “Alright, see you in the morning,” before he watched her up the steps and was pleased to see some of her usual Black Widow swagger had returned.

“Come on, buddy.” He turned to the dog which obediently trotted besides him, tongue lolling, his one eye trained on the super soldier.

Katie was awake in bed, the speakers in the room playing what sounded like the Trouble Man soundtrack as she lay on her side, facing the door, her hands absentmindedly playing with the pillow she had clutched to her chest.

“Hey.” he said as he walked in and she looked up, smiling softly. He leaned over to give her a gentle kiss before he frowned. “You’re crying.” It was a statement, not a question, as it was something she seemed to do quite a lot of recently. He sat on the edge of the bed and with tender hands, wiped her tears away with his thumbs as she sat up. “Is everything okay, I mean with…”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking about Sam, that’s all.”

Steve bowed his head, swallowing a little. Sam had been such a constant in their lives since they’d met him some four years previously, and two of those years they’d basically spent as house mates. It felt strange not to have him round, laughing and joking. Quite frankly, Steve felt like someone had ripped away his arm.

“I miss him too.” He admitted gently, and Katie looked at him, reaching up to cup his face. Steve sniffed a little before he shook his head.

“So, what did Dr Kellet say?” He changed the subject. “Nothing much. Says I’m physically alright, any discomfort I’m feeling should be gone soon.” “Do you need anything? Pain relief or…” She shook her head “I’m okay, honestly.” She took a deep breath. “So, what did you find?”

“Clint’s alive.” Steve stood and shrugged off his jacket, laying it on the back of the chair by the dressing table. Katie gave a sigh of relief which was short lived as she spotted the look on Steve’s face.

“What is it?”

“There’s no sign of him. He’d bust off his tag and left. I don’t think his family made it.” Katie bowed her head “They’re gone? All of them?”

“I think so yeah.”

“Fuck.” Katie screwed shut her eyes as her head fell back and she looked to the ceiling.

“We do, however have a guest.” Steve added, looking over at her.

“Who?”

“Lucky.” At the sound of his name the dog came pounding into the bedroom and jumped straight up on the bed.

“I couldn’t just leave him there.” Steve explained as Katie smiled and leaned over to scratch the dog behind his ears, promptly causing him to lay down, his head in Katie’s lap. She wrinkled up her nose.

“He stinks!”

“Yeah well he’s been alone since Clint left, God knows what he’s been up to or eating.” Steve shrugged as Katie looked down at the dog who rolled over for a belly scratch and she obliged. “And it doesn’t look like Lang made it either.” Steve finished heavily, watching as Katie tickled the animal.

Katie shook her head sadly, a tear falling onto the bed as Lucky rolled back over and moved to lick the side of her face before he jumped down on the floor.

“Nat wants to give Barton a few more days to cool off before we look for him but I’m not sure he wants to be found.“  Steve dropped back onto the side of the bed, removing his shoes and then his shirt thinking back to what he had seen at Clint’s. He laid his palms flat on the bed and dropped his head gently, letting out a sigh. He heard the sheets rustle as Katie edged her way closer to him, leaning her head on the back of his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against him.

"How is Nat?” She asked.

“A little bit better now that we know he’s alive.”

Katie nodded as she dropped a kiss to the back of Steve’s shoulder before he stood up, “I’m gonna take a shower, I won’t be long.”

“Okay. Where’s Lucky gonna sleep?”

“I dunno.” Steve eyed up the dog who was now led on his back on the floor as if he’d been with them all his life “Looks like he’s comfy there.” “Yeah, it does.” Katie smiled.

Whilst Steve was in the shower Katie went into the closet and pulled out one of the old duvets for Lucky to sleep on, folding it up and placing it at the end of the bed. Steve was out of the shower shortly and climbed into bed besides Katie, reaching over and turning off the light before he settled down on his back and Katie cuddled up to him, head on his chest

“So what have you been up to today?” He asked gently, his hand rubbing her back.

“Still trying to get a lock on where Tony is. Other than that, well, I saw the doctor,  made dinner and then I wasn’t feeling great if I’m honest. So I came back here and Thor sat with me for a while, just talking.”

Steve took a deep breath, pulling her a little closer as they both fell silent for a moment, before she broke the silence.

“You now, knowing Clint is alive makes me feel a little more optimistic.”

“Optimistic?”

“Yeah, think about it.” Katie’s hand traced hapes on his bare chest “That’s six out of seven of the original Avengers confirmed alive. Tony has to be as well, it makes sense.” “I’m not following.” Steve frowned. She propped herself up, so that she was leaning on his chest, her eyes locking onto his.  “Thor was talking before, those stones, they have a magic beyond anything we know. Thor doesn’t believe for a second that who’s left is merely a coincidence and neither do I. It’s happened for a reason. Tony’s out there, I can feel it. We just need to find him.” “Honey, I understand what you’re saying-“ Steve started, he wasn’t sure he agreed. He didn’t believe in fate, it was bullshit. But before he could say anything else she cut him off.

“Please don’t.” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t what?”

“Take this hope away from me.” She whispered, her eyes still locked onto his in the dim light of the room “Apart from you it’s all I have right now.”

He sighed and nodded, chastising himself. If it made her feel better who was he to try and make her think any differently just because he did? Eventually they would have to face facts but now, well he just wanted her to get through the next few days, one at a time. With that in mind, he bit back his response and kissed her head.

“Sorry, you’re right. As long as there’s hope, we have a chance.” She kissed him gently before settling back down, and it wasn’t long before she drifted off. *****

A week or so later, Thor returned from another scouting trip with no news or sign of his people and this time he set deep into a brooding depression, appearing only for meals. Not even Katie could talk him round. Pepper was keeping herself busy liaising with who was left at Stark Industries, turning her attention onto how they could help after Katie had told her about Dr Kellet and the Health Authorities. It kept Pepper busy and gave her something to focus on.

Steve, Natasha and Rhodey spent most of their time talking to the people who were conducting the census and the authorities, whilst Katie buried herself away with Rocket and Bruce trying to calibrate the scanners to reach further into space, bouncing off the NASA satellites to boost their range. But they continued to get nothing. The elephant in the room, however, remained Fury’s pager. In the two weeks they’d had it no one had managed to get working, not even Rocket, despite his attempts to fix the booster that was attached to it.

As the Nineteenth post snap afternoon drew to a close, the Racoon let out a frustrated sigh and downed the small screwdriver he had been using and shook his head.

“If I had the right parts I could sort this easy, but without getting up to Contraxier I wouldn’t know where to start.” “What’s Contraxier?” Katie asked.

“A market-slash-junk-slash-booze hole” Rocket shrugged.” You can find most stuff there. That’s where I stole Thor’s eye.”

Katie knew better than to ask.

“It’s so goddamned annoying.” Rocket continued. “I mean it’s a simple technology too, they’re ten a credit. All it needs to do is produce a magnetic field across each of these coils and bingo.” Katie looked at Bruce whose head had instantly shot up.

“Say that again?” The Scientist instructed gently. “These coils.” Rocket pointed to the item as Bruce walked over. “Each of them needs a magnetic core and then all of the little individual magnetic forces add together and it powers the…what?” He asked as Bruce looked at Katie and she grinned.

“An electromagnet?” She shook her head, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “That’s all it is?” “I’ve no idea what you Terrans call it, but if that’s what that does then yeah.” “I can’t believe it.” Bruce picked up the device and slid it under the large magnifying glass Rocket had been using, letting out a groan of frustration. “I took my eye off the ball, I could have sorted this straight away…” “You’re kidding me right?” Rocket sighed “Seriously?”

“Bruce, we’ve had a lot going on, don’t...” Katie began to sooth the man who was now frantically rushing around, grabbing various bits of material as he continued to curse his stupidity.

With a final curse, he settled down at a seat, bending over the device, his nose barely an inch away from it.

“It was an electromagnet. A god-damned electromagnet.” Bruce shook his head as he stood up and placed the Pager on a plinth inside one of the glass cases he used to experiment in. He fiddled around with some wires, muttering to himself before standing back. As the three of them crowded round, the screen on the pager lit up and the word “SENDING” flashed across the screen.

Katie looked at Bruce, her face splitting into a smile as he looked at her, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards.

There was another glimmer of hope…

**** Chapter 39 Part 2

[theblackberrygirl]

Dead Hearts

Summary: The Red Room is destroyed and Natasha has some unresolved goodbyes to say.

Author’s Note: alright I wasn’t super happy with this bc I felt like it was kinda OOC but my beta reader said she rly liked it so here it is!

Warnings: torture, death, death of children, hypothermia, grief. It’s sad alright

This is a song fic and it’s inspired by Dead Hearts by Stars

Tell me everything that happened

Tell me everything you saw

They had lights inside their eyes

They had lights inside their eyes

“JARVIS, show me the article,” Nat asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff.”

The headline streamed across the TV in her room. Russian training academy, Red Room, has been destroyed and burned by the US government.

Her stomach dropped. No. It can’t be true. The Red Room doesn’t just get destroyed. That’s not possible, it’s not true.

But it was. It was true. The Red Room had been reduced to a pile of burning cinder blocks.

She felt a strange feeling in her heart. She definitely wasn’t nostalgic. The Red Room had kidnapped her from that house fire when she was 4, leaving her parents to die. They tortured her, made her into a killer, messed with her mind and memories.

They made her kill her friends.

When she had escaped when she was 16 and Clint had found her, she never looked back. She ran and ran because running was what she knew, it was all she knew.

But now, she couldn’t run away. No, for once in her life, it was time to run towards something.

“JARVIS, is the quinjet fueled up?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff, but-”

“Get me 29 roses please. I’m leaving in 10 minutes.” JARVIS didn’t answer her, but she knew he was listening.

It was late, around 2 in the morning. Tony would be in his lab. The others would hopefully be asleep. Clint… well, he was a wild card at night. He could be anywhere. But she had known him for years. She knew how to avoid him.

She threw some essentials in a bag before heading towards the quinjet. JARVIS had been listening, because a bundle of blood-red roses laid on the countertop.

She picked them up on her way out to one of the jets. She needed to do this. Not just for herself.

But for them.

-

Did you see the closing window?

Did you hear the slamming door?

They moved forward, and my heart died

They moved forward, and my heart died

-

“Mr. Stark, Ms. Romanoff has just entered the roof.”

“What? Why?” Tony asked, actually pausing his newest project to listen to JARVIS.

“She asked me to make sure one of the quinjets had fuel and to get her roses.”

“That’s helpful,” Tony grumbled. “Is Barton still up?”

“Mr. Barton is currently downstairs in the archery range.”

“Typical. Tell him to come up here, will ya J?”

“Right away, Mr. Stark.”

Tony didn’t go back to his tinkering. He wanted to give Natasha her space, since she’d probably kill him if he didn’t. But at the same time, if this was something important, he didn’t want her to be alone.

“Tony? What’s up?” Clint had arrived in the lab, his bow on his back.

“Hey, do you know if today is anything important for Nat? An anniversary or something?”

“...no? Not that I know of anyways. Why? She alright?”

“I’m not sure, Katniss. JARVIS just told me that she was going up to the jet with roses.”

“Where is she going?”

“The GPS coordinates are set for an area approximately 50 miles West of Vorkuta, Russia.”

“Russia? Why would she be going back to-”

“JARVIS, how many roses did she want?” Clint interjected.

“29, sir.”

“That’s specific,” Tony commented.

Clint didn’t say anything. He wordlessly picked up one of the laptops Tony had laying around and typed something into the search bar.

“Oh no, Tasha… I knew you talked about it doing something, but...”

“What? What is it?”

Clint spun the laptop around for him to see. “The Red Room. It’s gone. And I think I know why she’s going back”

-

Please, please tell me what they looked like

Did they seem afraid of you?

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew...

-

Even in a quinjet, the ride from New York to Northern Russia was pretty long, giving her plenty of time to think and contemplate.

She did not want to think. Not about the Red Room, or Madame B, or the other girls, anything.

You owe it to them to remember.

All of her memories before 16 were jumbled. But some things… some things can’t be erased or altered by drugs.

She remembers their names. All of them. All 29.

She had been the youngest girl in her class of Black Widows. Some said that was a weakness. Others said it was an advantage.

But when they brought little Natalia Romanova to that place, still covered in burns and ash, she didn’t care about becoming the Black Widow. She wanted her mother, and father, in their little one-bedroom apartment, with her stuffed rabbit Alexei. It was always cold in that apartment, but when she was snuggled between her mother and father, she felt safe.

She learned quickly that safety was not a feeling in the Red Room. That was something for children, and she was not a child. She was Natalia, made of marble.

On her first night there, when she had silently cried from the pain of cold metal handcuff cutting her wrist, one of the older girls had helped her. She was 8. Her name was Nadia.

Nadia had stolen one of the handcuff keys from the guards. She had unlocked the cuffs and hugged her. Made her a makeshift doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Told her stories of magic and heros.

In the morning, they found out about what Nadia had done. They punished her until she couldn’t scream anymore. Just before they killed her, she looked at Natalia. “It’s ok”, she whispered. Just before they pulled the trigger.

Magic had not been in that place in a very long time.

After Nadia had been killed, Natalia funneled her grief and fear into her training. She rose to the top, taking down girls who were twice her age and twice her size. She used untraditional methods on the mat, using her legs to take them down since that was where she was strongest.

Her handlers were very impressed with her sudden prowess. She became the best dancer, best fighter, best liar. She picked up the languages quickly. She was as stoic as stone, never flinching or backing down from the threat of a punishment.

They never knew what fueled her excellence. Never knew that she was motivated by rage and grief. For her parents. For Nadia.

When she turned 9 years old, she decided that it was time to repay her debt to Nadia. There was a new girl, the last one for their class. The thirtieth. Sasha.

No one knew what had happened to Sasha. But they did know that she was good. She was unwavering, unmoving. During the day, anyways.

At night, Natalia could hear the girl in the bed next to her trying to muffle her cries. She took out the key that one of the guards had foolishly left in the washrooms. She carefully unlocked her own cuff and Sasha’s.

She rubbed her back silently. Rebraided her French braids that had come undone in the night. Made her a crude doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Just as Nadia had done for her.

The next morning, Natalia had waited all day for someone to take her to a room to be killed. But they never did. They hadn’t been caught.

Sasha and Natalia continued their routine every night. It was nice to have a friend in a place where friends were a myth.

They were friends for 2 years. They learned to master sneaking around. When Sasha turned 11, someone took her into a room alone. They did this all the time for training, interrogation practice, or just a mental test.

When Sasha didn’t come back that night, she knew something was wrong.

She never saw Sasha again. She didn’t know what happened to her. She still didn’t.

“Landing in 10 minutes,” the jet intercom told her. A wave of anxiety washed over her. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to turn around, go home, and never come back.

She hated the memories associated with this place. This was the closest she had ever been in the 12 years since Clint saved her. She avoided it like the plague.

The clearing the jet had landed in was still about 2 miles from the old academy. She pulled her coat and hat on and began her march through the barren fields and forest.

Tank tops and shorts. No shoes, she thought to herself. When she was 13, Madame B had given them all black tank tops and shorts. She took away their combat boots and forced them out into the bitter winds.

“Only the strongest will survive this challenge. Only those worthy of the Black Widow title will make it through this. If you are not ready, well, hypothermia isn’t a bad way to go,” she had told them. 2 girls out of the remaining 18 had died that day.

Then they had gone inside to train. The cold made their muscles achey and stiff, but the Red Room was not a place for complaints.

Then they did it all again the next day.

By the end of the week, 7 of the remaining 18 girls were dead, either from exhaustion or the cold. 11 remained from a group that was once 30.

Anastasia. Irina. Svetlana. Alina. Manya. Eva. Kyana.

Their dead hearts were everywhere. The lights inside their eyes extinguished. They’re still out there. And she still cares.

She always will.

-

I could say it, but you won't believe me

You say you do, but you don't deceive me

It's hard to know they're out there

It's hard to know that you still care

-

Pepper, Tony, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Steve, and Fury had all boarded a jet to Russia as soon as Clint told them what had happened. They weren’t going to let her go through this alone.

Natasha Romanoff liked to pretend she didn’t feel things. But they were her family. And family helped each other.

They all sat in silence. Natasha only had an hour on them, but that was still an hour where she was alone and hurting. Even Tony didn’t say anything.

Clint was playing with the spider necklace he always wore. Natasha had a matching one with an arrow. It was a symbol of how deep their friendship went.

Fury was completely still. He had his arms resting on his knees, looking straight ahead. His lips were more downturned than usual, and his forehead was more tense. You could only tell if you had known him for a long time, but Fury was upset. Upset that the woman he looked at as a daughter had to relive this. That she even had to live through it at all.

Clint and Fury were probably getting hit the hardest. They knew the most about what went down in the Red Room. They knew the most about how painful this had to be for their friend.

As the jet lightly set down in the field near the jet that Natasha had taken, they all prepared to walk the 2 miles in the cold weather.

The ground beneath their feet was completely frozen. Permafrost. Snowflakes rushed around their faces. It was painfully beautiful.

The sound of dried grass and leaves under their feet was the only sound on their walk. The wind whistled in their ears. The cold air bit into their exposed skin like needles.

Clint’s breath caught in his throat when he saw her.

She was standing on a pile of rubble with her back to them. Her flaming red hair was flying in the wind. In her arms was the bouquet of roses. Each rose had a note attached, written in Natasha’s small, elegant penmanship.

As Clint looked closer, he saw what the notes were. Names. All of them.

If Nat had realized they were there, she made no move to acknowledge them.

She just stood there. As if she was in shock. To be honest, she might’ve been.

“Sometimes, I swear I can see them,” Natasha spoke. She sounded so… broken. “Everywhere. In the reflection of a window. When I heard a door slam, it was like they were right there like they used to be. Like how they were in here.”

They all stayed quiet. She needed to get this out.

“It’s like they’re following me. Protecting me. I miss them. I miss them all.”

“Inna, Katrina, Larisa, Polina, and Oksana were the first 5 to go.” She held the 5 flowers tightly in her hand, like if she squeezed it tightly enough, she could bring them back. “5, 7, 6, 4, and 8. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she whispered. Her emotions were coming to the surface, hidden by a thin veil of control.

“Raisa, Sonya, Ulyana, Vanka. I didn’t know any of you. Not personally. But all of you deserved so much better than what you got.”

“Luda, Lubov, and Klara. You were 8 years old. Triplets. Nothing could come between you three. Not the Red Room. Not even death.”

Clint started to move closer towards his best friend. He could see the way she was shaking.

“That week when we stood outside for hours. The cold and exhaustion took 7. Anastasia, Irina, Svetlana, Alina, Manya, Eva, Kyana. I hope that you weren’t in pain when you died. I hope you’re finally resting.”

Only 10 roses were left in her arms, the other 19 laid out on the ground in front of her. The bright red petals contrasted sharply with the grey cinder blocks and white snow.

“Yelizaveta. Liz. We were in actual hell together, and yet you somehow managed to make me smile with your fucked-up sense of humor. In a place like that, dark humor is the only kind you have.” A small smile joined the tears running down her face. “I hope I’ll see you again one day.”

“Taisiya, Sonechka, Nikita, Mischa, Maya, Luda. You were all so smart. And so strong. You fought harder than everyone. Even now, I have yet to meet someone as smart as you six, and 2 of my best friends have more than one PhD,” she laughed.

She was down to the final three roses. Clint put his arm around her. The dam was threatening to break any moment now.

“Nadia.” She let her tears fall for Nadia. “I wouldn’t be alive without you. I wouldn’t have gotten to meet my family. I wouldn’t have gotten to become an aunt without you.” Clint had already been crying, they all had, even Fury, but that had struck him deep in his heart. “I owe you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she choked out. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling as she gently set the rose down on the ground.

“When I was 14, we had to do torture training.” Pepper let out a small gasp. “After I had finished the whipping and electrocution day, Anya split her bread with me. She cleaned the cuts that I couldn’t reach. In the morning, I-” Her voice began to crack. “They made me be the one to kill her. She was 15.” She set Anya’s rose on the ground next to the others. “You didn’t deserve it, Anya. You were always so good. Better than I ever was.”

“Sasha. Sasha and I were best friends,” she let out a small bittersweet laugh. “When I was with her, I felt like, maybe, we could lead normal lives. Escape. Be happy. One day, when we were 11, they took her away and never brought her back.” She held the rose with Sasha written on it in her hand. “I’m sorry, Sash. I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”

“You forgot one,” Clint whispered. He held out one more red rose. “Natalia Romanova. A little girl orphaned in a fire, who did what she had to do to survive. Who walked through hell and back and still found herself a family and a home.” He set the rose down with the others.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried. Clint hugged her tightly as they sank to the ground.

“We were all so young. We were all kids. Just kids,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

Years upon years, over 2 decades worth of grief, sadness, fear, rage, and pain came pouring out. She had been bottling these feelings up for 24 years, shoving them down, and now they were finally being released. Finally being set free.

“They were kids that I once knew. They were kids that I once knew...”

-

Now they’re all dead hearts to you.

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you

Now they're all dead hearts to you

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you...

[buddiebeginz]

tw: child abuse/other references to abuse

Finally caught up to the current episodes of 911. I have a lot of thoughts on Buck and Maddie and their family situation from Buck Begins (and the episodes before it). From stuff I’ve seen around online I get the impression that most people loved Buck’s begin episode but it’s probably my least favorite of the show thus far along with Eddie’s ep. I love those characters but I don’t feel the show did their origin stories justice especially not when compared to the kinds of episodes the other characters had.

As for Buck’s story I was glad we were able to learn a lot of new information about his past, considering that was one of my big issues with Eddie’s ep that it felt like a lot of repetitive info we already knew. I’m glad we got to see what Buck’s life was like before he became a firefighter and learn more about his relationship with Maddie and that he had traveled a lot. Still as someone who grew up in an abusive home I feel like Buck’s origin story with his parents was handled pretty carelessly at points.

It’s kind of a common thing I’ve seen with shows though unfortunately. It just seems that most mainstream media doesn’t know how to handle abuse storylines (especially abusive parents) unless it’s storylines dealing with more commonly understood abuse like physical or sexual. If it’s abuse like Buck and Maddie endured where their life looked perfect on the surface but underneath there’s neglect and emotional abuse tv shows often give the parents an excuse (like they were grieving) and finds a way for the family to come back together at the end. Because they weren’t really “that bad”. But emotional abuse like Buck endured can sometimes be worse than physical.

It’s clear that Buck’s parents are toxic and that Maddie and Buck should both stay as far away from them as possible. I was really bothered by the scene with Buck and his parents at the firehouse. It felt like the show sort of absolved Buck’s parents of all their wrong doing and made it seem like they cared about him, like they always had when it was clear they never really did. They had him to save Daniel and when he couldn’t it’s obvious they resented him. I mean look at that whole thing with the baby box. That’s how little they cared about him. They didn’t even make a box to remember his important moments. Yes people can grow and change but they don’t do it over night and abusers rarely change.

I know there was a line Buck said (to Maddie) at the end about how he could forgive them because he’s never felt like he had a relationship with them in the first place so it didn’t really matter, which makes sense in theory but in real life that’s never how it is when you’ve grown up with abusive parents. You can try and detach yourself emotionally from them all you want but they’re still your parents, there’s still a part of you that will always hurt from never being loved the way you deserved by the people who were supposed to love you the most. Things like that don’t get wrapped up all nice and neat like like it felt like they tried to do with Buck and his parents. I am glad Buck got to express some of how he felt when they all had that dinner together but he definitely didn’t owe his parents forgiveness.

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The part I had the biggest issue with though was at the end when Buck went to see Maddie. Buck had every right to be angry and remain angry for awhile, at the very least Buck had a right to tell Maddie how he felt and express why he was angry and hurt by what she did and I felt like the show robbed him of that.

Buck walked in the door talking about how he had basically lashed out on Maddie because he knew that no matter what she would forgive him. It’s not Maddie who needed to do the forgiving it was Buck. Buck had trusted her his whole life. She had been like a defacto parent for all intents and purposes as his parents refused to be there for him the way he needed and now he finds out the one person in this world who has been a constant in his life (at least before he joined the 118) has lied to him about something huge. It makes sense he wouldn’t just shake that off. So for the show to just have him come in and act like everything is fine with him and Maddie I felt like was a huge problem and major disservice to Buck’s character and growth.

I’m not saying I didn’t want Maddie and Buck to make up, I definitely did. But Buck has never been good at putting his true feelings first and expressing himself. Buck has been selfish at times (plenty in season 1) but he has never been good about speaking up for what he needs and speaking truthfully to the people in his life about things he was dealing with. I mean he barely told Abby how he felt when he saw her again, he mostly stayed quiet and let her make it all about herself when he really should have been like “wtf why did you ghost me for no reason?”. Or when he didn’t tell everyone how hard he was pushing himself to go back to work and then developed a blood clot, or when he was scared to tell everyone he was seeing a therapist. He holds a lot back.

My point is if we’re supposed to be seeing Buck mature into a “better” version of himself he even said something about Buck 3.0 in a recent episode. How can that change happen if the show doesn’t let him evolve and let his relationships evolve. Even with the 118. I know they love him but I feel like they still see him as the hot headed screw up from season 1 sometimes. It’d be nice if they saw how much he’s grown too. (Not talking about Eddie. Eddie sees Buck more than anyone else does. He was the only one who told Buck he had every right to express how he felt and that he didn’t have to forgive his parents.)

Back to Maddie I think it was vital for Buck and for their relationship that we should have seen Buck tell her something like “it hurt that you kept that from me when you were the only family I ever really had (before the 118)”. I love Buck and Maddie’s relationship so I’m not saying I wanted some huge fight or for it to get drawn out on the show but I wanted Buck to express his pain and for him to call Maddie out on how wrongly she handled things. I know that she was also a victim of their parents abuse (not to mention everything with Doug) but that doesn’t absolve her from her lies to Buck once they both weren’t living with their parents anymore.

To be honest I don’t even understand why Maddie called her parents to come to LA. She said something about how because she has a baby on the way she wanted to reconnect with them but there is no connecting with people who are that toxic. And her need to connect with them shouldn’t have had to involve Buck if he didn’t want to see them. I definitely don’t understand why Maddie thought it was her place to tell their parents about Buck going to therapy especially without asking him. She told Buck that he should open up and tell them how he’s been feeling but like why? They clearly never cared about his feelings before and it was obvious when they all had dinner together they still don’t. At the dinner I didn’t like how Maddie seemed to be quiet most of the time or trying to just keep the peace with her parents vs standing up for Buck the way he did for her. At one point their mother got upset talking about the hospital and it sounded like she was going to talk about Daniel and Maddie stopped her. It’s like Maddie didn’t want the secret to get out to Buck either. Yet Maddie had no problem telling Chimney.

I’ve seen people saying stuff like no one better hate on Maddie. I don’t hate Maddie but I have a lot of issues with choices she made and the fact that it didn’t feel like she owned up to them to Buck at the end. It’s altered how I look at her and her relationship with Buck to a extent. Maddie lied to Buck even when she didn’t have to anymore. She told other people something that she should have only been telling Buck. She told her parents Buck’s business. She brought her parents to LA without asking Buck if he wanted to see them. She tried to excuse her parents by saying “they were grieving” . Grief is not an excuse to keep huge secrets from your children, to lie to them continually, and it’s definitely not an excuse to abuse your children.

I have empathy for what Buck’s whole family went through including his parents. I can’t imagine the kind of pain that parents would go through losing their child. But no child should have to bare the burden of their parents pain and that’s essentially what they made Maddie and Buck do.

I know this got pretty long but Buck is my favorite character I relate to him a lot, even more so after watching some of the current episodes. These eps about his family were just painful. I wanted to protect Buck because I felt like no one in his family was. I know what he was feeling in these episodes. Alone and unloved and like he couldn’t trust anyone and like no one in his family was on his side.

The whole montage at the end with Maddie and Buck which was supposed to tug on our hearts and remind us of this great bond they share as siblings ended up feeling kind of hollow to me. I think it could have been a beautiful scene if the show had used it after allowing them to talk about what had happened. It would have shown all they had been through and how they had grown and were moving forward. That they were all the (biological) family they needed and their parents didn’t matter. But since the show didn’t allow that kind of recognition the montage felt more like the show was saying we’re just going to sweep all that drama under the rug now it’s over and done with, here’s some pretty pictures. You don’t instantly move on from knowing someone you trusted lied to you your whole life. I just really wish the show would have done better for Buck in these episodes and better with telling a storyline about abuse. I know this is probably an unpopular opinion but I just felt like I needed to rant about it. If you made it down this far thanks for reading. 💗